It Brought Me To You

The room was quiet, the person was still, and the chart read Lucia Maria Mendez. On the edge of her bed sat another person. He looked down at her and he saw they matched: both in the same hideous outfit, scrapped, bruised and battered. Survivors.

As she lay there, he grabbed her hand and stroked it with his thumb, knowing nothing about her aside from her name and why she was here. His eyes scanned her face, catching all of the marks he had left there. He saw as the marks moved lower, the scratches decreased in numbers but increased in severity. The number of bruises was slowly rising as well. As his eyes moved down the arm attached to the hand he held, he saw the slightly wet skin. His eyes were overflowing and he wasn't going to hold the tears back anymore. It was his fault they were both here, he was sure of it!