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She’s… appealing. I think about it from as objective of a viewpoint as I can manage. It’s not that I don’t find women attractive at all, I just haven’t met a girl that did it for me.
Her eyes show the stress of the past day, dark circles like light bruising make them look slightly sunken into her face. It doesn’t look bad, though. It gives her an interesting, almost mysterious look that I find oddly attractive, and reminds me a bit of Lukas. He has what I’ve always thought of as “sleepy eyes”, and it’s one of the things I always found especially attractive about him.
With my head resting on one crooked arm, I look over to the end of the bed and peek at Lukas. Every time I’ve looked up at him in the past day, he’s been staring back at me, demanding my attention. He looks lost in thought now, resting his chin in one hand, elbow against the bed. He’s staring at his other hand, brushing tiny circles over the blankets with his long fingers.
A heavy sadness, laced with guilt, settles over me. Not only for the way I left him in the past, but for intentionally fighting with him and putting him off the way I have been since running into him yesterday. Because I’m a coward.
The truth is I still love him, I never stopped. I can’t imagine loving anyone more or instead of him. Not a day has passed where he isn’t constantly on my mind. Seeing him yesterday, and now spending 24 hours in his presence, only compounds how much I’ve missed him. Even if I think he’s being a jackass about the girl.
Lukas catches me watching him. At first, I snap my gaze away from him, but my eyes can’t help but look back. I have a small epiphany the moment our gazes truly lock together, the dark blue depths pulling me in.
It’s the same feeling I got when I first locked eyes with her, too.
Jane Doe
The few hours I manage to sleep are fraught with horrific nightmares.
As soon as I close my eyes all I can see is a faceless man in a trucker hat looming over me, crushing the breath out of me with his huge gut, his breath smelling of stale coffee and chewing tobacco. I can’t move and I can’t breathe as he paws at my thighs like an animal. Everything spins and the scene shifts, and now I’m standing over him with a knife. Gleefully, I stab him over and over, blood spurting and pouring everywhere as I laugh and stab him again and again. My laughter turns into choking and blood pours out of my mouth. I reach into my stringy, matted hair and unzip my scalp the way you would a sweater, pulling out a tiny computer chip that blinks and beeps loudly. I scream and run, the bleeding trucker and shadowy black figures at my heels as I run and run until I can’t breathe. I turn to retch behind a dumpster, vomiting blood until I collapse and my body convulses, helpless as the figures chasing me finally catch up, pawing at me with dirty hands.
I wake up gasping for air and retching. Before I can get my bearings, I panic at the closeness of the body lying next to me and I push him away, desperate to escape the clutches of the faceless trucker. Multiple sets of hands reach out to settle me, trying to comfort me and tell me I’m safe but I’m not. I’m not. And neither is anyone else - because monsters are chasing me and I’m a murderer.
My face is drenched in tears, pouring out of my eyes, hot and fast like blood running down my face. My whole body is shaking, and I can’t pull myself together, unable to look at anyone or focus on anything. The room is closing in around me and I can’t catch my breath.
Someone wraps his arms around me, gently squeezing like he’s going to physically hold me together while I fall apart. My first instinct is to struggle, my heart pounding against my ribs, bile rising in my throat. The bed shifts as he settles closer beside me, hugging me against his body and humming an unfamiliar melody. My mind stills and I relax into the embrace. He smells vaguely like leaves and when I turn my face into his body, the rough scratch of his stubble helps me settle. Burying my face into his neck, I choke out sobs until I’m able to take shaky breaths.
As I come back to myself, I pull myself away from Jackson’s neck, embarrassed at the giant wet spot left from my tears and snot. Five sets of eyes are watching me with fear and concern. I take one more, deep, shaky breath and try to force back the tears that are still falling. I’ve made it this far through this whole ordeal without breaking down only to embarrass myself because of a nightmare.
But it felt so real.
Once my breaths are steady, I sit up and wipe my face. The bandage from my head has come loose. I attempt to tuck the loose end under the edge so it will hold without unraveling.
Luis grabs my left hand, holding it gently while he runs a warm, damp rag over my arm and hand. In my mindless struggle, I ripped out my IV. There is blood splattered over my arm, hand, the sheets, and a little on Luis himself. He doesn’t look bothered by it, but I’m pretty bothered by the whole thing.
I’m too embarrassed, and if I’m being really honest - too traumatized, to speak yet.
Jackson, still sitting on my right, tips my chin up and looks me in my eyes. His bright green eyes twinkle back at me, murmuring words of comfort.
“You are safe. We are going to keep you safe. Do you hear me? We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” I look into each of their faces and the looks in their eyes reflect his words.
Even Lukas is staring back at me with resolve as he tells me earnestly, “You are not a murderer.”
“You defended yourself,” says Micah.
“If anything, you’re a badass.” Of course, Luis is serious, he seems to relish the idea that I killed a man.
“Besides,” adds Bennet, “No one outside of this room will ever know. Not what he did to you, or what you may or may not have done to protect yourself. And if that is what happened, think of how many women you saved from ever having to suffer the same treatment.”
“He’s right.” Jackson and the others are nodding in agreement.
Tears are falling again, but this time with relief.
Micah walks around the bed and bends down next to Luis. “Here, I can fix this.”
Jackson jumps up to check on lunch while Micah fixes my IV. He pulls a small, plastic covered package from a drawer and reinserts a new IV line, this time in the side of my wrist. Luis resumes holding my hand the moment he’s finished.
The nurse carries in a tray table and Jackson follows behind, pushing a cart with about a dozen different sandwiches and bottles of water. The tray table that she sets over my lap has another large tumbler of ice water, a bottle of apple juice, and some lemon slices. There is a covered dish that turns out to be broth, which smells delicious, and there is also some toast and applesauce.
“We’ve got to start you off light, but if you handle this we’ll make sure you get something good for dinner.” She straightens my bandage, only pursing her lips when she sees the blood and IV. Jackson must have told her what happened.
