I sit up when I hear the door opening.
Red hair and green eyes are staring at me.
I close my eyes and blink twice before I take in the light brown hair and matching eyes.
“Hank.”
He stands in the doorway, smiling softly at me before walking closer.
“Layla.”
He sits down at the foot of the bed, and slowly reaches for my hand.
I let him take it. Normally Hank knew that I didn’t like contact. But I knew something was different. Something told me he needed this. And maybe, in a way, so did I.
“I’m sorry Lay.” His words come out strangled within his throat. Hoarse.
“I couldn’t stop him again.”
I look down and shake my head, “It’s okay.”
Hank repeats my actions and shakes his own head, “It’s not. We both know it.”
I look up and smile, “He didn’t get that far this time.”
“That doesn’t matter Lay. He still hurt you. He still touched you. And dad…” Angry tears well up in Hank’s eyes as he furiously wipes them away. “The fucker was more messed up than the other one.”
I give a small laugh at Marks angry remark.
He glares at me, “What’s funny about-,”
“It’s not funny.”
I sigh and look down at our held hands.
“It’s not funny,” I repeat.
We sit in silence until Hank speaks, “Alpha Douglas imprisoned him. For life. He killed another member of a pack.”
I nod and look out the window.
“Lay.”
I look back to Hank as I take in his voice.
He smiles softly at me, “What are you going to paint Lay?”
I smile back at him. Our own little form of therapy.
“I’m going to paint a rose.”
He nods, “Good. Good Layla. Tell me. Tell me how you’ll paint the rose?”
I sigh and lean back. Hank falls next to me, resting beside me as I raise my hands.
And so I describe it to him.