Their Broken Angel

Chapter Three

I wake up in a puddle of my own blood, disoriented, confused, and naked. Aw fuck. Not again. I mentally groan before trying to assess the damage. Other than my ribs, I don't think any bones are broken. I wiggle all my fingers and toes just to make sure. Pain lances through my right pinky. Well, shoot. I guess I was wrong. It doesn't look too bad though, hopefully just a fracture. I mean, it doesn't look crooked at all, so that's a good sign.

Carefully, I get to my hands and knees, painfully aware of the fact that my clothes have vanished. Come on. You can do this. Just get up and run to your room. School and work can wait. Just get to safety. Unfortunately, my brain and my body disagree on that plan. The second I get to my knees, I collapse with a small scream.

Tears stream from my eyes and I let myself collapse back to the floor. Who am I fooling? I can't do this. I don't know how much longer I can take this. Maybe it would just be easier if I- NO. That's not what mom would have wanted. She always used to say, "Every life is sacred Ember. Every person, plant, animal, and even every bug has a life. it's our job to respect that."

With that thought in mind, I grit my teeth and force my broken body to stand. Wobbling on my shaky legs like a newborn deer, I hobble to the wall and brace myself against it. Sucking in a deep breath, I plow onwards, taking one small baby step at a time. The knowledge that they could come back at any second keeps me moving.

I make it all the way to the stairs before my legs give out once again. Crying out as my knees hit the floor, I start crawling up the stairs, determined to make it to safety. One step at a time. Hand, hand, knee, knee, repeat. One after the other.

After what seems like hours, I make it to the top of the stairs. Allowing myself a breather, I rest my torso against the wall, hissing as the multitude of cuts and bruises touch the hard surface. I count to a hundred, then start back up again. I know that there's no possible way I'm going to stand, so I resign myself to crawling.

I just have to make it to the end of the hall. My room is the furthest from the stairs and while I usually enjoy that, today, I despise it. Once I'm just feet away from my door, my arms give out. What did I do to deserve this? I contemplate giving up then and there, just sleeping right in front of my door. But the promise of further torture reminds me that I can't stay out in the open. Not in this state.

Too weak to even crawl, I drag my body along, gripping whatever I can reach in order to do so. I feel pathetic. I probably look pathetic too. But what was I supposed to do? Sit and wait for them to take advantage of me while I'm passed out? Leave my wounds to fester? I don't think so.

Finally, I reach my room. Laughing in relief, I close the door behind me and lock it, letting my body slump to the floor in a heap. Feeling a weight lift off my chest, I look up at the sky and say a quick thank you to whatever angel just helped me.

Too weak to worry about cleaning my wounds or making it to the dirty blanket that doubles as a bed, I let my eyes flutter closed right there on the floor.

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I watch as four-year-old me cries at my mother's bedside. She was on her last leg at that point. I had been trying all day to make her smile, but she was in so much pain that nothing was working. "Mommy? I'm scared. I don't want you to go to the clouds. I want you to stay here with me." I say stubbornly.

My mother laughs softly, the action causing her to cough violently. "I don't want to go to the clouds either honey, but sometimes we just don't have a choice." Her voice is terrible and croaky, from the harsh coughs that violently shake her fragile body. "Don't you worry though, sweet pea. You are going to be just fine. You have Jack and Ryker and Lucas to keep you company."