Wretched Love

“I don’t blame you,” I declared, my voice sounding weird, garbled, and my ribs stinging from the breath used to expel the words. My throat felt raw, as if I’d swallowed pure acid.

The pain was constant, grating and overwhelming. I’d forgotten what it felt like to not have this pain. Forgotten what my body had felt like before all of this. When it was mine. When it was mine and Swiss’s. I ached for him to claim it once more. But I knew from the way he handled me that that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“Don’t try to talk,” Swiss murmured, brushing my hair gently from my face. Oh so gently. As if I were a porcelain doll. That had not changed in all of these days. As much as I loved Swiss, his presence, his scent, his hands on me, I was coming to hate that gentle touch. It was saturated in his pain. He was going above and beyond to not hurt me further, but little did he know, that gentle touch hurt more than my injuries.

“No,” I argued, bracing against the pain. “I need you to know, I don’t blame you.” I held his eyes. “I’m mad at you, let’s not get that wrong.” My voice was scratchy, high, thin. Every word sounded like it was about to break.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes which were full of agony. I gritted my teeth, seeing that.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, baby.” His voice was bursting with regret and guilt.

“Mad, we can get over,” I coughed, wincing at how shredded my throat felt. “Mad, we can work with. But you blaming yourself for another man hurting me, you thinking I blame you... We can not work with that.”

Swiss’s face turned stormy, despite whatever promise he’d made to himself to stay soft and gentle with me in the wake of my injuries. I was glad about that. I couldn’t stand him being soft and gentle. That wasn’t him.

“We’ll talk about this later,” he growled. “When you’re healed.”

“No,” I choked out. “We’ll talk about this now.” I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a breath before I spoke again. “Before this becomes a wound that will not heal.” I stared into his eyes, determined. “I do not blame you. There is no blame except for the man who I guess is either chained up in a basement somewhere or in a shallow grave.”

His jaw was rigid. “Oh, it’s much, much too early for him to feel the cool embrace of death,” he grumbled.

Ice crept across my skin.

I couldn’t think of the reality of that right now. Couldn’t think of my daughter, the one who adored her daddy, losing him, no matter what kind of monster he was.

“Right,” I wheezed. “So there is one man responsible for my bruises, my broken bones.”

Swiss flinched as I spoke, his eyes running over every inch of me.

“He is responsible,” I whispered, the pain exhausting me. My eyelids fluttered. “He is responsible,” I managed to squeak out before I drifted off to sleep.

I was discharged a few days later.

Well, I was only discharged after Swiss took me home against medical advice.

It was the middle of the night when he did all of this insisting. After I’d jerked awake from a nightmare. I’d been having them every night since I’d woken up and resumed a semi-regular sleep schedule. Swiss was sleeping with me at that point. Each time I’d jerk awake, he’d hold me tighter to him and murmur, “You’re safe. I’m here. You made it. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere.”

I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or himself.

He repeatedly whispered those sentences, kissing my hair, and eventually I’d drift back off.

But not that night.

I knew that I wouldn’t go back to sleep. That I couldn’t.

“I need to get out of here,” I croaked. My voice was still scratchy, still unrecognizable, but able to form more complete sentences without breaking off.

“A couple more days, baby,” Swiss muttered, voice tight. My nightmares shook him. To the core. As if he wasn’t already shaken up.

He hated the nightmares I had. That he couldn’t chase them off.

“No,” I demanded as firmly as I could in my gravelly voice. “I can’t be here a couple more days. I can’t be here for another moment.” My croaky voice had an edge of hysteria now. I couldn’t help it. I felt hysterical. Like my skin might split open if I didn’t get out of here.

I expected Swiss to try to argue with me. To go all alpha male on me, insisting I stay here on the doctor’s orders.

But Swiss just kissed my head and murmured, “Okay, Countess. Let’s get you out of here.”

Then he got out of bed and created somewhat of a ruckus.

The ruckus didn’t last long. And I was being wheeled out of the hospital room less than an hour later.

When we got to the exit, I pushed out of the chair, with Swiss’s hand in mine, and we walked out of the hospital together.