Amy Morton Nude Novels & Stories

I am sitting there, on the creaking bed, slumped like a man drained of everything, my eyes glued to the screen of my phone that refuses to turn off, as if it wants to force me to confront what I have always refused to see, over and over again, that frozen photo that tears at my insides. She is there, lying down, pale, hooked up to machines that seem to breathe for her, her face marked, swollen, damaged, as if the world had relentlessly made her pay for something she never committed, and here I am, miles away, geographically and morally, powerless, pathetic, terrified.