*** LONDON'S POV **** I stare awake a few times but I am too weak to stay focused, to know where I am, or even move an inch of my body. My muscles are taut, and my eyelids fall under tight pressure dragging me to sleep. I dream about Oliver, him hitting me several times while I don't even try to protect myself, I am too weak, he is stronger than I am, and then, I am jerking forward with a rippled cry through my lungs. I pant, sweat beading my forehead, I force my eyes open, but I can't see well through my right eye, and the left can only see as much as when an object is about five steps closer to me. I am still in a haze, wondering where I am when I hear the scrape of a chair close to the bed. I flinch, throwing my hands in the air before bringing it to hide my face, in case I am about to get punched again. Oliver! The dickhead has instilled an everlasting fear in me. I am always on the defensive stance. "You are awake, Little human," a warm voice calls out to me. I freeze, I h
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