Touched

Two, Tender Hands

'gentle hands that are connected to the brutal ones, that lace my mind with new fear'

It seems that my new constant state of being is agony, every inch of my body throbs without prompt, and I can feel the remnants of slashes against my skin without it happening anymore. Like my mind has been awoken thinking it is still trapped in the same place it was before, this inescapable danger that I constantly find myself in.

Okay, maybe the creepy men at the bar weren't inescapable, but it sure does feel like that when your experiencing it, that seems to pale in comparison to what I have gone through now. You hear the stories all the time, but you always think, there's no way that would happen to me, and when it does... well how are you supposed to process that this happens.

That people could be that cruel, that things like those monsters exist to rip apart whatever the view as prey. I keep waiting for my mind to wake up from whatever nightmare it has been frozen into, but it never comes.

The chill that is normally set right down in my bones seems less prevalent, the more I awaken, the more aware of my surroundings I become. The soft slosh of whatever that caresses the tops of my things and crooks of my elbows, normally a hot shower does nothing to ease the chill but not today.

My hands are limp by my side, and I am still not strong enough to move them, lulled into a safety net of warm water and a nap, I could sleep again with my neck supported by the edge of this tub that I am in.

It's a wonderfully calm sensation to be enveloped with, after the horrors of, I am not too sure how long ago. I feel the gentle scrap of a finger, my mind sharpening slightly as I realise that the soft sloshing feeling I have been enjoying is someone running a cloth over my damaged body. The moment I feel the soft and accidental graze of a finger I am snapping my tired eyes open, because people don't wash blood of the people they kidnap and attempt to murder.

There's a concerned burgundy-haired girl leant over the large tub; her thick curls obstruct my view of her face in its entirety, but her eyes are pinched close with worry as she surveys my stomach. The black coat she is wearing is rolled up around her elbows, brown eyes focused intently on wiping the blood off my body.

I can see glimpses of my torn skin in my peripheral vision despite how much I am trying to ignore it, I don't know if I will be able to bare seeing the way those men have left me after their cruelty. I can't even find the energy to be put out by the fact I am now naked in this ladies presence, she hasn't made it known that she is aware of my conscious state.

I pray she remains unaware; this may contradict the way those men treated me, but I can't find myself capable of trusting, whatever she may be. I don't dare move, despite wanting to shift my aching bones. There's a certain soothing quality that this calm girl exudes that it alluring to me, despite that if I could stop breathing I would. Just to make sure she never becomes aware of my eyes trained on her kind actions, in case acknowledging them is what undoes her.

The murky water beneath me is what reminds me of the vicious attack I could face again, my blood has tainted the once clear water. My eyes skim over the circular puncture wounds on my wrist, it's another reminder what my body has gone through over the last day and a bit.

My stomach is littered with dark purple bruising, the wound like a cliff between my ribs and stomach from there repeated slashes, they genuinely could have sliced me in half if they continued. Despite the drowsiness and pounding of everything internal and external I don't feel like I am dying, which means I was lucky they didn't sever an organ.

"Fucking assholes" The woman murmurs to herself, clearly within her own world as she tends to me, the voice tingles something in my chest. Perhaps a familiarity that I can't place. She is practically glaring holes into the cloth as she twists out the dingy water and the sight stirs something strange inside of me.