Demons

 

 

He came to a halt, his body suddenly taut, his mind in shock as he stared at the tiny woman laid on a metal framed bed. Her hair was dark, long and tangled, some of it laid across her face as she stared unseeing at the ceiling. Her hands were tied to the bed by leather cuffs attached to a cable running underneath the metal frame, her legs attached very much the same way. She was thin, so utterly thin that Rhand could probably play chopsticks on her ribs.

But it was her expression–one of agony that pulled at something deep inside him. Her eyes, such a vivid green, were wet with silent tears that flowed into her hairline, and her lips were so cracked, she reminded him of a wilting flower in the sun. Her skin was so pale, almost see though, like a wet piece of parchment paper, her veins so close to the surface, he could see her weak pulse at her neck.

Anger shot through Rhand so fast, he heard all the metal in the shitty place groan. The woman made a weak move and turned her head towards him. Her movements were sluggish and stiff looking, and when her eyes tried to focus upon him, Rhand saw the evidence of drugs as her gaze wavered, her lids blinking heavily before a smile spread across her chapped lips.

“I only wanted water,” she whispered, her voice so quiet, so weak Rhand almost didn’t hear her.

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