During the daylight hours, she helps John. She cleans up his bloodied face and binds his broken finger. She makes sure he doesn't need to move around too much, anticipating his needs until he quietly tells her to stop. She goes to the grocery store and picks up food, and to the pharmacy for more ibuprofen and bandages.
She pushes the cart around the store. It's warm outside, but she wears John's hooded sweatshirt to cover the bandaids covering the needle pricks and the slices that broken glass vials had left on her. He gave her a list of food to buy... bread and sandwich meat, energy drinks and milk. She smiles at that; he likes a glass of milk with every meal.
The young man at the checkout counter has a pimply face and clear blue eyes. She thinks of Daniel, and wonders how he's doing. In the house, he had become her main concern. She had been driven by the fear of failing to keep him safe, of disappointing John. She had been scared for her own life as well, toward the end, but mostly for Daniel.
The boy waits impatiently for her to fumble the money out of her (John's) pocket, and she hands it over. "Keep the change." She says, feeling claustrophobic and panicked under his stare.
She is starting to sweat under the hood, but keeps it on. She has to pause and collect herself outside. Her fingers squeeze the metal bar of the cart until her knuckles are white, and then she slowly lets go. She takes the bags and carries them to the bus stop, waiting. The bus ride clears her head, and she's calm again by the time she gets back to the warehouse.
John is awake. For all of his superficial injuries (the ones inflicted by Detective Matthews), he is doing well this week. The headaches that are beginning to plague him have taken a leave of absence.
The day passes in quiet conversation, and moments of solitude.
Night comes too quickly. She lays in her cot and stares at the texture of the ceiling. She cannot sleep, because when she closes her eyes she sees them: Jonas and Addison and Laura and Daniel. Daniel. She shifts, her bare legs tangling in the blanket.
She does not hear him walking toward her until he is right there.
"Amanda." He says.
She lets out a mewl and turns away from him. "Go away."
"I will not." He sits at the end of her bed. "Look at me."
She sits slowly, her arms crossing over her chest and she slumps forward.
"You do not see it as one, but your insomnia is a blessing to me, Amanda." He touches her face, and tilts her chin up. "You do not know how much of a blessing."
"I just want to sleep." She says, her eyes filling and spilling over. Her shoulders shake and she bends until her forehead touches the blanket. His hand caresses down her back in slow circles. "I'm so tired."
"I know you do." His voice is softer now, soothing. She sits up and crawls to him, her head in his lap. His hand resumes the soft strokes, over her hair and down her neck, rubbing gently. "I know you do. But this strengthens you. You are learning how to feel again, and not everything we feel is good. But you must suffer, Amanda, you must suffer the bad in life to appreciate the good."
"You always say that, but what good came out of this? They're all dead, John." She presses her face to his leg and sobs. "All of them, they're dead."
"Because they were not willing to learn. You can mourn them, but do not let your mind convince you that you are guilty. They made the choices." He closes his hand over her shoulder and she sits up.
"They made the choice." She says back, weakly.
"Right." He smiles at her and wipes her face gently with his fingers, smearing salty tears. They stare for a moment at each other and then she presses his cheek to his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck.
That night, she sleeps.