Page 55 of Beautifully Wounded

“Yes, that’s it, Angel. Try again.”

Again my words spur her on, those big wide eyes glassed over as she struggles, locked onto my face like I’m her lifeline.

Her lips part, and she manages another deep gasp as I hold her cradled to my chest, keeping the cold can in place.

“More,” I demand, and that’s when her airways finally open, and the much-needed oxygen starts rushing back in.

“Thatta girl,” I rasp, moving back to the end of the bed, sitting with her still in my arms as she takes in breath after breath of air.

“I-I’m s-sorry.” She manages to get out on a choked sob, which is when she completely breaks.

Her heart wrenching cries fill the room, her face contorting in agony that tells a tale of the internal pain she’s been suffering. Wave after wave of pain pierces the air, the anguish so intense that I feel it to my bones.

I know this pain. The undeniable crushing feeling of loss.

I don’t know what it is she’s lost. Did someone close to her die?

I fucking hope not. Being left behind by someone that makes up the other half of your heart is an excruciating death of its own. But if it isn’t that, then I’m almost too afraid to consider what has transpired to cripple her like this.

Whatever she has gone through is undeniably unbearable.

Her dainty hands clutch onto my shirt like she’s barely able to keep her head above the torment drowning her.

“I’ve got you, Angel. I’ve got you.”

I squeeze her as tight as I can, holding her to my chest as she unleashes the pain within, not knowing what else I can do but hold her through it.

And fuck, I’d do just about anything to get her to stop crying like this. To stop enduring whatever trauma she is reliving in her head.

“I’ll protect you. They can’t hurt you anymore,” I rasp against her hair, hoping my words break through enough that she believes them.

It’s a long time before her cries lessen, eventually shifting into painful sobs, but I keep holding her, rocking a little, trying anything to soothe her pain away.

I still when I find myself pressing my lips to her hair.

Did I justfucking kiss her?

If she noticed, she mustn’t care because she doesn’t stiffen, or shift, or even make a noise, which is when I realise Abbey has cried herself to sleep in my arms.

Well, fuck.

That’s just as heartbreaking.

Brushing her hair back off her tear-stained face, even in sleep she’s frowning, like the nightmare she’s lived has followed her there.

“If I could take away your nightmares, Angel, I would.”

Fucking hell, now I’m talking to a sleeping woman.

Sighing, I tip my head back to look at the paint peeling on the ceiling. I’ve stared at that fucking patch of peeling paint for months, wanting to fucking fix it, yet not really having the desire to waste my time on this fucking dump.

It’s not my real home. It belongs to the club, and is the best way for us to remain a unit with all these fucking lockdowns, but one thing is for sure, this fucking place isn’t good enough for Abbey.

I need to get her somewhere safer and fucking cleaner.

I stay sitting on the end of the bed for so long, staring at her, barely noticing the party still in full swing outside. The celebrations are out of place compared to the darkness staining the four walls of this shitty room tonight. I have to stop myself numerous times from opening the door and demand every fucker shut the hell up and have some respect.

It’s not their fault, though. They don’t know what’s happening in here. They don’t know that the female, barely a woman, that I snuck into the compound is a girl I stole. They don’t know that she’s been abused by her parents and her fiancé, and justlike me, they don’t know the extent of the abuse. They don’t know the pain she is suffering. The agony tearing shreds off her soul.

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