Page 55 of Misery

"Morning," she murmurs against my skin.

"Morning." My hand finds her hair, tangling in the mess of it. Still soft despite everything. "How do you feel?"

"Good. Relaxed in the best way." She stretches, catlike, and I feel every inch of her against me. The movement makes her wince slightly—new muscles used, new sensations experienced. "What time is it?"

I check my phone. Three missed calls from Magnus. Two from Runes. They can wait. "Almost noon."

"Shit." She sits up, sheet falling away. I try not to stare at the expanse of pale skin, the marks I left. Try and fail. "I work tonight."

"No."

She looks at me, eyebrows raised. That defiant spark that got her through hell. "No?"

"You're not going to Bubba's. Not with Los Coyotes hunting you."

"I have to." She slides out of bed, not minding the fact she’s nude.

Or maybe she does care, but she isn’t showing me that.

How my eyes track every movement. "I need normalcy, Oskar. I need to feel like my life isn't completely controlled by how terrified I am of what’s happening to me."

"Your life needs to be controlled by safety right now."

"That's not living. That's surviving, and I need this." She finds her underwear, pulls them on.

I watch the fabric slide up her thighs, remembering my hands there last night. "I'm working my shift. You can come, bring an army of prospects, whatever. But I'm going, because hiding here will just make me go insane."

I sit up, sheet pooling at my waist.

The morning sun highlights more scars she hasn't asked about yet. "Elfe?—"

"Don't." She turns to face me, hands on hips.

Beautiful in her defiance. Fierce despite the vulnerability of near-nakedness. "I let them take my home from me. My sense of safety. My ability to sleep without nightmares. I won't let them take my job too. I won't let them take everything that makes me who I am."

The steel in her voice reminds me why I want her in the first place.

She’s not just beautiful, not just broken, but fucking fierce when she needs to be.

"Fine." I stand, pull on my jeans.

The denim is rough against skin that still smells like her. "But we do this my way. I'm there. Armed. You don't leave my sight."

"Deal."

She crosses to me, goes up on her toes to kiss me.

Soft. Grateful. A thank you and a promise combined. "Thank you for understanding."

"I don't understand. I'm accepting. There's a difference."

"I'll take it."

We dress in silence.

She puts on an eggplant purple shirt with black jeans that hug her curves beautifully. "I should tell Saga where I'm going," she says, fingers working through her tangled hair.

"I'll handle it. You focus on getting ready."