UNCONSCIOUS THOUGHTS

Worse

EREN POV:

I grab her hand and place it on my chest but she doesn't leave it there. Her hand trails up to my shoulder, dragging her fingertips over my scars and she takes an interest in them. She's doing what I wanted her to do, finding the story within my old wounds.

Our faces are still close together and neither of us pulls away, I'm watching her breathe shakily while she touches my skin. She traces the carves of my muscles, dragging her finger up and down, even down my arm, and touching my arm is where she pauses.

"Earlier, you were having a nightmare...I want to know what it was about." I don't feel anything holding me back from trying to understand more.

"They aren't nightmares, just memories." She answered and I knew immediately which memories she was reliving every time she closed her eyes.

I wondered if she felt unsafe, maybe being with me and around all this violence reminded her of those memories. That made the most sense to me, she had to of felt unsafe right now. I feel her hand leave my body, confirming my thoughts about her not feeling safe with me.

Or so I thought.

She looks away from me, she looks down at my body in front of her and she brings herself right to me. She nestles her head against my chest and I watch her hesitantly and slowly bring her hand to my chest, she palms my chest like she's trying to feel my heartbeat.

I don't push her away. I don't get up and separate myself from her, for once in my life the touch of another person isn't sending fear throughout my body. Her eyes shut, she has no intention of moving as she lays up against me. I reach forward and pull the cover up a bit more, covering her shoulder. The warmth she brings to me is undeniable, her head is still against my chest as we both lay on our sides facing one another.

"I sleep the best when I'm with you...that's all this is." She whispers and keeps her touch on my chest gentle, her eyes open again even though they're supposed to be closed.

She can't seem to stop tracing my tattoos with her eyes and my scars with her fingers. She stops on a particularly large scar on my arm, one even my tattoos didn't cover that well. I can feel her body aching to know what it was from.

"I was seven, I couldn't get myself to torture this man who had lied to my father about something."  I answer without her even asking.

She drags her hand down, I almost flinch at the direction she's going but I quickly realize what she was doing. Her hands run down my abs until she reaches a scar she must've been curious about before because there was no way she could see it now in the dark. Her hands stop just above my waistline, right above my sweats on my lower abdomen to caress a scar, even larger than the previous one.

She waits with her hand there, she wants to know about this one too.

"I was thirteen I believe, and I couldn't get past fifty pull-ups," I told her, I spoke so truthfully all of a sudden. I don't know why being honest with her came so easy when if it was anyone else I wouldn't have told them.

"You've been through a lot...it explains a lot about you." She didn't move her hand from my lower abdomen but my chest tightened at her hand positioning.

"Like what?"

"You've never been given grace for your mistakes, which is why you don't tolerate any and value obedience. It's...sad." She muttered gently and I felt a shift in whatever she was feeling before to something different.

"I make you sad?"

"I don't know, you just—you make me feel for you the more I find out about you." She exhales and I find humor in what she said.