"Please, Daisy, I need you to wake up!"

I didn't try to open my eyes. I felt so tired.

"Please, I wanted to take the whips for you! I'm so sorry."

Was that... Dove? She sounded so far away. I wanted to help her. But I was just too exhausted.

"I need you..."

I opened my eyes and searched for Dove. I found her blurry figure hovering over me.

"Daisy!" She exclaimed. "I thought you died."

"Peter said I was allowed to treat your wound."

She picked me up effortlessly and carried me to the bathroom. She took off my clothes and then placed me in the bathtub. She filled it up with warm water, which stung the cuts on my stomach.

The water soon turned red with my blood. Dove shivered and drained the water, only to fill it back up again. This time, the water was light red. The repeated this process until the water was a little foggy and pink.

"I'm going to have to touch your wounds, okay?" She asked. I nodded and closed my eyes.

I felt a soft piece of cloth being pressed against my stomach. The cloth gently went over my wounds. I gasped in pain and clenched the side of the tub.

Dove soon finished washing over my cuts and then she drained the bath once again. She filled it up and did a quick rinse for my hair and body.

I weakly stumbled out of the bathtub. Dove let me dry myself off and put on my own clothes. I was glad to find sweatpants and a hoodie.

I sat on the toilet seat and lifted up my hoodie for Dove to access the wounds. She started to wrap dressing around my torso.

"I recommended stitches, but Peter said no," she whispered. I just nodded my head and stood up.

I felt weak. More importantly, I was tired, hungry, and thirsty. I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink in 3 days. My system was probably shutting down. I had already dropped 20 pounds in my stay there.

Dove helped me walk to a bed. She brought me a piece of toast and some water, which I happily scarfed down.

"Where's Peter?" I whispered.

"He's out buying food. He told me to keep an eye on you."

"Ah, yes, because I'm sure that I could run away right now."

"He wasn't worried about that."

"Then what the hell was he worried about then?!"

"That you would kill yourself."

I fell silent. I had thought about it too many times to count.

I heard the front door open and then close. Footsteps started to near the room I was in. I froze and stared at the door.

Peter walked in with his hands behind his back. I assumed the worse. Which was that he had a weapon in his hands.

"Since I felt so guilty about almost killing you, I brought you something."

Was it Harper's head?

Or was it a tongue?

Or could it be a weapon?

My thoughts stopped when I heard a soft whining sound. It was followed by whimpering.

Peter put his hands in front of him to reveal a puppy. The puppy was a brindle boxer. He had dark chocolate eyes that were scared and confused.

Peter placed the dog on my chest and he slowly laid down. And that's when I knew that somehow, everything would be okay.