Vanishing Acts

|| Eight ||

I stared at the ceiling absentmindedly, looking at the design while my mind wandered aimlessly. I was exhausted even though I had hardly moved all day; hell, I hadn't moved in three weeks yet I had such a short supply of energy.
I heard the creak of the door opening, not paying much attention to it as I figured it would be Dominic bringing in mac and cheese, a common meal that he brought.
I rubbed my eyes, glancing over at the door as I expected my gaze to be met with familiar light blue eyes yet instead, my heart nearly stopped.
He shut the door behind him as my breath caught in my throat, hideous nausea taking ahold of me. He took a few intimidating strides towards the bed, but it was only after my mind stopped bathing me in fear that instincts kicked in. Excruciating pain amplified from my leg as I set my foot on the ground, attempting poorly to dash to the door before Blake could catch me; he nearly laughed at my try. He caught his arm around my waist as I ran, shoving me back onto the bed as he cracked his knuckles, taking one more step towards me before I began screaming hysterically. I pathetically tried crawling off the other side of the bed until his fingers locked around my healthier ankle, yanking me back to my spot as he put pressure on the sprained ankle. I screamed in pain this time but he only glared at me coldly, "This isn't finished."
I covered my eyes and screamed fearfully, pulling away from him as I came to a sudden realization; there wasn't anyone holding onto me.
I opened my eyes to see complete darkness.
I scurried into a sitting position, panting heavily as I looked around the pitch black room; the glowing clock revealing it was only three-thirty in the morning. Confused and dazed, I jumped wildly as I heard the doorknob turning, cowering behind the blanket as if it would offer any protection.
He walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him and leaving the room in darkness once again. Dominic seemed exhausted, nearly half asleep still as he walked towards the bed, climbing in the other side as he pulled the blanket over me, "He isn't in here Quinn. Go back to sleep."
My heart seemed to rattle in my chest, shaking my entire body and throwing off my breathing. I stared at the brunette, completely stunned as I began piecing it together. I soon realized that this had happened last night... And the night before. It went back weeks, and I quickly remembered that Jesse and Dominic alternated the nights when they needed to calm me down.
I pressed my back down against the bed, my breathing completely erratic and uneven as I squeezed my eyes shut. I had only been conscious for five minutes before the waves of nausea returned again. I groaned miserably as I turned onto my side gingerly, clenching onto the sheets as I fought off the pain and eventually sat up. Putting my weight on my good ankle, I grabbed the crutches kept beside the bed as I entered the small bathroom inside the bedroom.
I couldn't fully tell what it was; exhaustion, hunger, injuries. Something brought on miserable nausea as I sat down on the cold bathroom floor, getting sick. I heard the creaking of the bed behind me, followed by his footsteps. Moments later, he had poured a glass of water as he pulled my hair back, sitting down beside me.
I could hardly move.
My entire body was sore, and throwing up at three in the morning wasn't uncommon anymore; I wasn't comfortable with that reality. Dominic stayed quiet, holding my hair as he waited. Eventually, I leaned back against the counter and took small sips of the water as the two of us sat silently on the bathroom floor. His eyes flickered over to me as he spoke in a low, husky and tired tone, "I should check the bandaging."
I stared down at the floor, nodding numbly without moving. The nightmares had become so real and traumatizing that I didn't want to go back to sleep, much less as I knew that Blake was still in the same house as I was. Dominic shifted closer, carefully lifting up the hem of my shirt. It was so much easier to pretend they weren't there when I didn't have to look at it. The scars and bruises were hidden underneath the thick bandaging and my shirt, making it so uncomfortable to take both of them on and look at what was underneath. The bandaging was for the cuts, seeing as some of them were fairly deep gashes below my ribs, but that wasn't the most unnerving sight. You could hardly tell it was human skin; it was such a dark, sickly, unnatural colour, the bruises scaring me so much that I winced only looking at them.
I held my shirt up slightly as he slowly took off the bandages, his eyes flickering up every so often to make sure he was being careful enough that he wasn't hurting me. It didn't really matter; any form of touch would sting.
I made the mistake of looking down as he changed the bandages, something that I avoided doing for realistic reasons. My ribs were a shade of purple that was so dark it could've been described as black, although my stomach wasn't much better. I struggled the fact that when I looked down at them that they were my bruises, my scars and my body. I tried so hard at distancing myself from the situation, but the bruises wouldn't let me. They were so gruesome that they represented my reality.
I genuinely tried not to, but my mind began buzzing with panic as it always did when I looked down at the wounds. I felt my breath catch in my throat and my palms become sweaty, rampaging thoughts running through my mind as I blindly panicked. I would try to stop myself, but my breathing would get out of hand and I couldn't do anything to help myself. He waited a few moments before he stopped what he was doing, placing his thumb under my chin and raising my head. He held his hand over my wrist to stop it from shaking so hard, "They're just bruises Quinn, they'll heal soon enough."
I rubbed my forehead miserably as he went back down the fixing up the wounds, "It isn't the bruises themselves that scare me."
He waited a moment to respond, the house completely silent. "They should. They're the only ones that you're going to get."