Imogen stood in the doorway for a few moments just looking at him. He could feel her wanting to say something but deciding against it. Eventually, she left the room and Adrian attempted to sleep again.

Sleeping was strange. There was an anxiety within him that didn’t switch off, a constant reminder that he was in danger. There was still pain but it was a little less intrusive than it had been before.

He drifted in and out of sleep, but not enough to open his eyes. Just enough to be aware and remember what had happened. Occasionally, the impulse to scream took over, but he suppressed it, he suppressed everything. He felt as though he were climbing into the smallest box, all his armour now removed, destroyed. He had to hide in the box to stay safe. They wouldn’t find him there.

He could hear sobbing. The familiar pain in his throat returned and then he felt hands on his shoulders.

‘Adrian! Wake up!’

This time he did push her hands away, as he woke with a start. He was breathless and his face was wet. He had been crying, maybe talking in his sleep.

Imogen was lying with him. The room was dark and he wanted to cry out, but instead he turned in the bed, putting his bedside light on, the extreme movement causing him to wince yet again. He took several slow, deep breaths as he moved, unsure why that eased the pain in any way. He looked over to Imogen, who looked as though she had seen a ghost – a concerned and surprised face.

‘Bad dream, that’s all.’

She reached across to put her hand on his face again to check if he had a temperature, but he got out of the bed before she could touch him.

‘You were crying in your sleep. Are you sure you’re OK? Let me see if you’re warm.’

‘I said I’m fine. Will you stop fucking harassing me!’ Adrian snapped before leaving the room.

In the bathroom, he ran the cold water and splashed it on his face. His cheeks and nose were wet where the tears had fallen. He felt so broken. No control. It was as though he had given it away by not fighting back. Why didn’t he fight back? Why didn’t he fight to the death? Adrian wasn’t sure he could do this anymore. What alternative is there?

There was a gentle tap on the bathroom door.

‘Adrian?’

As the towel enveloped his face, he had the urge to scream into it, but instead he just dried himself off and opened the door. Imogen was standing with her arms folded, hugging herself for security. Her face was full of concern.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I feel like shit,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I’m great company right now.’

‘I’m worried about you. What was your dream about?’