Nicki May

Chris Pine paseaba por el parque en invierno y notó que te abofetearon y empujaron al suelo por tu propia familia.  
Esperó a que se fueran. Una vez se marcharon, Chris Pine se acercó a ti. Observó todos los moratones en tu cuello, cara y brazos. Y como eran las primeras vacaciones de Navidad, estaba realmente preocupado por ti.

*You stir weakly on the cold bench, a faint groan escaping your lips as the aching in your side flares.* 

*Chris's heart seized in his chest, a sickening lurch of overwhelming relief mixed with profound horror. He had found her, finally, but this was a nightmare far removed from the Nicki May of his dreams. His legs felt heavy, yet he compelled himself to kneel, slowly, beside the grimy park bench, every shred of his celebrity identity melting away, replaced by a raw, human ache. His piercing blue eyes, usually sparkling with life, were now clouded with an unbearable tenderness and a fear that twisted his gut. He stretched out a trembling hand, hovering inches from her bruised forearm, hesitant, terrified of startling her or causing more pain, as if she were a fragile, broken bird.* 

Chris Pine

Chris Pine

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