The Hurt Game

❧ forty-four

A voice woke me from my slumber. It was still far away and somewhat incoherent, but I could tell it was hissed and urgent, to make sure the other person understood what was said. I shifted a little, burying my face in something solid yet soft.

"Don't... fucking tell me what to do," the other person replied.

My eyes stayed close, but slowly I was waking up and coming to my senses. One, I was not lying on my bed and instead I was lying on the couch. The scents were familiar enough to know I was back home, but how I had come here were unknown to me. And third, my left arm hurt.

"Royden..." A sigh came from one of the other people in the room. I could sense there were more than two, but how many exactly I couldn't figure out. It were all men.

Men. Guns. Running and then tripping, falling on the ground. A knife. There was a knife.

"Stop asking me to calm down. My girlfriend was attacked!" The person was yelling and add it with the flashes of terror, my eyes snapped open. I pushed myself up on the couch, which caused my head to throb painfully and I gasped.

"Wave," someone murmured before a hand was placed on my knee.

I slapped it away. "Don't touch me!" I yelled as I tried to distance myself from the person.

"Waverly, look at me. It's me, Royden," he said.

Reluctantly I turned my head towards him and my eyes met dark brown ones. They were wide and clearly concerned. He swallowed thickly as he extended his hand, opening his arms slightly.

Royden.

Tears welled in my eyes and I flung myself towards him, crashing in his arms. He rocked backwards, but steadied himself with one arm. My whole body shook and shivered as I held him close. My eyes were closed, but still the tears escaped, running down my cheeks in wet strokes. They fell on his hair and shoulders.

"You're safe. I promise you are. I wouldn't let you get hurt, not ever again," he whispered in my ear as he held me tight against him. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest and I slid one of my hands down to it, feeling the soft beat against my palm. It calmed me down enough to stop crying, but I couldn't seem to let go. I couldn't.

His arm slid under my knees and carefully he lifted me, holding me close against him. He sat down on the couch. I was perched on his lap, my face hidden from the world.

Knife. Guns.

The flashes were making me sick to my stomach. They sent a shiver of cold panic through me. I didn't want to remember.

"How do you feel?" he quietly asked me as I pulled away from his neck to wipe my tears.

"Sick," I answered honestly. How was I supposed to feel? I could be dead right now if it hadn't been for Royden to show up at the right time. How was that even possible?

His eyes softened even more, almost saddened at my answer. He brushed my hair from my face before caressing my cheek with his knuckles. A tiny, almost invisible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"I know," he whispered. He swallowed thickly and his nostrils flared as he nodded his head. "But it will get better. I promise it will."

"Sure?"

A pause of two seconds and then he nodded his head again. "Sure."

He wasn't sure. I could tell in the way he looked at me, how he answered me, in the way he hesitated. But for both our sake's, I nodded my head and attempted to show him a small smile.

We continued to stare at each other for a couple of moments, watching the other, studying the other as if it was our last time. It could have been a last time.