Wrists

I woke up in the middle of the night, frightened from a nightmare I couldn’t even remember. Only small fragments of it came to me, and I shivered, willing it away. I was sore—really sore. My muscles were screaming, begging me to just lie down and rest.

I willed the pain away; it wasn’t as nearly as bad as the torture I felt that afternoon. I could deal with it—the pain was just another horrid reminder that I was still living a nightmare, even when conscious. I may have left one, but I’m now in another.

It scared me.

I was scared.