Pottymouth: 17. 17  Reader Toolbox   Log in for more tools  17.
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***************** I sit on the chair by the bed. My hands are in
my lap. I'm staring at them. Just staring. They're folded,
fingers laced together. Long, thin hands, with long, strong
fingers. But they're not doing anything right now. A little
while ago they were hitting Gandalf. And when Aragorn and Éomer
dragged me off of him I started hitting them. By the time I was
done hitting people I'd graduated to hitting the walls. And
screaming. I remember screaming. I won't look at the bed. Oh,
damn. My eyes are filling up again and my hands have gone all
cloudy. I can see the edge of the bed at the top of my
peripheral vision. The comforter is blue. I bought it after
Faramir left me. I was so tired of pink, I guess I wanted the
antithesis. So it's blue. I blink the tears away. I'm so tired
of tears. And my throat hurts from screaming. And it's tight.
Merry's sitting next to me. They've al