Our arms held tight against one another, neither of us speaking as the cold winds rolled over the windows. Valerian keeps her mind busy, ignoring my sniffles of pain. Both of us smell of the sour wetness, our clothes drenched from the snow.

"Shower?" I whisper to her, and she shakes her head. Her finger still hasn't been reset fully, just enough to remove some of her pain. I assume the numbness the snow provided is gone.

"Do you want to shower first?" She whispers. She stares down at her bruised hands, fingers turning a dark black. Yellow spots line her collar from his grip a mirror of her pain shown on my own skin. I shake my head at her and pull myself from the chair. Laying my hand in the air between us as an offering, she takes it to walk with me.

My dingy shower comes into view. Make up covers the counter and all of my products to keep myself human line the edges of the tub. Gifts of fathers.

Vale doesn't say anything and starts undressing. She turns on the shower and with a held breath steps in to wash herself. The water isn't hot, hasn't been for a while, but she makes no comment.

I take blame for what happened. I was the one that told her to come home with me. She was meant to take the woman she has been after on a date, finally get her happy ever after. Now she's here. Taking a cold shower in my out of code apartment that is slowly being infested with Tazi and the new blood order hounds.

The clock clicks over, two days. Each hour means something, each minute makes me want to hurl. My chest starts to hurt, I can't breath.

"Set finger?" I whisper to her, she tightens the towel around herself with her good hand. Bruises line her arms, hand swollen, eyes full of defeat. I have had time to come to terms with the way my life is, accept the endless pain that comes with being like a bug to the rich.

Not worthy to love, but always worthy to bargain.

"Do you know how?"

"Done many times." I groan at her. Grabbing at her hand, she hisses letting me look at the finger. I open a drawer grabbing a brace, and hand her a towel to bite down on. She gives me the side eye.

She starts to understand me, leaving me to work and handle her. Bruises and cuts line my own hands, untended too and barely felt. There are much bigger problems in my life then the abusive father that won't let me slit my own throat.

"Breathe."

And she does. She sucks in a deep breath digging her teeth into the cloth. I grab the end of the digit shifting into place, her screams moving through the bathroom. The brace is put on quickly, tears streaming down her face, but at least we could fix this problem.

"Sultana. How did you live like this? How are you living?"

"No one lets me die."