Her Shadows

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AMELIA POV

Searing pain. Swollen eyes. Aching bones.

I peal my eyelids open, the light cracking through. The sun's rays burning my irises and with an accompanying stabbing headache I close my eyes again.

I groggily bring a hand up to cradle my forehead, a small groan escaping.

Shifting from where I lay on my side to sprawl on my back, a new array of pain sweeps through my limbs.

Attacking my bruised stomach, piercing my ribs and shoulders. The force of falling to my back alights a pain so fierce in my right shoulder it almost sends me unconscious again.

Taking stock of my injuries, still avoiding opening my swollen eyes, I trail my left hand to my right shoulder, feeling the dislocated joint. It's currently sitting far too forward and almost completely ripped from the socket. Just the slightest whisper of a touch sent yet another wave of pain to rocket through my body.

Using the same hand, I trail across my ribs, feeling gently for any dislocations or breaks. Having felt the familiar pain before I am thankful to note I only suffered a small fracture.

The same thankfulness could not be said for my battered abdomen. The skin already swelling.

Moving quickly, I trace that hand down my thigh, my core muscles shifting with the movement and erupting yet another debilitating surge of agony as I find an oozing gash high on my thigh.

Fuck.

With one last grimace, I tense my jaw and force myself to sit up. The movement so harsh against my injuries I can feel my vision swirl behind my eyelids and bile crawl up my throat.

I grip the nearby desk and haul myself to standing.

You can do this. Stop being a wuss and just get to your room.

Limply I hobble to the door and knock, knowing that Eugene would have left a servant girl behind to clean me up once he had finished.

Finally peeling my eyes open I can only manage a small squint without paralysing pain.

Just as I predicted a meek and innocent woman opens the door, eyes downcast and face pale. 

She shuffles toward me and silently stands behind.

She knows how this all works.

She's there simply to ensure I don't fall but I would walk on my own.

No matter how injured, how broken, how battered I was I would always walk myself to my room.It would be a weakness to require help.

So that is what I do. Slowly and with blood splashing against the floors. Floors the poor girl behind me would likely be cleaning soon. The metallic tang coating my senses as I feel it in my throat, in my nose, circling in my veins. It's the blood that I focus on as I hobble to my room. Each step an agony.

Once I reach the blessed room, the servant girl shuts the door with a silent farewell and only 

once I hear the distinctive click do my knees give out.

Not having the energy to drag myself to standing again I decide the floor is a nice enough place to take a nap.

~~~

Waking in a haze I once again feel the after effects on my abuse. My shoulder is still dislocated and is rebelling against my less-than adequate sleeping arrangements. My eyes peel open and detect only the slightest hue of sun through the blinds. The sun is setting?

I must have spent the entire day unconscious.

Stupid. Eugene or Aaron could have come in at any moment.

Not allowing myself another display of weakness I force my body to stand. Feeling just as pained as the first time but refusing to let out the slightest hiss of discomfort.

I almost collapse on my way to the bathroom but manage to stay upright. Now standing in front of the grand mirror and porcelain sink I can see the extent of the damage done.

My eyelids are swollen and purple, my lips are bee-stung and split with clotted blood coating them like lip-gloss. My singlet is now unceremoniously ripped and left in tatters revealing pale skin painted black and blue.

My skin caves in awkwardly where my fractured rib must be placed, and my shoulder remains out of place. Deciding that was a good place to start I grip the muscle and violently shift it backwards. My mouth opens on a silent scream as I feel it slip into place.

I fall forward, having to hold the sink to prevent my body toppling to the floor. I was sure if I fell I would not be getting back up.

My eyes then trail to my leg. The gash was a lot deeper than I had originally assumed. Had he cut me?

Not remembering that particular moment I chose to ignore the notion that he continued my beating well past falling unconscious.

I sit myself on the lid of the toilet and, with the help of a pair of scissors found in the draws, I cut my ruined shorts. Pulling away the fabric I'm left in my black panties. The gash sat high on her thigh and had begun to clot.

I proceeded to clean the wound and grabbed my nearby sowing kit to begin stitching the wound. The pain was excruciating and soon I couldn't handle the agony without my body attempting to give up.

I reached into the bottom shelf under the sink and pulled out a half-full bottle of vodka. I kept it in here for this exact purpose. The alcohol helping to numb my senses.

Soon all my wounds had been cleaned, stitched and wrapped and I was left hiccupping on the toilet seat with an empty bottle in hand.

Oops.

By some miracle, I manage to crawl back to my bedroom and collapse onto the silk sheets.

Maybe I'll just sleep for a bit longer.