His eyes were open, why were they open? I kissed Link's neck, the taste of another nightmare.
"What's wrong, love?"
Cerulean eyes turned away as large uncut aquamarines in a bed of snow. There was something wrong with him, the ability to hide the pain was leaving, in his mind I was leaving. The small beds of snow leaked salty water around those blue jewels, and they trickled aimlessly down his precious face. "Don't cry, sweetie...tell me what's wrong..."
"It hurts, Ike..." It must have hurt terribly, the bruise where that man had kicked him. I knew something was terribly wrong with him now. He doubled over in pain.
The doctor said there were only a few wounds...
"Ike...Ike!" That cry set off a sort of motherly instinct in me, despite my manhood.
"Link, what's wrong?"
"C-Call 911, Ike...now..." I breathed, prepared for the worst. I took him into my arms and reached for the phone, but released him as soon as he screamed in pain. I must've touched it.
I stroked his arm, whispering, "I'm so sorry...I'm sorry, babe...I'll get help...just hang in there." He nodded, tears now pouring down his face. He didn't move other than his nervous trembling, he was too afraid to injure himself.
His life was hard. My mind, turned unoriginally sepia as I shakily dialed the magic numbers, and I saw him bound naked in chains. The blood was near black on his flushed, malnourished body, tiny rivulets over the dark purple bruises and whip-marks. The near-black was smeared red on the wall in a streak leading down to his shaking figure. Back to color.
"911, where is your emergency?" "Smash Manor, room 152." "Can you explain the emergency, sir?" "My boyfriend has very severe pain in his right side." A pause. "And how long has this been going on?"
Link whimpered in pain.
"It started a few months ago...but it wasn't bad. It's been getting worse and worse." "Any nausea, vomiting or fever?" "He had a fever a few days after it started." It was pointless letting the female voice figure out why the pain was being caused. Both symptoms were caused by what that man had done to him-
"We'll be there as soon as possible. Tell him not to move or try to stand, and breathe slowly." "...Thank you." I hung up the phone.
In his mind there was black, and god knows how I could tell, but he seemed off. He would never, ever be the same. The IV in his wrist, the heart monitor's beeping and my fingers stroking his hair, it would never help him get through those nights. The nights where he would toss and turn in bed and wake up screaming, and have to have me hold him until he calmed down and stopped sobbing. Those nights where the black of his mind turned sepia, and he envisioned the bloody torture and excruciating pain that plagued him even in his recovery.