Chapter 67

It’s been four days. I should be getting better. He didn’t mean his body. It would heal at its own pace. The bruises on his throat were already a memory. A bad one, but at least not a visible reminder of Merrick’s choking him. His ankle bothered him but it, too, was getting better. His ribs? They hurt when I touch them too hard, or take more than shallow breaths, but I must be getting used to the pain because I only really notice it when I think about them, or move the wrong way.