17
Ihead into the bedroom, feeling exhausted after the lack of sleep the night before. I expect to find Wren in the bed, still sleeping. Doc had said she would sleep a lot, to recover from all the shit she went through with Valentine but when I enter, I don’t find her in the bed.
The sheets are rumbled, a breeze blowing in through the open window, the curtains swishing as it does. There are small splotches of blood on the white cotton and my eyes frantically search the room for her until they land on the dustbin outside the bathroom, filled with the used bandages from her wounds and the bathroom door closed.
I cross the room and press on the handle, finding it locked.
Her breathing is heavy from the other side, so loud I can hear every intake and exhale of breath. Can hear how it’s filled with pain, a rattle of air that pushes forcefully from her lips.
“Wren!”
She doesn’t respond.
“WREN!”
My shoulder slams into the door.
She doesn’t respond to either my voice or my need to get in.
“Wren, I swear to fucking God. Open this fucking door!”
I get no response and I flip, a rage with no off button. I slam my shoulder into the door, once, twice, three times before the wood splinters and the lock comes away. The door slams into the wall on the other side, cracked down the middle and dangling from its hinges.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” I boom, unable to completely understand the picture before me.
Wren, naked, wet, bleeding, the blade from my razor grasped between her fingers as she runs the long edge down her thigh, peeling the skin away over the top of that fucking brand Valentine gave her. Her fingers ribboned with blood, sweat on her brow, dripping down her spine.
She meets my eyes, but I don’t see anything there, just a soulless, dead and broken stare. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face twists with pain as she continues to mutilate herself.
Fuck.
“STOP!” I boom.
It’s as if she cannot hear me.
I have no choice, I cross the space between us and rip the blade from her hand, feeling her blood mingle with mine as the same blade cuts into the palm of my hand.
“Get off me!” She screams, her fists pounding into my shoulders.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”
“I’ll fucking kill him!”
She thrashes and convulses as I grab her, hauling her over my shoulder as I take her back into the room, throwing her naked onto the bed. Her eyes are wild, my little bird isn’t there at the moment, instead, she’s being drowned by whatever this is.
She tries to get up, but I force her back down and as I hold her there, I reach across and open the top drawer of the cabinet by the bed. Her blood stains the sheets, runs over my skin and seeps through my clothes. Her eyes are wide, face twisted in anger, in pain and in sorrow. Tears leak from her eyes, sliding over her temples and into her hairline.
The nightmares might manifest themselves,the doc said,it’s unusual but not unseen in cases like this. If she doesn’t calm, sedate her, it’ll be like a reset for her mind.
I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my time, but this feels wrong. Whilst I may not understand all this shit going on inside of my body, I know don’t want to do this to her though I see no other way.
Again, she tries to get up, but I stop her, throwing her back down on the bed and using my weight to keep her there.
“I want to kill him!” She sobs, “But I need this gone, Lex, please. Take this brand off me!”
Her cries twist like a knife to the stomach.
“Please!”