The stillness of the night shattered when a soft, keening sound pulled me from sleep. My heart thudded in my chest, disoriented for a moment as I blinked into the darkness. The faint moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting pale patterns on the walls. The sound came again—a broken, strangled moan—and this time, I realized it was coming from Jin.
She wasn’t beside me.
I sat up abruptly, my eyes scanning the room until they landed on her figure, hunched on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her back was turned to me, her body trembling violently as she clawed at her shoulders, her nails catching against the fabric of the hoodie she’d worn to bed.
“Jin?” I said softly, my voice still hoarse with sleep.
She didn’t respond. Her fingers scrabbled at her back, clawing with desperate, jerky motions. The low, guttural moan she let out twisted something deep in my chest. It wasn’t just pain—it was something raw, fractured, and unbearable.
I slid out of bed quickly and crossed the short distance to her. “Jinny,” I cooed, kneeling beside her. “What’s wrong?”
This time, her head snapped up at the sound of my voice, wide, tear-streaked eyes locking onto mine for a split second before she turned away, burying her face against her knees. Her hands continued to claw at her back, this time catching against the hem of the hoodie and tugging it up as though trying to rip it off.
I reached for her carefully, my hands hovering just above her shoulders. “Jin, stop,” I murmured, my voice as steady as I could make it. “You’re hurting yourself.”
She froze for a moment, her hands pausing mid-motion before falling limply to her sides. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly. She didn’t meet my eyes, but her tail twitched weakly, as if unsure whether to push me away or let me in.
Ever so slowly, I reached out, holding her hands between mine, trembling and cold. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t lean into my touch either.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Her shoulders shook as another sob wracked her body. She shifted slightly, trying to pull away from me, but I didn’t let go.
“Jin, talk to me,” I said softly, though I knew she couldn’t. “What’s wrong?”
She let out a low, mournful sound, her head tilting just enough for me to see the anguish in her eyes. Her tail curled tighter around her legs, her body folding in on itself as though she were trying to disappear.
I realized then what was happening. My gaze flicked to her back again, to the places where her wings had once been attached, now marred by cruel, deep scars. She wasn’t just in pain—she was mourning. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Your wings,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re feeling them, aren’t you?”
Her response was almost imperceptible—a faint twitch of her head, a flick of her tail. Phantom pains were probably a part of it, too. I’d heard of them before, though never like this. The scars on her back were a physical reminder of everything the cult had taken from her, but this was something deeper, more visceral. It wasn’t just her body remembering—it was straight from her soul.
I sat beside her, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. “Jin,” I said quietly, brushing a hand against her arm. “I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
Her sobs quieted slightly, though her breathing was still uneven. She tilted her head toward me, her eyes searching mine for something—reassurance, maybe, or a way to anchor herself. I gave her hands a gentle squeeze, hoping to ground her in the present.
“You’re safe,” I murmured, my voice steady. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
Her gaze flicked away at that, her lips trembling as she let out a shaky breath. She reached up hesitantly, her hand brushing against her back before I caught it again, guiding it away from the scars. “No,” I said gently. “Don’t do that. Let me help.”
I shifted behind her, my hands careful as I guided her to sit upright. The fabric of the hoodie clung to her, damp with sweat and tears. “I’m going to take this off, okay?” I said softly. “Just so I can see.”
She stiffened, but didn’t resist as I pulled the hoodie up and over her head, her body tense but pliant beneath my hands. The scars came into view fully now, stark and brutal against her pale skin. I bit back the wave of anger that surged in my chest like it did every time I saw the deepest of her scars. The cultist fucks had done this to her—ripped away something fundamental, something sacred, and left her with nothing but pain.
I brushed my fingers lightly over the unmarked skin around the scars, careful not to touch them directly. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Her shoulders trembled, but she didn’t pull away. Her tail uncurled slightly, brushing against my leg in a gesture that felt almost like an apology.
“You didn’t deserve this,” I continued softly, my voice steady despite the tightness in my chest. “None of it. And I don’t know how to make it better, but I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
She turned her head slightly, her tear-filled eyes meeting mine. The vulnerability in her gaze was staggering, a raw, unfiltered pain that made my heart ache.
I reached for the blanket draped over the foot of the bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. She clutched it tightly, her hands gripping the fabric as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded.
“Let’s get back to bed,” I said quietly. “You need rest.”
She hesitated, her tail flicking uncertainly, before nodding faintly. I helped her up, guiding her back to the mattress. She curled up beneath the blankets, her body still trembling but her breathing slowly evening out.
I lay beside her, keeping just enough distance to give her space. My hand rested lightly on the bed between us, a silent offer of comfort. After a moment, her tail brushed against my leg, tentative but deliberate.
Stolen story; please report.
I stayed awake long after her breathing had steadied, my mind racing with thoughts of how to help her. The scars on her back were more than physical—they were a constant reminder of the things she’d lost. And while I couldn’t change the past, I could be here for her now.
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Jin's body stirred under the blankets, her movements small at first—restless shifts of her legs, the faint twitch of her tail where it poked out from under the blanket. I thought she might be drifting into another dream, the kind her subconscious hadn’t yet learned to make kind. But then her breathing quickened, shallow gasps breaking the stillness of the room.
Her arms jerked against the bedding, her claws catching in sharp, frantic pulls. The sounds she made were pained, low whimpers that carried the weight of fear and grief. I sat up immediately, my pulse quickening as I reached for her.
“Jin,” I murmured, leaning over her trembling form. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”
She didn’t seem to hear me, her body thrashing now with more intensity. Her tail lashed against the mattress, the ridges of her horns catching on the pillow as her head jerked back and forth. Her hands reached for her back, nails scraping against the blanket like she was trying to dig through it to reach her scars.
“Jin,” I said again, louder this time but keeping my voice calm. “Stop—you’re going to hurt yourself.”
When she didn’t respond, I acted on instinct, kneeling over her and pinning her gently to the mattress. My hands pressed against her shoulders, firm but careful not to hurt her. Her claws swiped wildly through the air for a moment before she froze, her entire body going rigid beneath me.
“It’s okay,” I said softly, my breath catching in my throat. “You’re safe, Jin. I’ve got you.”
Her wide, panic-filled eyes snapped open, darting around the room like a trapped animal. She squirmed beneath my hands, her movements desperate and frantic until her gaze locked on mine. Something flickered there—recognition, maybe—and her struggles lessened.
“That’s it,” I whispered, my thumbs brushing against her shoulders in slow, soothing circles. “It’s me. You’re safe.”
Her breathing was still ragged, her chest heaving beneath the blanket as tears streaked down her cheeks. I loosened my grip slightly, giving her enough freedom to move without letting her thrash again. Her claws flexed, catching briefly against the fabric of my shirt before retracting completely. She let out a low, broken sound that made my chest ache.
“You’re okay,” I said, leaning down just enough to brush my forehead against hers. “You’re safe with me.”
Her body trembled beneath mine, her breaths uneven as her tail curled tightly around her leg. Slowly, carefully, I guided her hands down to rest against the blanket. “Just breathe,” I murmured, my voice low and steady. “Nice and slow, Jin. I’ve got you.”
Her tail flicked hesitantly against my leg, the movement unsure. I stayed with her like that for a long moment, my hands resting against her shoulders as I waited for her breathing to even out. Gradually, the tension in her body began to ease, her trembling slowing to faint, sporadic shivers.
When she stilled completely, I got off her, giving her space but staying close enough to catch her if she started again. Her eyes met mine, still wide and glistening with tears, and I offered her a small, reassuring smile.
“Better?” I asked softly.
She nodded faintly, her tail brushing against my leg in a gesture that felt almost apologetic. Her hands fidgeted against the blanket, her claws catching on the fabric as her gaze flicked away.
“Don’t apologize,” I said gently, reaching for her hand. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s okay to feel this way.”
She hesitated before letting her fingers curl lightly around mine, her grip weak but steady enough to show she’d heard me. Her eyes flicked to my chest, her brows furrowing slightly as her hand brushed against the faint lines of the scratches she’d left earlier.
“Jin,” I said firmly but kindly, my free hand brushing against her cheek. “I’m fine. See?” I gestured to the faint, barely visible marks on my skin. “Barely a scratch.”
Her lips trembled, her tail flicking once in uncertainty before holding on tighter. She rolled over and pressed her forehead against my chest with an almost inaudible sound escaping her lips. I ran my fingers through her hair, my touch light and careful as I let her lean into me.
After a few moments, I shifted us both, guiding her to lay on her stomach. She tensed briefly, her tail flicking against my side, but I pressed a reassuring hand against her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I murmured. “I’m just going to help. I know you don’t like touch there, but please trust me.”
She relaxed slightly at that, her tail loosening enough to brush against my leg. I straddled her gently, my hands finding the tense knots of muscle along her shoulders. Her scars were faintly visible beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, the jagged lines cutting stark paths against her smooth skin. I started slowly, my fingers working in small circles along her shoulders. Her body trembled beneath my touch, but she didn’t pull away. Gradually, I let my hands drift lower, massaging the muscles around her shoulder blades and the areas near where her wings had once been attached.
She let out a shaky breath, her tail swaying faintly as her body began to relax. The tension in her muscles softened little by little, her breaths growing steadier with each pass of my hands. I avoided the scars themselves as well as I could, focusing instead on the unmarked skin around them, careful not to cause her any more pain.
“You’re so strong,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “After everything you’ve been through, you’re still here. Still fighting.”
Her tail brushed against my side again, the movement slow and deliberate this time. She tilted her head slightly, her ear twitching as though she were trying to listen better. I smiled faintly, my hands continuing their steady, soothing motions.
“We’ll figure this out together,” I said softly, my thumbs brushing against her shoulders. “You’re not alone.”
She let out a low, contented hum, her body finally relaxing completely beneath me. Her tail uncurled, wrapping loosely around my leg in a gesture that felt almost like gratitude. I stayed with her like that for a while, my hands moving in slow, rhythmic patterns as I let her find some measure of peace.
A sound escaped her then—a long, shuddering exhale. Her body shivered faintly, and I slowed my movements, letting my hands still for just a moment.
“You’re safe,” I whispered, my palms pressing gently against the base of her shoulders. “No one’s going to hurt you again. I'll make sure of it.”
Jin’s breathing finally slowed, falling into a steady rhythm that seemed to ease the tension in the room. The trembling in her frame had softened, her body growing heavier with the kind of exhaustion that follows a storm. My hands continued their circles against her back, a silent reassurance that I was here, that I wasn’t letting go.
“Let’s get some more sleep,” I murmured softly, suppressing a yawn. I shifted back to give her space, extending a hand. She reached for it without hesitation, her grip light but certain.
Together, we settled back into bed. Jin curled onto her side, her knees drawing up slightly as she wrapped herself in the blankets. Her tail, no longer a restless presence, draped loosely around her legs. I stayed close, close enough to feel the warmth of her body but careful not to crowd her.
“You’re safe,” I reminded her once more, the words as much a promise as they were a reminder. “I’ve got you.”
Her gaze met mine for a brief second, the flicker of trust in her eyes enough to make my chest ache. She let out a soft hum, a sound that was more breath than voice, before her eyes drifted closed. Her breathing evened out slowly, and the weight of sleep began to pull her under.
I stayed where I was, watching the way the moonlit raindrops on the window painted moving patterns across her face. The scars, the shadows of her past, they hadn’t disappeared, but for tonight, they didn’t dominate her anymore. Here, in this quiet moment, she wasn’t defined by the pain or fear. She was simply Jin. My Jin.
Reaching out with my free hand, I brushed my fingers lightly through her hair, letting the softness of the motion carry what words couldn’t. “We’ll get through this,” I whispered. “You don’t have to face it alone.”
Her tail twitched faintly, curling once more against my leg in a gesture that felt almost like a reply.
I let my head sink into the pillow beside her, the room settling into a deep, comforting stillness. Her hand stayed in mine, her fingers relaxed now as her breathing steadied, slow and peaceful, I let myself believe that this fragile calm could last.