Bring Him to His Knees
I go inside instead, and lie down with her poultice pressed to my chest, and think about a cracked voice and a name I don't have the right to say twice in one day.
I fall asleep before I can decide whether that's forgivable.
I don't stay asleep.
It happens sometime past midnight, not the usual ache, not the slow, grinding pull I've learned to live around for two years. This is sudden and Sharp. A cold spike straight through the center of my chest, gone as fast as it comes, and I'm sitting upright in the dark before I've even finished waking, heart slamming, sweat cold on my skin.
I know that feeling. I haven't felt it in two years, and I still know exactly what it is.