Touch

Layla

Bailey pulls me upright. My legs shake as she guides me to a dusty couch and sits me down, her hands on either side of my face. “God, you’re covered in glass–”

“I’m fine,” I choke out, but tears sting my eyes as she lovingly reaches up to pick shards of glass from my hair, collecting them in her open palm. 

“What happened?”

“A–a bird–” I swallow the words, my throat burning over each syllable. My throat aches and my skin burns where the doctor licked my neck. 

Bile rises in my throat at the memory, heightened by the taste of his blood lingering in my mouth. I press my hands to my lips, gagging. Bailey starts, looking wildly around for something for me to throw up in before gripping me hard and dragging me to the small half-bathroom just off the foyer where I throw up in the toilet. 

A few minutes later, I’m sitting at the ki