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I hurteverywhere.

I know exactly what happened for once, and I don’t want to wake up and face it. I just want to chill out in this half-awake state for as long as possible before reality bitch slaps me. But the pain isn’t going away, and Ireallyneed to pee.

Wherever I am is cool but not freezing, and I’m sunk into some kind of cushion. I can feel mounds of pillows or blankets cradling me on either side, so rolling over isn’t an option. I’ll have to try and sit up, I guess. But damn, I’m comfortable.

I can feel the ache in my bones that says they have re-knitted themselves into some semblance of normal. I now regret ever offering to make someone a putty person. My sane brain blocked how badly it hurt.

The spark is flickering faintly, exhausted. No wonder I’m still hurt. I'm sure it’s all tapped out after that fiasco.

Step one: go pee. Step two: where am I? Step three… I have no idea anymore, so I’ll just wing it.

My eyes open to a dim room with a faint blue light coming over the giant mound of pillows I’m lying on. The walls are black, and the pillows are as well. I can just make out a few band posters tacked to the walls. They’re all 80s bands, so I’m guessing I’m in Ben’s room? When did he have time to get all this stuff in here? Have I been asleep for a long time? Where is he?

A sense of urgency to find him fills me, right next to my bladder screaming, and I sit up. Shit, I can’t evensee over the pillows around me, how am I getting out of here? My muscles are crying out in protest from even sitting up. I can’t climb Mt. Saint Pillow fort like this.

“Ben?” I don’t recognize my voice. It’s crackling and broken with barely any strength behind it.

The mound at my feet lets out a faint whine and stands, completely engulfing me in darkness as he blocks out the light. He’s back in his normal form from the faint glimpses of blue lighting behind him. Ben shuffles forward and then back, tilting his head with another whine that’s much louder this time.

“Hey, sunshine.” I lift my good arm and reach for him. “I just need to go to the bathroom really quick. Can you help me?”

He leans forward in the creepiest fashion I’ve ever seen, offering me his neck to brace myself. Once I have my good arm around his neck, I can’t help but hold on and hug him, relishing the fact that he’s here and safe.

“Are you hurt?” I ask in a whisper. His ears are more sensitive in this form, so loud noises are a no.

A slight head shake jostles me back and forth painfully, but I don’t let go.

“Good,” the tension in my shoulders eases. I didn’t even realize they had tensed up. “You got us home safe?”

A slight nod and a huff of warm breath over my back.

“Of course you did. Why did I even ask,” I giggle faintly. I wiggle my feet back and forth, trying to feel out how badly I’m still hurt. Sometimes, I miss little bones while I’m healing, and the bones in feet are tiny. Major cramps set in immediately, and I cringe, my bad arm clinging around Ben’s neck as I whimper pitifully.

“I forgot about the muscle cramps,” I say through gritted teeth.

Ben stands fully, pulling me out of the cushions, and begins slowly dragging my useless body over to a doorway that’s cracked open. He reaches around me with his paw and nudges it open. Inside is a bathroom of gleaming black and gray tiles with white accents, a sink with a toothbrush, a large shower with a clear glass door, and a toilet. He pulls me to the toilet and maneuvers until my butt hits the seat.

I crack up at the extended assistance despite the agony of it and release him from my death grip. “Your service, Ben.”

He huffs in return and makes his way out, flicking the light switch with his wing on the way.

“Damn, man, too soon!” I call back in a cracking voice, cringing at the sudden light.

Despite the cramping, I manage to pull my pants down and use the restroom. I’m a little embarrassed at the noise, knowing he can hear everything happening in here, but I force the thought away before I get stage fright. By the time I’m finished, I’ve worked out all the cramping in my feet, but it’s moved up to my calves. Dying sucks.

I stumble around to right my clothes and lean on the sink. Once I catch sight of my reflection, I pause. I’m an absolute mess.

The mirror is one of those from the waist-up jobs that does not show me any mercy. There’s dried blood everywhere, and my clothes are coated in it, with a gaping tear underneath my left breast.

I’m one giant black and purple bruise, with free swelling included, from mid-bicep on the left side, probably to my toes. Only my neck and right arm appear unscathed.

What little bits of hair I have on the top of my head are sticking up in the back with a peacock wave. It would be amazing if I styled it with something other than sweat and blood.

I’m still in my clothes from before? I stink! And I was lying all over those comfy pillows like this? That’s just wrong.

“Hey, Ben?” I lean out of the bathroom doorway and have to brace a hand on the frame as I wobble. He’s turned the lights on so I have a clear view of the room, and I choke on my next words as everything comes into focus.

The mess of cushions is actually a mattress on the floor that looks like two king-sized mattresses pressed together. There are so many pillows and comforters that it almost looks like a poster bed in height. Everything is in black and gray with the occasional dark blue.