On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Four - "Meet My Demon(s)"

Fitch

I was taking her in. Like, really taking her in completely.

I tried not to look at the scars that ran down and across her back, the parallel ones on her arms, the burns. Looking at her face, I couldn’t imagine how or why anyone would want to hurt her. I quelled my anger by staring into her sleeping face.

Her eyes fluttered open, as if she could sense me.

“If I had a dollar for every time I woke up to find you watching me sleep, I just might be rich,” she murmured.

I smiled and rolled onto my back. I was waiting for her to freak out; I don’t think she had fully recollected last night’s turn of events. I watched her stare at the ceiling for a minute, peek under the sheets and then turn to me, looking slightly amused.

“That happened,” she stated.

“It happened,” I replied.

She smiled and looked away, “Okay.”

“Are you okay?” I asked wary.

She nodded, “I’m fine. It was . . . it was great, right? That wasn’t just me?”

I grinned and rolled onto my side, leaning up on my elbow, “I’ve never felt like that before; it was amazing.”

She bit her lip shyly and nodded, “Okay.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I murmured slowly.

“No . . . yeah . . . I don’t know,” she mumbled, looking away from me.

I went ahead anyway, treading carefully, “Who hurt you?”

Her eyes widened an inch and she shifted uncomfortably, pulling the sheets tighter around her, completely avoiding my gaze.

It was what I expected, so I said quickly, “I’m sorry. I just . . . the scars,” I whispered, feeling my heart clench. There were just so many of them. A part of me was hoping she’d done it all to herself, but it seemed a silly assumption; how could she reach so far down her back?

“What are you going to do?” she asked, looking at me firmly with her signature blank expression. It was still there, though – the sadness in her eyes. I didn’t know what to say; it was too late to protect her from anything.

“I don’t know. Nothing,” I sat up, “I can’t stand the thought of somebody hurting you.”

She closed her eyes and winced, “Don’t take me back there, Fitch,” she breathed.

“What?”

Looking back into my eyes with a fear I hadn’t seen in so long, she pled, “Please don’t take me back there.”

A mental journey was almost as bad as an actual one, especially with horrific memories.

I let out a sigh; a part of me was relieved, because I didn’t want to know. As much as I asked, I didn’t think I could handle knowing. Not that I’d love her any less, but just that I might not know how to control my anger, and might end up taking it out on her. That couldn’t happen.

“I’m sorry,” I said, cupping her face and grazing her cheek with my thumb.

She closed her eyes and leaned into my hand, “It’s like a ton of bricks, and I can feel it with every step I take; I want to let it out, I want to unburden myself, but I can’t, not to you, not ever. I can’t go back there.”