I'm weak when I get to my feet. I've been losing too much blood and there isn't anything in my stomach to replace it. It makes standing hard, much harder than it has to be, but I have to do this. My survival, if not my immediate survival, relies on this act.

"Baby," I start, edging myself closer to the winding ball of limbs and claws that's taken off a good layer of grout and tile from the wall. Baby. I called her that just a few minutes ago, and just now, and both times I haven't really thought about what I was going to say or what I was saying. It just sort of rolls off my tongue, but it fits. "It's okay, calm down."

Whether she heard me or not doesn't seem to make any difference. She's still clawing at the wall, screaming that oddly bird-like witch scream, when I reach her. Maybe it's not the smartest thing I've ever done, but the only way I can think of to draw her attention is to touch her. I probably should have thought farther, I realize as I rest a hand on the first thing I can reach, her closer shoulder. I barely manage to flinch back as her claws cut through the air in front of my face, just an inch away from permanently blinding me.

"Easy." I try to soothe. Now that she's whirled on me I can see her from up close without the pain and fatalism clouding my mind.

Her eyes are wide, that's the first thing I notice. It's odd- in the right lighting I've seen them as crimson or blood red, but now, in this low, red light, they appear black as night yet terrifyingly affixed on me. She could be looking at her toes for all I know, but this presence that grips my chest, I just know it's from being the focus of her rage.

Not rage- fear. Had I ever bothered to learn about witches, I might have known this before now. They're not terrifying creatures that rage and kill all who stumble upon them. They're frightened, in pain, or just want to be left alone. From the creases in her eyebrows, to the way her face seems to twitch every time the wind howls beyond the door, to the short, huffing, pants of breath that come from her lungs; I can tell this isn't a beast before me.

What I feel for her as I watch her ready to attack me isn't fear or worry. It's far closer to pity or pain. It pains me that she is like this, a broken psyche instead of the girl I desperately want her to be. I frown, but I hold my ground. Her hands have raised to strike me, shoulders bunched in a very odd and threatening gesture; a scare tactic from a frightened prey. Still, I don't move.

"Are you okay?" I ask quietly, calmly.

Her howl lowers into a growl, her panting ebbs slightly. I can guess that her eyes are darting about by the way her head twitches from side to side every few seconds.

"There's nothing there, you're safe," I'm sure she can see that already. She finally seems to realize that after we've been standing in this awkward position for nearly a minute. It's a bad time for the cold to get to me, but it is nighttime, this tile is cold, and I've just realized that I've been standing in front of this girl sopping wet and nude. Great, now I'm not only cold, but I'm self conscious as well.

Still, I can't move less I spook her any more. I'm just lucky that she spooked herself the first time, leaning against the door until it clicked shut. If it was an infected or something, I'd never get her calm.

Finally her arms drop, and slowly her posture dwindles. When she isn't trying to make herself look menacing she seems timid, and she is, always huddled down or bent low, I feel like if she's shorter than me and I doubt that's true. Younger, definitely, but I've never been a tall one.

I can't help but stare at her while I have the chance. Though she's still tense, she is somewhat calm enough for me to keep this close to her without worrying about my own life, not that I've been doing a great job worrying about it in the first place. It's an ample opportunity for just looking at her though, and she is, without a doubt, the cutest girl I've ever seen in my life. There's still a sunken, hollow look to her and she seems about thirty pounds lighter than she should be, but underneath that matted hair and lit only by the dying torchlight is a beauty that I can hardly take my eyes off of.

"You're okay." I assure her. Finally I let off the breath I've been holding and all at once my legs buckle beneath me. It was exhausting just holding myself up like that, but I couldn't risk falling before she was calmed. She shrinks back when I hit the floor though, and I worry more about her than the fact that I can't really feel my limbs anymore. "You're okay," I repeat, gasping for air around my words.

To be honest, I'm not against being huddled into a ball right here. I've never felt quite as naked as I did standing before her in the nude while those eyes were on me. Her gaze, when filled with rage, is absolutely terrifying, almost paralyzing. While I struggle to get my limbs moving the bathroom fills with silence once more, no more destroyed walls to distract me. I only notice later, much later in fact, that for once there isn't any crying either. I've left her alone and all she does is stand there, perhaps confused, perhaps sated.

Either way it's onto other things, like patching myself up. I have to crawl to get anywhere now, across the floor and back to the sink where the little red first-aid kit sits in a pile of my clothes. My arms barely have the strength to open the zipper that keeps it closed, but finally I manage to pull it apart and find the bottle of rubbing alcohol and bandages. Compared to the pain I subjected myself to just a bit ago, or even dislocating my arm in the first place, rubbing alcohol doesn't seem so scary to me. It may just be the thing I need to keep myself alert, I think as I pop the top off, take a quick swig that burns the back of my throat, and pour the rest out over my back and arms.

I definitely underestimate it. For one thing, it's not pain like a broken arm, it doesn't hurt all the way to my bones and through. Alcohol is pain like burning, like I'm singeing my flesh off or cutting below my skin with a hot knife. It gets in and under my cuts and just burns and burns until I'm shaking and biting my lips so hard blood spurts out just to keep from wailing pathetically in front of Baby. When even that doesn't help I collapse closer to the slick floor and chomp by teeth down onto the wet fabric of my ruined jacket.

God it burns. I gasp.

The pain doesn't leave, but I managed to get through the first wave without screaming in agony like I wanted to. With it still burning beneath my flesh I move onto the next step, pulling out the fresh bandages and starting on my injuries. A bit of Neosporin comes out shakily on the parts I can reach, the cuts that Baby left on my wrists and calves and the minor wounds around my ribs. Hardest for me are the gashes she left in my back; they're awkward to bandage and I can't do anything to really clean them besides pouring alcohol haphazardly.

It takes me a while to finish, but I'm finally the least bit sure that I'm not bleeding to death anymore. I've got to keep moving though, I can't feel my limbs and my skin is turning an odd hue even in this light. The light isn't holding up either. I can't stop here.

I bundle up the wet clothes under my arm and crawl out, hardly managing to reach the door handle to open it. Before I leave I turn to my silent companion and say; "I'll be outside if you need me."

Her eyes, they're still unsure, untrusting. What I see in them turns to me when I speak and watches me closely, but despite her mistrust she still hasn't tried to kill me. I smile at her in reply, something that is hopefully disarming, and work up the pride to limp away rather than crawl. It only lasts a few steps, I'm far too weak to be walking anymore, but it's enough that she doesn't see me on my knees again.

Survival right now entitles food. I need energy and I need it desperately; all I've had for nourishment in what seems like weeks was a can of warm cola the other day. It's still dark out when I crawl my way back into the storefront, and my flashlight is god knows where, but my adjusted eyes can make everything out from the dim light of the moon through the rain alone. It's not looking good, there isn't a thing on the shelves and the only thing behind the counter, something I had noticed before in the smell, is a long stripped corpse that had tried to hide beneath the register.

I crawl my way further behind the counter, eventually leaving the convenience store portion of the station and entering the employee area and stockroom. I can see around here just barely through the light of an oddly placed skylight above the employee's break room. It's just enough for me to catch my bearings.

The stockroom is immediately to my right as I enter, taking up the portion of the building behind the register area. To my left, around the jutted area that holds the bathrooms, is a shoe that seems attached to a leg that no longer has the ability to move. Normally I would be disgusted by such a thing, corpses like this one and the one behind me, but there are limits to how much I can care when I'm hungry, and I am absolutely starving. To starve like this is to feel that anything in the world is edible, just the colors themselves are enough to bring to mind food.

Reality is a trickster like that. Despite ample time searching the stockroom I come out nearly empty-handed. Shelves that once held extras for candy, food, drinks, and more have been stripped bare even here. It looks like rats got into bags lying about on the floor, though the tracks of blood suggest a wayward infected. Nothing has been left there but the occasional piece of dry cat food. The one thing I do find is on the bottom shelf at the very back, hidden in a dusty corner where no one would look for or care about it.

One single tin of wet cat food. I might as well just admit that there isn't a shred of humanity left in me, I think as I settle down with the object outside the stockroom. Even as I think that and muse on my fate, staring down to the stoic metal pull-tab cap, the door beside me clicks open and I look up. I'm still unclothed, much dryer now, but the way I'm sitting up against the wall gives me a bit more modesty in front of Baby.

"Hi," I whisper as she enters. She has her timid face on, sniffling like a scolded child, but still short of the wails she's used to. There's something curious to her face too, like she's interested in what I'm doing.

And for a second, just a second, I hear a little mumble out of her that sounds almost like a reply. Almost like she's saying hello to me in response.

I have to smile as I turn back to the round object in my hand. That reminds me, and I pop the cap on it with shaking fingers. Even bashing skulls in with a jagged rock… I lift the mess to my nose and sniff, oddly enough I smell her and her unique scent rather than the cat food. It looks like chicken salad though, or those nasty sandwiches I never eat, maybe I'll be lucky and it'll taste like that.

Even if I eat cat food in the nude huddled up against a wall…

I scoop a bit out with my fingers, but just a bit isn't enough for me. I end up with nearly a hand full, staring down at it readying myself to take the plunge. Just looking at it I should be disgusted, but I'm salivating now and my stomach is growling. After just a few seconds I can't take it anymore and I stuff it into my mouth and swallow. Just a second later I gag and hear a giggle to my side.

As long as I protect her, I'll always be human…