Jerrick carried her to a nearby bench, gently caressing her head with tenderness, not minding the pain radiating from his shoulder. The deeper her teeth sank into him, the gentler his caresses became; each stroke a silent reassurance. He sat on the bench, leaning against the wall, cradling her securely in his lap.
He whispered soothing words, his voice a balm to her wounded spirit, even as his shoulder throbbed with pain. Jerrick understood that sometimes, the path to healing began with a raw, unfiltered expression of hurt, and he was willing to bear it all for her.
Not even a minute had passed, but he felt the force of her bite lessen. The ferocity of her anger and pain waned, replaced by a hesitance, or perhaps pity, that surfaced over the turmoil she tried to suppress. Her grip on him loosened, the fierce tension in her body gradually easing.
