Repairing the Hurt

Chapter 7

We watch movies well into the night. Some are really good, others are really bad.

Gabriel chose one of the really bad ones and Silas ended up throwing a pillow at him and dozing off on the couch.

I was swapped between laps the whole time. Sometimes I was with North, other times Silas when he wasn't asleep, Gabriel when he didn't have pillows being thrown at him, Luke in between my tea cravings, and I was wedged between Sean and Owen at one point. Victor has been asleep for awhile, and from what I gathered, he'd been in much need of it.

After our third movie, I can't help but yawn. I don't want to go to sleep, but I know I need it. I've been running on fumes for days now. Dreams or no dreams, I'm dazing out too much.

"Want to try sleeping again?" North asks me, rubbing his eyes.

No. "Yes."

The others who aren't sleeping go and collect blankets and pillows, setting up makeshift beds on the living room floor.

"Want to head into Nathan's and get situated?" He follows up.

I tense a bit at that. "Can I stay out here with all of you instead?" My hands fidget at my sides and I can't look them in the eyes, not when I hear them stop moving and look at me.

"Of course you can, Sweetie," Luke answers.

Nathan goes into his room and collects his blankets and pillows, adding to the blanket fort.

I try to help but they just wave me off, unsurprisingly so.

I wander to the bathroom, taking care of business again and getting ready for another difficult night. Then I walk by the front door and sit beside my bag.

A quick glance inside reveals the three million dollars still there, both 9mm handguns, and my favorite knives. I quickly close it and decide to set it under the side table for now until I could stash it someplace more secure with less eyes.

I wander back to the sleeping area and climb in next to Victor, burying my face into his shoulder.

I say nothing, just scooting in closer to him, basking in his warmth and closing my eyes.

♡♡♡

I'm back in the slaves' tent. Ezekiel's hand is tangled in the cloth they consider clothing.

He's calling me names. He thinks I can't understand. And I'm the stupid bitch.

He pushes me down, down into the large basin of water, holding my head under.

I've gotten much better at holding my breath since the first time he did this, but he can't know that.

I thrash underneath him, but take care to keep calm. The moment I panic is the moment I lose control.

He keeps my head under.

I'm kicking out with my legs now, thrashing more violently.

He's holding me under longer than usual.

Keep calm.

Now my thrashings are getting more real.

My lungs are burning.

He usually lets me up by now.

Oh no.

He's killing me.

No no no.

I don't want to die.

Not yet.

My mouth opens against my will and water rushes in.