Reece's Haven

40: Reece

!!!TRIGGER WARNING!!!

This chapter is for MATURE (17+) readers. Please read at your own risk!

WARNING: Self harm!

"We all have monsters inside of us, you just have to be unfortunate enough to unleash them..."
– Nautica

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~ R E E C E ~

January 1998

After unlocking the front door of Dorothy's house, I make my way back to my car, where Dorothy is sitting inside. Her arms slowly wrap around my neck as I pick her up. She winces as I do so, burying her nose into the crook of my neck and taking a sharp breath in.

"I'm sorry," I whisper to her repeatedly as I carry her inside, trying to be as gentle as possible.

When we enter her bedroom, I help her down on her bed and cushion her back with a pillow, making sure that she rests comfortably against the headboard.

"I'll be right back, ok?" I tell her, before I hurriedly leave her room.

I grab a First Aid Kit and a medicine pouch from the bathroom, and then a large plastic bowl, a filled ice tray and a glass of water from the kitchen, before I scramble back to her room. Leaving the items on her bedside table, I drag her desk chair next to her bed and sit down on it. I open the pouch and dig through its contents until I find ibuprofen.

"You have to open your mouth," I tell her, snapping the pill out of its packet.

Slowly, she complies. I plop the pill into her mouth and quickly bring the edge of the glass to her lips. After swallowing, she coughs, engendering me to pat her back. Then, I open the Kit, but it does not escape my notice that she is clutching onto her stomach.

"Hey Dorothy, let me see," I say, gently setting her hands aside.

But when I begin to lift her maroon jumper, she pushes my hands away.

"Don't..." she croaks.

"Dorothy, I have to check," I say.

"You'll hate it..." she whispers, to which I frown.

"Like hell I would," I say.

I try to lift her jumper up again, but again she slaps my hands away.

"But they are s-so horrible..."

"It doesn't matter, Dorothy."

"They're... revolting..."

I then stare at her in disbelief.

When I had ugly bruises over different regions on my body many years ago, she never once grimaced at the sight of them, unlike the other kids at the time. Instead, she would use her markers to copy my bruises onto her skin so that we could be 'matching'.

After all that she has done for me...

After everything we've been through together...

How can she expect that I would react any differently if our roles are reversed, like right now?

But when I notice how vulnerable she looks, I place my hand over hers and send her a reassuring look.

"Nothing about you can be revolting, Dorothy. No matter what," I tell her when her eyes meet mine. "You can trust me."