𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜/ c.b

20

Despite Colby telling all of us numerous time that's we need to limit how often we go into town, he continues to threaten taking me to the hospital for my injuries. It's been a little under a week and I'm still in a lot of pain. And with the limited amount of supplies and medical equipment we have here I've been rationing pain killers.

Some nights I get little to no sleep, others you couldn't get me out of bed if you held a gun to my head. I'd probably tell you to pull the trigger.

But I try not to complain too much. There wasn't anything to be done. If I'm being honest, at least when I'm in pain I have something to get my mind off what happened.

Starting a war with a murderous crime boss.

The situation is complicated, and it hasn't gotten less complicated since getting here. We haven't talked about it. Only our survival. Only how we are going to live here until we have a set plan. But how long will that be if there hasn't even been talk of a plan.

I think even Colby is avoiding it. The declaration was made amidst a very heavy situation. He wasn't using logic when he made it. He used his emotions. I don't blame him, anyone else would have done what he did. Hell, I went the murder route.

Tearing those men to shreds.

My stomach still hurts when I think about it. I had never felt that way before. I never get to a point where I feel the need to murder someone. I only kill and hurt for jobs, no emotions attached.

That night I wanted to hurt those men..

Even though I scared myself a bit, I think even the guys were a bit scared of me too. Not because of the act itself but because I was capable of doing that. They had seen my abilities to a certain extent, but that night was pure evil. A slow, devious, act that stemmed from deep rage and despair. I knew what I was doing, and they saw that. They saw what I could do. And it scared them.

I think that is why it makes my stomach hurt. They truly see me differently than they ever have. And they have to deal with that. And so do I.

They were quiet to me at first. They've gotten over it, but we don't talk about it. Only how I'm feeling. Only safe questions. And I don't know if I like that or hate it.

The only one who hasn't treated me differently is Colby. Have we talked about it? No. But that's not him avoiding it, that him accepting it. He saw what happened, processed it, and didn't judge me at all. He moved on. Looked towards the future, looked towards our safety.

I think maybe he understood it so quickly because he too has gone through it. Had been through a blind rage that wasn't all too blind. Couldn't judge me because he learned not to judge himself.

This was survival. That was all.

His and I's relationship is still rocky. But it doesn't feel unfixable anymore.

It's like the pieces have all been found, it's just a matter of making them fit together again.

I'm looking at him now. He stands a few feet in front of me. I am in the living room, sitting on the floor, leaning over the coffee table writing up my thoughts. He is at the kitchen counter, trying to fix the broken lamp from my room. I've told him I'm not all that scared of the dark anymore, but he insisted.