I did everything I could to help her, tapping into all the field training I had when I was in the army. I kept her covered, I kept putting ice cold water on her face to try and break the fever. I sat by her side all night, until the sun came up and she stopped shivering.
For the next couple days all I did was watch her sleep. I wanted to be there if she needed anything, I wanted to be right there in case she woke up and freaked out.
She seemed restless even in her dreams. The girl would mumble inaudible words, jerk her arms and crinkle her body up into this small package like her insides were shriveling up and the pain was just too much. The color of her skin teetered between pale and ash gray as purple spots and red welts puffed up staining the surface.
Brushing the hair from her face, I gently touched the cut on her lip, leading my hand down her jaw and stroking her chin. She had this innocence about her as she slept. There was no sign she recognized I was there, she was unaware of my hands and undisturbed by my presence.
She was a girl who took refuge in my bed, who needed me even though she was blind to the fact I was right beside her. I didn't have to know her to see that she had suffered, I didn't need her to tell me how badly she was hurt.
Something happened to me the night I brought her home. Something I couldn't explain and wasn't ready to understand.
But that something. . .
That something made her mine.
