REJECTS\\M.C.

-39-

-mikey-

Mikey awakes to a whimpering noise. His lashes flutter open to see Hannah in the dim glow of the fairy lights near the edge of the bed, her back to him. She whimpers before her chest begins to heave, the same strangled noise he remembers from that first day she ever visited his house. His chest tightens in fear, terrified to witness another panic attack so he moves to her quickly.

"Hannah," he grabs her arm and shakes her but she does move. "Hannah," he tries again, speaking louder than her chaotic breathing before he begins to pull her over to him.

"NO!" She screams and yanks away, beginning to cry.

"Hannah, its me," Mikey says, moving to her and grabbing her face. "Hannah," he says loudly but gentle, stroking his thumbs over her wet cheeks. "Hannah, its Michael."

Her eyes blink open before she clings to his neck, sobbing. Mikey shushes her as he rubs her back, her crying quickly coming to an end. Her breathing eventually regulates and her arms go limp. Gently, Mikey readjusts her arms and holds her until he falls back asleep, his heart extremely heavy.

===

The front door slams shut and Mikey flinches awake, confused about his surroundings before he lifts his torso and turns, finding Hannah next to him, in deep rest. He remembers her nightmare and sighs, laying back down to watch her sleep. She is in deep rest now, easing his heart as he remembers last night.

The thought of the feeling of her bare legs sliding over his or up his hips makes his mouth dry. He swallows when he recalls the second time and she ran her nails down his back while arching hers as she moan his name. It was music to his ears. The whole night replays before he gets up to use the bathroom. He slips into his boxers and pants and heads into the restroom, then afterwards refills his glass of water, finding it to be only six in the morning.

Not at all pleased with the time he decides to go lay back in bed and sleep until his alarm goes off. He returns to the spare room and finds Hannah readjusted, laying on her stomach with the flat sheet twisted and draped around her still naked body. His stomach flips as he remembers last night again and he walks over to the bed smiling as his eyes roam her beautiful exposed body.

He freezes in his tracks as his eyes land on her arm, a sizable bruise going around the circumference of her bicep. Puzzled and downright concerned he slowly crawls onto the bed, leaning over her to observe the mark. He looks at it, noticing a pattern that startles him and his eyes begin to smart. He lifts his ow. trembling hand and hover its it over her arm, his hand and fingers matching up to the markings.

His hand flies to his mouth, feeling sick before another discoloration grabs his attention on her shoulder. Along her trapezius muscle is another dark bruise which Mikey lifts his other hand to match up his thumb. He feels sick confirming she was attacked from behind and his heart hurts as he imagines her fear of probably not even knowing it was coming. How cruel and disgusting.

He releases a shaky breath and bends down to pull the blankets over her so she can continue to get healing rest when yet again another mark grabs his attention. This one is a deep purple with red dots from broken blood vessels, looking angry and painful. The mark reminds him of a rug burn, or when kids in primary school would grab your arm with both hands and twist their hands in opposite directions; leaving you with a terrible burn mark.

He feels nauseous staring at this one as it resides high on her inner thigh. The air is sucked from his lungs as he envisions how a mark like that would be made, combined with the others, and he recalls the one on her ribs last night. Another hand print, like she was being held down.