My Protector

Chapter 16

Waking up with a yawn, I blink my eyes open, staring at the plain ceiling for a moment. Rubbing my eyes, I shift, feeling my body sink into the soft cushion of a mattress. Pausing, I glance at the bed, greeted with a dark grey comforter. Another yawn works itself from my body as I glance around. Light grey walls stare back, dark furniture adorn random spots in the room. The occasional random piece of artwork hangs on the wall. This must be Axel's room. Sitting up with a groan, I look to the wooden floors; I cringe.

I don't like wood floors if I don't have socks on. Fighting a laugh as I scan over the random articles of clothing, a shirt or pair of pants left strewn about. Cleaning isn't a priority for him. Two sliding doors rest open, showcasing a closet with only half of its space being used. The other door, sitting partially closed, probably leads into the bathroom. That would be ideal. Scanning the rest of the room, I spot three memory foam dog beds sitting along the wall.

The sight makes my heart melt; as much of a hardass as he can be, he really has a big heart. The small gestures mean the world, especially when they're for my dogs; that makes my day. Axel was forced to break down and buy new beds for my dogs, the old ones no doubt burnt to a crisp. The thought stops me as I swallow harshly; my home has been destroyed. Burned by demons; new or old? While my family hadn't built the cabin themselves, it took years for them to save up for the plot of land.

And to get it built. Now it's all gone. In a few tragic hours, the last things I had belonged to my family, all destroyed by someone's cruel fucking anger. Rubbing my face, I take a deep shaky breath. Who hates me that much? I know Brenda isn't pleased with me; she hates everyone! I can't see telling her off, would make her hate me enough to kill me. Was this all just a ploy for her to scare the hell out of me? Because if so, it worked! All too freaking well!

Shaking my head, I pushed the blanket placed over me carelessly to the side. Swinging my legs to hang over the side, I let out a frustrated sigh, I'm already over having this cast. And I've only been walking around for less than a day. Mother nature is requesting that I empty my bladder. Grabbing the crutches beside the bed I stand up, I really need to talk to Axel and get some kind of cover for these. I don't know what hurts more, my hands or armpits. Crutching over to the bathroom, I appease mother nature's call.

Standing at the sink, I wash my hands, glancing up in the mirror, my stomach churns at the sight I'm met with. Faint remnants of the horrific bruising stain my normally pale skin. Small yellow bruises litter my chin and cheeks. A large nasty one spans the right side of my jaw, down to my throat; the edges are yellowing. The center of it is blue, almost black; my hand reaches for it automatically. Hovering over the bruise, I pause for a moment before dropping my hand.

I figured I looked like hell; this is worse than I thought it was. My eyes continue to travel over my exposed skin, taking in the scabbed over abrasions and the other fading bruises. Sucking in a breath, get it over with; lifting my shirt to expose my stomach. Swallowing harshly, my eyes are fixed on the abnormal coloring. Remnants of stitching draws my attention; my left side sports a healing mark. A piece of shrapnel or a bullet wound. Gripping the thin material of the tank top; my heart pounds in my chest.

My head aches as a migraine forms. I don't remember a lot of that night, and what I do is still blurry and unclear. I remember hearing bikes and gunshots. But everything after that is flashes of images that make little sense. Axel told me my car had been blown up, from the front of my house he expects the same thing. Why don't I remember that? I can hardly see that as something you'd just push out of your mind. Is there more that my mind has blocked out?

That leaves a sour taste in my mouth. What else would my mind block out? Why is that even a fucking possibility? These black empty spaces in my mind hurt and worry me so much more; driving me mad. Watching my hand as it moves over a tender large discolored bruise. Only a bit of swelling remains. If this is what it looks like after a week, I'd hate to have seen when all of this was fresh. Swallowing my legs shake as I struggle to stand, sitting down on the tub I rest my elbows on my legs.