“That’s right,” he encouraged as she turned her face into his chest and rubbed her cheek on his shirt, grabbed at the worn cotton with a small, bloodied hand. “That’s a good girl, I’ve got you. You did a good job coming here and I’m sure it wasn’t easy. I’m so proud of you for being so brave.”
Her body was wracked with sobs and guilt swamped him—he hadn’t meant to make her cry harder, it must hurt. Maybe he could distract her by asking questions.
“Hey, you know my name’s Hudson and my roommate is Ian, but I don’t know your name. Can you tell me your name?”
The dispatcher and the EMTs would no doubt be asking too.
Poor little thing hiccuped and in a halting, creaky voice said something he couldn’t quite make out.
“Did…did you say ‘Cozy’?”
It would be fitting. She was cuddly like a kitten and felt so goddamn right snuggled in his arms aside from how bony she was. He could feel her sharp angles even through the puffy comforter.
She shook her head, and pulling away from him a little said, “Cosima. My name’s Cosima.”
“Such a pretty name for such a pretty girl,” he crooned to her while he stroked her hair. Except that she winced when he brushed over a lump on her scalp, and fuck.Fuck. Was there anywhere she hadn’t been hit?
“Would it be okay if I called you Cosy?” he asked, softening the z into an s, and she nodded.