Fiona
On the second morning after his brutal punishment at the hands of his father, Alexander woke with a full stomach and a fresh fit of energy. His back was healed, but now it was lumpy, swollen, and covered with bruises in a whole garish rainbow of colors.
“The doctor left these for you,” I told him, passing him a prescription bottle with ten big white pills inside. “For the pain, if you need it.”
Alexander didn’t hesitate. He twisted the cap off the bottle and popped two pills in his mouth immediately, swallowing them dry.
Sometimes he hid it so well, I wondered if the golden God even felt pain the way the rest of us do. Even alone with me, and even when he was drifting in and out of consciousness, Alexander hardly betrayed that he was in pain at all, despite the truly disturbing
