"Presley?"
It takes a moment for me to find the voice, to crane my neck toward it, but my eyes still refuse to open.
New footsteps approach. "I hear my patient is awake," a man says as something cool presses against my forehead. "Let's get her vitals. Nurse, please."
Hands move over me and instinctively, I try to pull away, but there is nowhere to go. "Hey, it's okay. You're safe," someone soothes.
I shake my head weakly. No. I am not safe.
"You've been here almost a month and you’re still safe."
A month? Here? Where evenwashere?
How? Why?
I had a thousand questions and no voice to ask them.
"Let's work on getting that tube out of your throat. Maybe then you can tell us what you remember," the doctor says.
What I remember…
Do I even want to remember?
Tears leak from the corners of my battered eyes as memories claw their way back, Keifer’s fists, his feet, his rage.
"Don’t cry, Presley. We’re here for you," Agatha whispers, her hand warm and steady on mine.
She never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself.
I let my eyes drift closed again, slipping into a different kind of darkness.
Birds chirp a sweet melody. The scent of fresh flowers fill my nose. Warmth kisses my face, the sun.
Oh, how I'd missed mornings like this.
I crack open my eyes, surprised when they actually obeyed.
“Princess?”
That voice.
Tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. “Baby, please don't cry,” Rygaard murmurs, his hand brushing gentlyacross my face, adding to the burning sensation. “I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry. God, I'm sorry.”
He’s kneeling beside my bed, gathering my frail hands in his.
“There’s nothing I can say to erase the hell you went through, by yourself. But if it takes me the rest of my life to make it right, I'll do it.”
I sob harder, ashamed, because now he knew.
He knew everything.
How?
It doesn’t matter.
All that mattered was the crushing shame that I wasn’t strong enough, not strong enough to carry our son, not strong enough to carry myself.
I spiral. Hard. Fast.