Page 103 of Grim

“You should,” she whispered. “You didn’t sleep last night.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t insist. Just watched her with that quiet, steady intensity that made her feel both seen and exposed.

Sophia pushed herself upright, her muscles protesting, her legs unsteady. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, pooling around her hips. The room felt colder without Grim’s warmth.

She stood slowly, her body stiff, her breath shallow. The living room looked different in the morning light — softer, gentler — but her body didn’t trust it yet.

She walked toward the bathroom on autopilot, her hand brushing the wall to steady herself. The familiar creak of the floorboard under her foot made her flinch, a small, involuntary jerk she couldn’t control.

She hated that. Hated how her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

The bathroom door felt heavier than it should’ve. The light switch clicked too loudly. The brightness stabbed at her eyes.

She kept her gaze down — toothbrush, sink, tile floor — anything but the mirror.

She brushed her teeth without looking up. Washed her face without lifting her chin. Tied her hair back by feel alone, fingers fumbling through the strands.

But she couldn’t avoid it forever.

Her breath hitched as she finally forced herself to look.

Just a glance. Just a second.

It was enough.

Bruises shadowed her jaw, faint yellow and purple fingerprints blooming across her skin. A cut near her temple, still tender. The ghost of someone’s grip on her upper arm. Her eyes looked wrong, darker, hollowed, like someone had scooped out the light and replaced it with something sharp and tired.

Her throat closed.

She gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles went white, grounding herself against the cold porcelain. Her reflection blurred as tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them back.

She didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not now. Not because of him.

But the truth pressed in anyway.

This was her face. Her body. Her life.

And yet it felt like she was looking at a stranger wearing her skin.

She turned the light off. The mirror disappeared into shadow. She didn’t look again.

When she stepped back into the hallway, Grim was sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was praying or bracing or both. The moment he heard her footsteps, he lifted his head.

His eyes softened. His shoulders eased. He reached for her without touching her.

“You okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.

Sophia swallowed hard. “I’m… trying.”

The words felt thin. Fragile. Like they might crack if she breathed too hard.

Grim nodded once. “You want coffee?”

She did. She didn’t know if she could drink it, her stomach was a tight, trembling knot, but she wanted the ritual. The normalcy. Something that didn’t feel like survival.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

She walked into the kitchen, each step careful, her body still stiff and sore, like her bones were remembering every hour she’d spent curled on cold concrete. The morning light filtered through the window in soft, dusty beams, but even that felt too sharp against her skin.