Shattered

Chapter 15

I didn't wake up until Sunday afternoon around one. Chandler had heavily drugged me, which left my body aching and my head pounding. The occasional muscle spasm would startle me for a second, only to disappear as rapid as it struck.

Light flooded into the room from the midday sun, forcing me to turn myself towards the door. I couldn't build the motivation to get up, every bit of me drained, mentally and physically. I'm just so tired, tired of everything. And so I laid there, wrapped in the white covers, unable to move without an overwhelming feeling of nausea flooding me. Slowly, I began to notice the footsteps approaching the door, sending waves of panic into me. He was going to hurt me. I disobeyed last night, I deserve the pain he would give. Bad behavior earns punishment, after all.

When the doorknob started turning, I pressed my face deep into the pillow, gripping the blanket protectively. As he neared the bed, I felt like he'd strike me at any second. Instead, his fingertips went into my hair, gently massaging my scalp and easing the dreadful headache.

"Hey beautiful," He greeted while crouching in front of me, his figure blocking the light past my closed eyes. "No need to pretend you're still asleep, Jess, the death grip you have on that blanket gives it away."

With a small puff of air, I opened my eyes. I wasn't trying to pretend to sleep, I just didn't want to face him. Fear is powerful. "There are my favorite eyes." He smiled down at me, but I couldn't handle any expression except my flat face. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted. Everything hurts. I feel like absolute shit." My voice was scratchy and rough, wanting to give up with the rest of my body. "Yes, that's the normal response to the sedative. It'll get better after you eat something." Sedative... He uses those on me often, but this one was different. I guess it's stronger. Where does he even get them from? I doubt I wanted to know.

"Can you get up on your own?" Standing back to his full height, the intimidation only continued to increase. Not being very tall myself, only 5'1, he made me feel incredibly weak and useless. How cliche.

Pushing back the two blankets on top of me, I noticed I was dressed in different clothes. A baby blue sweater and light gray sweatpants. Glancing at Chandler, I raised my eyebrows accusingly. "It was pretty cold this morning and you were shivering. Calm down, your bra and panties didn't change."

There was no energy in me to remark at him in a smartass way, despite how badly I wished to. The late December weather did make the apartment cooler, so I guess I couldn't argue. Instead, I put my focus on shifting my body weight so my arms could push me up. To say I struggled is an understatement.

The muscles in my arms shook as I tried to lift myself, making me collapse within seconds. My vision blurred, moving focus on different objects as my head pounded. Chandler brought his arm around my back to assist me, causing me to swat it away, like a fly. The movement was immediately regretted, as it reverberated through my skull.

"You're having a hard time, I'm just trying to help." Holding back his hands defensively, I muttered quietly, "Help? I would be fine if it wasn't for you." He distastefully grunted while backing away. Continuing my useless attempts at getting up, the more I tried, the worse my attempts became.

At some point, I gave up, screaming in aggravation. I felt so weak. The crybaby tears returned, only making me feel more helpless and reliant on him. "Please, Chandler," I begged, for my freedom, for the pain to stop, for him to just kill me.

"I'll have to carry you downstairs. You can come back to bed after you eat something, it'll make you feel better." Stroking some of my tears away, he ignored my plead, effortlessly lifting me. The sensation made my head spin, adding to my growing nausea.