Pessimist

38 - Tenacious

Time is weird in the sense where hours can feel like days when you stare at a clock, counting down the minutes it takes to go home. Laying here, in the dirt, with a body much stronger than mine weighing me down with their hands around my neck until I'm blue in the face waiting for the cops to come is the longest feeling in the world.

The sound has left my throat, no more pain and just numbness caressing my entire body telling me death has come to its avail to bring me home. I feel saddened, in a way I never have before. My pity consumes me more than myself, but for Dean. But for the person I shoved into my life and now I am woefully leaving without saying goodbye.

The sirens grow louder and Devon has given up on the strangle, now panicking. My eyes are growing heavy, my mouth open wide to choke in the fresh air that I hadn't had before.

"Fucking bitch," he grumbles under his breath, as if my death is inconveniencing him. I should be the one cursing him really I mean, come on. It's been five minutes and he still hasn't choked me properly?

My hand flies to my throat, gagging on the air and Devon only serves to shove me back down, standing up again so he can plan his escape. I'm coughing widely, my eyes widening as I realize I cannot bring in the air I need down to my lungs.

My vision stirs, stars covering the back of my eyes and I'm laying back down without a semblance of hope again because no matter how hard I try I cannot breathe. I can't tell if this is a panic attack or a side effect of his violent strangulation but if I cannot get air into my lungs right now I might—

- - -

A groan leaves my throat followed by pain radiating on every part of my body. It feels like my brain is pounding erratically against my head and just everything fucking hurt.

"Sophia...?" A hesitant voice calls out and I turn my head to the side, blinking back the sleep and shutting them immediately when the light blazes against my vision.

"Light...close." I manage to force out, my throat hurting. I can hear them get up quick at my request, darkness invading my closed lids and I then slowly open them again. A shadow of a person is sitting in the chair beside my bed, and as I look around I notice I'm wired up to some machines that stand prim beside my bed.

With confusion, I go to sit up, immediately falling against the sheets as my headache overtakes me.

Have I mentioned that everything hurts?

Something cold touches my bottom lip and I crack my eyes open again, staring up at a shadow who seems to have circles under his eyes and tear tracks marking his cheeks. Dean looks ultimately dishevelled right now, and not in the sexy let-me-fuck-you kind of way (well I always wanna fuck him but thats besides the point) but in a way that has me sitting up and reaching out to touch his cheek, my thumb rubbing the slight stubble that grows there.

I've never seen him with facial hair, much less wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt anywhere but the confines of our home and that has me on high alert. I go to speak again but the action renders me wincing, stopping myself before I injure myself further. This only has him gently nudging my lips with the cup again, his hand coming over to hold onto my jaw and thumb tracing my bottom lip.

The hand on his face falls as I obey him, opening my mouth allowing him to feed me the water. The action is strangely familiar, my mind flashing back to all those months ago where Dean helped me drink milk and honey in order to help me fall asleep. I can't help it when my eyes well with tears again and with further inspection, so do his as he watches my throat carefully when I swallow.

Silent tears fall down his cheeks and all he does is watch me. As if the thought of him looking away might mean I'll be lost again without him finding me.