Saving Scout O'Brian (REMASTERED)

Seven

Scout

Bodies are funny. They house the essence of a person, wrap it in muscle, bone, and organs that each have a primary function dedicated to keeping a body moving, breathing, fighting, and adaptable. They also, have a built-in state of the art security system that goes haywire at the slightest smell of a bad memory, accident, or damage. Primarily, that's a good thing, but not appreciated at three in the morning.

I woke with a scream lodged in my throat, barely managing to shut my mouth before the sound broke free. The sheets twisted around my sweaty legs like snakes, and I kicked them off, sliding to the floor with a thud. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to peel the images permanently stuck to my brain away, tasting blood and seeing it spray across the walls a thousand miles from here. The cool floor was welcome on my skin, and I laid there for a second, willing my pounding heartbeat and trembling limbs to calm. It seldom worked, and a few minutes later I was dragging myself into the bathroom, close to passing out when burning cold water sprayed down on me, shocking me awake. I let the spray pound on my back, my fingers splayed across the tile in front of me, memories of purple-black bruises flashing in and out of my sight.

He's dead now. You're safe. The darkness inside me whispered gently, my skin shivering.

"But I'm still here." I murmured aloud, my voice as broken as my body once was.

"Don't listen to that shit. I'll always be with you, and you know it. We are one now." Every muscle tensed, his voice sliding into my head like oil spilling onto hot concrete, burning away everything that made me, me. I slid to the ground, blinking through hot tears, covering my hand with my mouth to stifle the sob that crawled up my throat. My hands shook, from cold, or shock, or both, I wasn't sure.

The bathroom door creaked open, blissfully ripping me from my thoughts. "Mommy?"

I turned the water off and creaked the shower door open, my heart stuttering at the tears swimming in Charlotte's eyes, her thumb in her mouth. Her voice was a mumble past her thumb, but I understood.

"I heard you being sad." She whimpered.

I sighed. "Come here baby, grab me that towel?"

She did, moving almost hesitantly towards me, which broke my heart. I would never lay a hand on her, or any woman or child for that matter. Stupid ass fuck boys who couldn't keep their zippers or mouths shut? Fair game, and fun. I know Charlotte is just scared to see me like this, but it doesn't do anything to alleviate the guilt I feel that she has to see me like this, at all. I snatch the towel from her, sticking my tongue out, and the smile that breaks as she pulls her thumb from her mouth is well worth living for.

Once my towel is secure, I slip onto the floor and she runs into my arms, ignoring my wet hair as it drips all over us. She curls into my chest, her little hand coming up to trace my cheekbones, the bridge of my nose, and across my forehead. I hug her tightly, a thank you for the way she brings me back, whispering that she's safe, and it'll be okay and that mommy just gets sad sometimes. She didn't always do this. After we escaped, we both suffered from nightmares. More often than not, my panicked screams woke her in the middle of the night, and she'd crawl into bed with me, tracing her little fingers all over my face. The monster in me rumbles appreciatively, the love for her brightening even the darkest parts within me.