Tempest POV
The guilt was still there; what I do in my sleep was beyond my control. I loathe waking up and seeing what I had done to Storm. He never complains, but tries to soothe me some more and asks if I want to talk about it. I know Storm means well, but often talking is the last thing I want to do. If the nightmare lingers long enough, yeah, I can sometimes give him snippets of what the dream was about, but often it fades quickly, leaving me drained.
Washed up and stared at my reflection in the mirror of our bathroom. The girl in the mirror looks nothing like the one before the accident. That's my life at the moment, before or after the accident. I had gained weight, not fat, but meat on my skinny bones; my cheeks had gained some dimples that I hadn't seen in years, my eyes, althoug
