What Lurks in Her Eyes

Chapter Seven: Skeleton

I just couldn't risk it and, her painful whimpers were hurting my heart.

"Shh Anya. You're okay, you're okay. Nothing will hurt you anymore." I peer down at her to see her eyes watery. She's so afraid of my she's crying.

One day, you will believe me. One day, you will understand.

Since my flight back home wasn't until tomorrow afternoon, I had to book the night in a cheap motel in the city. The trek to the motel was a bit long, and I wish Anya would just fall asleep. She needs rest because I can tell she hasn't had a good sleep in a long time.

But she won't relax in my arms. She is stiff and her eyes are wide and alert with panic. People give me weird looks for carrying my slave in such a caring manner.

But I don't care.

I finally reach the cheap motel. It's run down and dirty, but its a place to stay and a roof under our heads. I check in and retrieve the key from the front desk before climbing the stairs to the second floor and finding my room.

The door squeaks when I open it, and I switch on the light that flickers a few times before finding stability.

It's one large room with a single queen sized bed and a couch that doubles as a bed. There's a cramped bathroom with a shower and a single toilet.

No sink.

I close the door behind me and it locks when it shuts.

I go to set Anya down on the bed, but she whimpers and I can almost swear she clung onto me for a moment before giving in and letting go of my arm. She hits the bed and scrambles back against the headboard, shaking.

She looks like an abused puppy and she is filthy. Her wounds are caked in dirt and I know they risk infection if they are not cleaned properly.

I don't really want to wait until we get back to the states to examine her injuries. I'm no doctor but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that wounds need to be cleaned.

"Anya, I'm going to have to clean your wounds. I don't want them to get infected because infection will just cause more problems." I again scoop her into my arms and carry her to the cramped bathroom.

I get on my knees and run some warm water for Anya. She sits beside me as she waits for the water to warm up enough. As usual, her head is bowed, and she refuses to look at me.

Her clothing is merely rags and hang off of her skeletal frame. They are stained in dirt and blood. Her body frame has not an ounce of muscle or fat on it, leaving her body to appear not like a woman's.

Her body has eaten itself in an attempt to live longer, so their is no fat nor muscle left. Her body reminds me of the black and white pictures of the people who lived in Nazi concentration camps.

It's a truly sickening and eye opening sight.

But the damage can be reversed to an extent.

And right now, it starts with a bath and cleaning the wounds.

"Anya, you're going to have to take off your shirt. I have to clean your wounds." I tell her as gently as possible.

She barely nods and she weakly pulls her shirt over her head.

And what I see doesn't surprise me. Her stomach is completely sucked in and her ribs and hips poke out. It looks horribly painful. Her skin is covered in bruises. Some range from light yellow in color while others are dark blue and purple.

Her spine is jagged and protrudes from her back. But the skin of her back is decorated in horrible flog wounds. The wounds are large, inflamed, and red. They are open, revealing the flesh underneath and some of the wounds are so deep, I see bone.

A few already look infected and I swear under my breath.

"How many?" I ask. My wolf is becoming increasingly upset.

There's a moment of confused silence before Anya speaks.

"I-I lost count a-after thirty, Donovan." She whispers.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. Being angry in front of Anya is not an option right now.

"I won't ever let someone whip you ever again." I say to her. She gets undressed the rest of the way and I help her into the tub. She winces when the water lapses against her wounds, but soon she sinks the rest of the way in.

A small, content sigh leaves her lips as she does so, and I smile a little bit.

I wonder how long it's been since she's had a proper bath? How long has it been since she's felt a gentle touch? Has she ever experienced either of those things before?

I had found a soft, smooth sponge inside the makeshift medical cabinet in the room, and I drench the sponge in the warm water. I turn Anya so that her back is faced to me and I gently sponge the open lashes.

She winces each time the sponge comes in contact with her wounds.

"I'm sorry, Anya. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm trying to clean your wounds. I promise you will feel better once they're cleaned, though."

I continue to clean her wounds. It isn't long before the bath water is murky and nasty looking, and I have to take Anya out and drain and refill the tub before setting her back in to finish the job.

I make sure every wound of hers is taken care of and cleaned to the best of my abilities. By the end of the bath, her eyes look tired and heavy.

She looks like she could pass out at any second.

I swaddle her in a light fluffy towel and I dress her in one of my t-shirts and a pair of my sweatpants. She practically swims in them, but she looks warm and comfortable when I set her down on the bed.

As much as I want to sleep on the bed with her, I don't want to frighten her, so I will be taking the couch. "You can sleep now, Anya. You're safe now." I tell her.

I decide that she needs some time alone and I get in the shower after I make sure all the doors are locked. By the time I get out of the shower, Anya is fast asleep. Her breaths are ragged and shallow, but she looks peaceful.

Her terrified look that she always wears has vanished from her face, and in its place is a look of peace and stillness.

But then I notice her feet, which are bare, are completely raw. Gashes are deep in her feet and it feels like I can feel the pain just by looking at them. They are bruised and purple, too.

I decide to clean the wounds on her feet. Her feet are boney and delicate, and I be as gentle with her as I do not want to wake her up.

She mumbles in her sleep as I finish up cleaning her wounds. I am almost done when her mumbles turn into words.

"No.....don't l-leave me w-with him....." Her words are barely even audible, yet I hear them. What is she dreaming about? Her words sounded desperate and terrified. I wait a few more moments to see if she says anything else, but she doesn't.

I finish up and swaddle her feet in thick gauze.

I then set up my own bed on the couch. It's small but it will do.

I strip my shirt off and glance at Anya one last time. When I'm satisfied that she is comfortable enough, I dig my phone out of my pocket and decide that I need to tell my family the good news.

I take the phone call right outside of the door, as I do not wish to wake Anya. My mom immediately answers the phone with excitement in her tone.

"Mom, I'm coming home. I have finally found her."