Forever Bound

Just Please Fix It

The sharp pain in my back causes me to groan. The strange, stainless white sheets make my lips tug down into a frown. I sit up and look around at the room room. The clock in the nightstand says it's just three in the morning.

Through the large glass windows, I see trees mixed with the dark shadows. Their branches are still, but a few shake from whatever creatures run and climb in them. My memory kicks in, the last thing I remember is gunshots and being chased. "Warren?" I call out in an airy whisper.

I wince softly as I bring my feet around. I try very hard not to over think, but the longer it takes me to get through the door, the more I feel a shortness of breath.

I open the door and my hands latch onto the door frame to keep myself from rolling down the stairs. Thank goodness for the dim hall light that hangs over them, otherwise I would have confidently walked to what could've been my doom.

What is supposed to be a quiet tip-toe, turns into loud pattering down the wooded steps. All of my weight leans into the rail. This must be some sort of loft bedroom or something.

I wander through a dining room, a kitchen and a little room with a desk and office area. "Warren," I breathe out when I see him through the back door.

I open it and he looks up from the chair and jumps up. "Don't come out here, it's cold..." He flicks a cigarette bud to the floor of the oak deck. I didn't even know he smoked.

I step back when he comes inside and shuts the door. "Warren, where are we?" My hands take his wrists. "Who was that-"

He shushes me, and looks at me with the most calm, emotionless eyes. None of this is new to him. "You're safe, okay? We're okay. I'm going to figure out who it was, I promise I'll explain it later."

"Is this what you were talking about? The kind of people you-"

His jaw clenches but he doesn't look away. "Yes..."

My feet peddle backwards. I feel like I was just punched in the gut at the sudden sick feeling. "Dawson-"

"Warren, they were in my fucking house!" I scream. "I was- I was in the shower. He could've," I can't even say it, "I was being shot at!"

He reaches for my hand, but I swat him away. "Tell me those bullshit lines again, and I swear-" I don't want to hear that I'm okay, I'm safe, and all that nonsense. I want answers. Everything was going fine, how does this happen with no warning? What the hell does he do that these people want to come into my apartment with a damn gun pointed at my head?

He looks at me, waiting for me to finish. My sight blurs and the tips of my fingers press into my eyes. "The baby could've-" my voice breaks. The idea makes me break down in tears.

I let Warren wrap his arms around me and pull me into his chest. My hands cover my face with shame, I've never cried this hard in front of anyone—ever.

"You need to go to sleep," he mumbles into my hair.

"Don't tell me what to do," I snap defensively, but my voice still sounds weak and broken. His hand rubs small circles on my lower back. "My back hurts like hell," I mumble.

"A doctor is coming to look at you," he says, "you need to at least lay down, Dawson."

Ironically, I try to hold an incoming yawn in. Warren is right, I'm tired. I think I can sleep better knowing that I'm with him and everything is fine. "Okay..."

"Come on," he doesn't let me go but he walks me upstairs, I try to calm myself down. Nothing is more embarrassing to me then crying.

I lay down, this time getting under the heavy sheets. My legs curl beneath me, and my toes scrunch so tight that they almost crack. Warren sits beside me on the edge of the bed. He just stares, but it's not directly in my eyes or face. "What?"