Page 15 of Under His Watch

That’s a lot more than what I can say about last night.

All the memories rushed through me, and I counted my breaths with the square method to avoid being locked down in fear again.

It didn’t work. The more I tried to resist panicking as I woke up more clear headed after a night of sleep, the deeper the horrors persisted. Getting over the trauma of what those men did to me would take more than a single night of sleep. I knew that. But I spiraled and freaked out.

In this room, I was grateful for my privacy, but I hated that I was alone at the same time. I couldn’t go home to my parents. I couldn’t even bear facing them at all, certain they’d judge and punish me for “letting” myself get raped.

A fleeting wish came of calling Nina. She was my best friend, and this was exactly what friends were supposed to be there for—talking down panic attacks. But she wasn’t here. I hadn’t been in contact with her. And I felt ashamed to even tell her about what happened.

Why? Why is this stupid sense of humiliation so strong? I hadn’t done anything to get raped. I fought. I pushed back. But I was hit with such a hard dose of shame.

A knock sounded on the door, and it jolted me from staying in my mind.

“Tessa?”

I furrowed my brow at Romeo’s voice, unsure how to face him, either. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

I winced. It was his house. He didn’t owe me anything, not even my privacy after all he’d done. Stopping those men. Getting me to safety. Cleaning my cuts and getting me medical aid.

“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk to him, but I felt even worse to be rude and shut him out.

My God. I’ll be a people-pleasing, obedient girl until I die. I rolled my eyes.

“Did Danicia help?” he asked as he entered and sat in the chair next to the bed. He roved his gaze up and down me as I sat upin the bed, but it wasn’t a creepy stare. More like something a concerned friend might do.

“Yes. She did. Thank you.”

He nodded, seeming pleased about my reply. “She’s on call should you need anything else.” Glancing at the array of materials and medications she’d left on the nightstand, he added, “Even to help with the wounds and bandages.”

I held up my hands, showing him the gauze. “Thanks. This should help a lot.”

“I want to help,” he said, gentle and sincere. “Please know that.”

Why?Emotions clogged my throat, and I breathed through the sting of pending tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, so observant to notice I was about to bawl again.

I never cried. Never. But this time, it wasn’t the memories of my trauma that got me like this. It was him. That he cared. Following the solo attempt of talking myself down from dwelling on the flashbacks, his genuine concern was touching.

“No one does.”

“What?”

“No one ever helps me.” Nina used to. We helped each other the best we could, but we dealt with the same hand of cards and weren’t in any position to really improve each other’s lives.

“I will.”

I wiped my cheek, hating the tear that slipped down. “Why? We’re strangers. I’m?—”

“You’re a woman I want to help. And I will.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. “I have, and I won’t stop.”

I stared at the angry gash on his knuckles. “Is that from punching that man last night?”

He nodded.

Sick anger built stronger within me, chasing out the despair a bit. “I wish you hit him harder.”

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