I sat on the floor with her and she closed eyes as she nuzzles into my shoulder. Not asleep; just relaxed. She was in a calm state. This was a state I liked and one I rarely saw of her.
~ That night ~
I was awoken by the sound of thunder, the worst I'd heard in years. The rain was going through the window at a fast pace which left me and her both lying in a puddle. Her entire body was a block of ice.
I went to pull up my numb body off the floor with the curtain. I was shocked to see it was ripped to shreds, like claw marks. It wasn't her because it was a rule that, before entering the cells, they had to have all their nails cut regularly to stop violence, cutting and so on..but this didn't stop her from using broken plastic and shattered glass.
In that case, I knew it wasn't me and it definitely wasn't her...maybe it was her and I was being a bit too slack...
I pulled back what was left of the curtain and just back in disbelief. I saw handprints. Now, this would be perfectly normal because people lean on windows, look through the them and put there hands on them etc etc. This isn't so comforting, when you're in an asylum...on the sixth floor...