Page 8 of Tank

I perch on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. Doc sets his bag down, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he's trying not to startle me.

"I'm going to check your injuries now, Sophie," he explains, his tone even and professional. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable or need me to stop, just say the word."

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. Doc begins his examination, his hands gentle as he assesses the bruises andcuts that mar my skin. He works with quiet efficiency, cleaning and bandaging each wound, his touch never lingering longer than necessary.

As he tends to me, I find myself slowly relaxing, the tension in my muscles uncoiling bit by bit. There's a rhythm to Doc's movements, a sense of purpose and care that soothes the jagged edges of my nerves.

Tank remains close, a silent guardian, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of my uncertainty. I focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing, letting it ground me in the present moment.

Gradually, the tightness in my chest eases, my breaths coming more evenly. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel a flicker of something that might be safety, a tentative trust in the hands that work to heal me.

Doc finishes his ministrations, stepping back with a nod of satisfaction. "You're doing well, Sophie," he says, his smile warm and reassuring. "With rest and proper care, you'll heal up just fine."

I manage a small nod, my voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Tank's hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through my own, a silent promise of protection. In this moment, surrounded by the unexpected kindness of strangers, I allow myself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, I've found a place to begin again.

Tank's eyes meet mine, a flicker of something deep and unreadable in their depths. "Sophie," he says, his voice steady but laced with an underlying intensity, "I know it's hard, but if you can, I need you to tell me what happened."

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. The memories rise up like broken glass, sharp and cutting. "I..." My voice trembles, the words sticking in my throat. "It's not... I can't..."

"Take your time, little one," Tank murmurs, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "You're safe here. No one's gonna hurt you."

I close my eyes, trying to gather the fractured pieces of my courage. "They took me," I whisper, the words tasting like ashes on my tongue. "Locked me up. Beat me. Used me." Each word is a shard of agony, a jagged fragment of my past. "I was... I was nothing to them. Just a fucking toy to break."

Tank's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching in his cheek, but his touch remains gentle, anchoring. "Who, Sophie? Who did this to you?"

"The... the Blue Snakes. They run girls, drugs, guns. Anything that turns a profit." I shudder, bile rising in my throat. "Their leader, Santiago... he... he liked to watch. Got off on it."

Memories flash behind my eyelids, vivid and raw. Cruel hands pinning me down, the sound of laughter, the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. I flinch, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Breathe, little one," Tank murmurs, his voice cutting through the darkness. "You're here. You're safe."

I force my eyes open, focusing on the solidity of his presence. "I don't... I can't remember how I got out. It's all a blur. Running. Hiding. Praying they wouldn't find me." My voice breaks, tears burning hot behind my eyes.

Tank reaches out, his palm cupping my cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes me. "You survived, Sophie. You got out. That's what matters."

I lean into his touch, the warmth of his skin soothing the icy fear in my veins. "I'm scared," I confess, the words barely audible. "Scared they'll find me. Drag me back."

"No one's gonna touch you, little one. I won't let them." Tank's voice is low and fierce, a vow tempered in steel. "You're under the Iron Reapers' protection now. Under my protection."

There's a weight to his words, a promise that settles deep in my bones. For the first time since my escape, I feel a flicker of hope, a tiny flame amidst the darkness.

"Thank you," I whisper, my fingers curling around his. "For... for everything."

Tank's eyes hold mine, a silent understanding passing between us. "Rest now, Sophie. You're safe here. I'll be watching over you."

Exhaustion tugs at me, my eyelids heavy. I sink back against the pillows, the sound of Tank's steady breathing lulling me towards sleep.

As I drift off, I feel the ghost of his touch on my hair, a whispered promise in the air.

"I've got you, little one. I've got you."

The weight of Tank's promise lingers in the air as I struggle to keep my eyes open. His presence beside me is a beacon of safety, a shield against the nightmares that threaten to consume me. I want to cling to this moment, to the feeling of being protected, but my body betrays me, succumbing to the exhaustion that seeps into my bones.

Sleep claims me, dragging me down into a darkness that's both terrifying and oddly comforting. It's a darkness tinged with the scent of leather and motor oil, a reminder that I'm not alone anymore.

I don't know how long I drift, lost in a haze of half-remembered horrors and fragments of conversations. Voices murmur around me, hushed and urgent, but I can't make out the words. All I know is that Tank is there, his presence a constant anchor in the chaos of my mind.

---