He closed his eyes. When he opened them, Nell was in the main room, hanging halfway out of the doorway to the bedroom. The girl clutched the door frame as if there was a possibility of her falling away if she let go. She was wearing shorts and a tank top, and he could see her skin. It was disgustingly pale from lack of sun exposure, except for a number of dark red and black patches from the mercenaries. Derek was mildly repulsed by the bruises, but he was more disturbed by by the visibility of her ribs through her tank and skin.
"Jesus," he said. "You look a lot better with your janitor costume on."
She didn't look offended; she looked ashamed.
Derek asked, "You can't sleep?"
She shook her head. Derek moved his legs to make room for her on the couch. The girl was too absurdly pathetic to ignore. She walked over, limping, and sat next to him.
"What's on your mind, Fixer?"
"Adrenaline's gone. Everything hurts. Thinking about Ben. Thinking about those guys..." she trailed off and Derek saw her trembling. "Those men, what they could have done..."
The Afterdark restrained himself from shoving her away before she engaged him in a conversation about feelings. His initial question had been rhetorical--he had no interest in her thoughts.
Then he noticed the scars and decided he'd be willing to listen to her. With no sleeves, and more of her skin visible, Derek saw the white zigzags all over her body. He inhaled sharply at the sight. They were numerous, and they radiated from a point on her torso obscured by her clothes--quite possibly her solar plexus. It looked like lightning had crawled underneath her skin and stayed there.
She had been talking the whole time he'd been thinking, but she stopped when she saw him staring. "You're looking at my... at the scars?"