Perhaps it was due to his resignation to fate, He Juan discovered that he was able to sleep more soundly at night. Of course, he did not cross the possibility that his men had secretly mixed some calming substances into his IV bottle, but He Juan would like to trust that they had not reached such a level of desperation yet.
The remnants of his nightmares still lurked behind his closed eyelids, nested within the hollow of his ribcage, and echoing in the canal of his ears. The gazes filled with sorrow and resentment, the anguished cries, the lingering stench of blood and death— he doubted that they would ever fully disappear, for they had carved themselves too deeply into his flesh and soul. But he had learned to accept them as a part of himself.
And he lived. Even though he couldn't quite fathom how he did it, he managed to live through each day.
