“How are you feeling?”
Her eyelids slowly peeled themselves open against the sandpaper that seemingly held them closed; the room began to swim slightly, so she closed them again to stop the ocean of nausea that threatened to consume her if she tried to respond to her husband’s question.
“Don’t try to sit up,” he placed his oversized hand gently on her chest to ease her body backwards again; “You’re hurt pretty bad, Babe…”
The tears came then, despite her efforts to stop them; and she began to sob loudly in her husband’s lap. He calmly lulled her crying and soothed her with repeated pats gently to her back, strokes to her hair…words to her heart.
“It’s okay, I’m sorry….I’m so sorry, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
She cried out of sheer disgust and disbelief and disdain; her tears did not come from the numbed out physical injuries, whatever they may be this time, she wasn’t yet sure; she cried because of the mind-fuck life that she had built for herself with this crazed man-thing.
After a few moments of mental processing and crying, she again sat forward and successfully fought off the waves of nausea against the motion.
“I’m fine, I’m okay…” She wiped at her bloody, snotty face to clear her hair from the way; “Can I please clean up?”
Her husband looked down at her with a sad face, a truly sad face…she stared into his dark blue eyes and sought out a human being somewhere in the vast coldness within. Her heart began to thump heavily inside of her ribcage again as his calm voice spoke to her.
“Of course you can…do you need any help?” His huge frame shifted slightly beneath her tiny one, as he began to jump up in action to her request.
The woman thought briefly about this question before saying,
“Maybe you can pour me a bath?”
With that, her husband lifted her broken body off of his lap and placed her carefully down again after he stood up to go run her bathwater. She lay there in silence, in darkness; afraid to make her way into the bathroom where she would have no choice other to see her reflection in the mirror. She could hardly feel her own body these days; the numbness that her inner-survivor had cultivated and learned to maintain made feeling her physical injuries rather difficult anymore. She knew instinctively, however, that she was in bad shape…The Ripper only babied her when he feared her death.
“How are you feeling?”