Tw: Head injuries, post concussion syndrome, blood. Summer ain’t doing so hot, and she’s not in the best of mental states.
Tag: @galaxywhump and @pepperonyscience for breaking me free of this awful slump. Thanks!
Summer’s head hurt.
She remembered that there had been warmth and wetness on the back of her skull, down her neck. The collar of her shirt (not her shirt, she hadn’t been wearing this before, where...?) had become sticky with it, and now that she had woken up however long later, it was crusty and crunchy.
She was in a room with two men. Half naked men.
Her head hurt.
“Daddy,” she whimpered, even though she knew he wasn’t here. “Mommy.”
She wanted her mom to come in and take a cool cloth to her forehead because her head hurt. She wanted her dad to hold her head in his lap and run his fingers through her hair.
“Who are you?” The more she spoke, the more aware she became of how the words dragged, caught on her tongue that felt unwieldy in her mouth. “Where am I?”
The thin man spoke first. “I’m Thom. This is Dale.” He pointed to the bearded man.
He nodded. “We’re waiting.”
Yes. That seemed about right. Waiting for what though? “For dinner?” Hope crept into her voice, tangling in the verbal cursive. Her stomach cramped and ached.
He glanced over at the other man.
Her head throbbed. Hot and pulsing begins her eyes like a drum. It went below the bone, wet and spongy in her skull. Foamy. Scorching hot. She shut her eyes and moaned lowly.
She hurt. She hurt and she knew her mom or dad could make her not hurt. Why weren’t they here? Didn’t they know she needed them? Tears prickled her eyes and sent twisting pain into her head like thick poles.
“Yes.”
What? Her vision swam with beige colors and smeared faces. Unfamiliar faces. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The bearded man spoke first. “My name is Dale. This is Thom. You’re safe, Summer.”
But she didn’t feel safe. Hiccuping she pillowed her head on her arms and let out another cry that threatened to split open her skull.
“You’re going to be okay.”
Warm, calloused hands rubbed her neck and back, familiarly smooth, wide circles, and a deep voice hummed a tune she couldn’t place. Unthinkingly, she buried her face into his lap.
“Daddy, it hurts,” she sobbed. “I’m scared.”
He kept humming except to softly shush her, and she floated there until, like a lightbulb burning out, so did her consciousness.
