I am lying in my bed on the boat—the ship, the home—and the blankets are soft and the pillows are warm.

but then there are wires cold wires creeping up my arms like snakes like vines like wet locks of hair and there are men with broken voices hovering over me and I'm drowning drowning it hurts it hurts it hurts

No. I am here. I am here and whole and Simon's steady breathing fills the room. He is sleeping and he is peaceful and so am I.

metal cuffs pinning my ankles to the ground and my wrists to chairs that hurt more than standing the air is gone and I'm gasping and writhing but they won't let me up and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts

The low hum of the engine rests in the edges of the room. It hides but I feel it: the ever-present whirr of life in this ship— this boat, this shelter. The whirr that makes it warm in the middle of the blackness.

no please no please I don't want to don't want to I wanted to learn not bleed please no please no the screams ravage my voice and leave me hollow and the eyes that look down at me do not care I am screaming and weeping and dying and it hurts it hurts it hurts

Simon gasps and shoots out of his slumber. His eyes are wide with fear. "River?" he asks, not expecting an answer.

"Simon," I whisper. I smile without knowing why.

He nods and slips back into sleep.

my eyes shoot open out of some sort of sleep and I dreamed my skull split open and my insides slipped onto the cool gray ground and marred it in red I dreamed they slit me open with hard eager eyes to see how long I could stay whole and it hurts and I'm broken and it hurts it hurts oh please no it hurts it hurts

I am floating quietly into the arms of sleep. I am here— Serenity. I am free now. I am safe. I am whole.

I am broken and it hurts it hurts it hurts