Page 12 of Blossoming Dahlia

The walk to the car took ages, thanks to my slow shuffle-walk, and by the time I reached Asher’s car I was nearly blacking out from exhaustion. He helped me into the seat, and I immediately drifted off as we started to drive. I had a moment of horrified panic when I woke up in a bed and not the car, my back spasming in pain when I sat up too quickly. “Hey whoa, you’re okay, we’re at the hotel.” Asher’s voice cut through the panic, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. His face appeared beside me, full of its usual concern, and my heart rate returned to a reasonable speed. I couldn’t wait for the day when waking up wouldn’t immediately cause me intense stress.

“Sorry, I did try to wake you up when we got here, but you were out cold.” He smiled sheepishly. “The doctor’s here, waiting outside. Would you like to see her now or do you want to wait a few minutes?” I looked over at the door, biting my lip as I considered my options. The sooner she looked me over, the sooner I could go back to bed.

“You can send her in,” I murmured, pulling back the covers to swing my legs out. He walked away, closing the door behind him, and a friendly-looking middle-aged woman walked in a few minutes later. I could feel her eyes scanning me as I stood to greet her, clenching my jaw as the ache surged through my back.

“Please, sit,” she told me gently, and I sighed and sat back down on the bed. “Do you mind if I get your blood pressure?” she asked, pulling a portable device out of her bag. I shrugged and held out my arm, letting her slip the cuff up to my armpit. I watched dully as the cuff squeezed until my fingers tingled, then finally released its hold. “Excellent. Now, Dr. Cross tells me you have some injuries to your back that are causing you some pain. Can I take a look?” Her voice was soft and motherly, and it made my chest hurt a little.

“Sure, that’s fine,” I told her. She had me lay down on my stomach on the bed and lifted the back of my shirt, raising it upto my shoulders. I laid still when she pulled back my bandages, my eyes growing heavy as she studied me in silence.

“I’m not going to put the bandages back on, as long as you promise to wear loose clothing for a while,” she told me. “The air will help you heal. And you can shower, just don’t scrub the stitches or they might tear before you’re completely healed.” I nodded along quietly, and she lowered my shirt back down to cover me. “Now, several of the cuts did impact the muscles in your lower back which are important for a lot of your movements, that’s why it’s hurting so much. I was told you were giving some pain medication, but that you’ve refused to take it. May I ask why?” She looked at me as I sat up, studying me intently.

“I don’t like the way they make me feel,” I murmured, looking down at my hands. “They make my head feel fuzzy, and when I wake up after taking them, it feels like… I’m back at that place,” I explained. The doctor pursed her lips consideringly and rummaged through her bag for a moment.

“I’ve got something here that may help. It’s for the pain, stronger than a regular ibuprofen, but it won’t make you loopy,” she told me. “Try one today and, if you don’t like them, we can find something else. But I think you should take something for at least the next week, until some of the deeper wounds have had time to heal,” she instructed, and I nodded dully. She grabbed a bottle of water off the nightstand and handed it to me, along with one of the small pills, watching as I took it.

“Okay, now, do you have someone to talk to about this?” she asked, and I frowned at her, not understanding. “A therapist or a counselor? A psychologist?” she elaborated, and I shook my head.

“No. I mean, I used to see someone for a while after my father passed away, but that was back in Seattle,” I replied, taking another sip of water.

She took out a little card and scribbled something on the back before handing it to me. “Carla is a friend of mine, she works with PTSD a lot,” she told me gently. “Give her a call when you feel up to it. I think it would be good to talk to someone about what happened.” I nodded again, swallowing past a lump in my throat. “You’ll be just fine.” She smiled, patting my arm. “You just need some rest. Dr. Cross has my direct number, have him call me if you need anything.” I gave her a small smile, and she waved before walking out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Well, if I couldn’t go home and I couldn’t snuggle in the arms of my boyfriend, at least I could have a fucking shower. I hobbled over to the bathroom and cranked on the water. This place was far nicer than the motel we’d stayed at, and the shower came on instantly and scalding hot, steaming up the mirror. I turned it down to just below boiling and carefully stripped off my clothes, struggling to get the sports bra off for a minute since my muscles refused to move like they should. I thought the fear of needing Asher to cut me out of the damn thing was what finally pushed me to get it up and over my shoulder. I tossed it on the counter along with the rest of my borrowed clothes and stepped into the shower.

God, the water felt so good on my skin. I grabbed the little bottle of shampoo and lathered my hair until my scalp ached, then I turned my attention to my skin. I took a washcloth and scrubbed every inch that I could reach, trying to remove any trace of that man from my body. I had tried very hard not to think about how my skin had stayed clean all these months, how I’d ended up dressed every day, how my hair had always been done. But I knew what it meant. I knew that while I was unconscious, that psycho had been undressing me, touching me,cutting me… My eyes burned as more tears fell, only to be washed away by the water. I scrubbed until my skin was pinkand raw, and I was satisfied that every inch of my body was free of him. I just wished I could scrub my soul clean the same way.

I stayed under the water until it began to cool and goosebumps appeared on my arms. Stepping out, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself, then took a second one to dry my hair. The ghost staring back at me from the mirror was a horrifying sight. Bones were visible in places where there used to be soft flesh and muscle, and my once smooth skin was covered in a motley of scars and half-healed bruises, none of which I remembered receiving. I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

Slipping back into my old clothes—since I had nothing else to wear right now—I finger combed my hair and returned to my little room, taking in the space fully for the first time. It was nice and private, with a window looking out over the downtown area. I cracked open the door people kept disappearing through and stepped out into the main room, my jaw dropping at the size of it. This must’ve been one of those fancy hotel rooms that rich people got; it had a kitchenette, a living space and a table for…I don’t know, business meetings I guess?There was another door directly across from mine, which I assumed was a second bedroom. I walked into the kitchen and pulled open the full sized fridge they had, eyeing the pop and mini liquor bottles inside.

“You can have anything you like, it’s all yours.” I jumped, not noticing Asher sitting on the couch. He had his notebook out again, his hands once more covered in ink. I closed the door with an embarrassed smile.

“Maybe later,” I replied, walking over to where he was sitting. He closed his laptop before I sat down, hiding whatever he was looking at from my view. “Secret case stuff?” I asked, gesturing to his laptop.

“Sort of,” Asher replied, avoiding my eyes. Boy, for a fed he was a really bad liar.

“If it’s about my case, shouldn’t I be able to see it?” I challenged, raising my eyebrow at him.

Asher’s face hardened abruptly, his eyes flashing with a simmering rage. “You don’t want to see this, Dahlia, trust me,” he muttered, shutting his notebook with a snap. Well, that did nothing to dissuade me; in fact, it did the opposite.

“Is it about me?” I asked cooly, and he hesitated a moment, before nodding. “Then I’d like to know about it. Won’t it come up in court if it’s part of the case?” He tensed, and I watched the muscle in his jaw work as he mulled it over.

“Sometimes, there are things in life we want to know, but knowing them carries a cost,” Asher told me gently. “There are things you can’t unsee, answers you can’t unlearn, and sometimes… sometimes not knowing is a mercy.” He sighed. He looked as tired as I felt, and I wondered if he’d gotten any sleep in the last few days aside from the naps he seemed to take in chairs too small for his lanky frame.

“Fine, how about you just explain it to me then?” I suggested, and his face creased with discomfort.

He sighed heavily and looked over at his laptop again. “If I tell you, then you’ll agree never to look at it,” he countered, and my eyebrows shot up, my stomach rolling with unease. I finally nodded, holding out my hand to shake on it. He gave me a sad smile and shook my hand before standing up and walking into the kitchen. He grabbed something out of the fridge and then rejoined me, sitting down heavily next to me.

“Here,” he said grimly, holding out a small bottle of booze from the minibar. I eyed him warily, but he just stared at me until I opened the bottle and tossed it back like a shot. It had been a hot minute since I’d had any type of liquor, and it made me cough a bit. “Alright, how bad is it then?” I asked, clenching my fists in my lap.

“We recovered some files from Curing’s hard drives,” he told me gently. “Video files.” My stomach rolled violently, threatening to paint the couch with the liquor I’d just consumed. “He liked to record the women he took. And the… things he did while they were… unconscious.” It felt like all the air in the room got sucked out, leaving me gasping. I didn’t feel Asher take my hand until he began rubbing small circles on my palm with his thumb, pulling me back into the present.

“How much have you seen?” I asked hoarsely, searching his face, watching for a lie. His thumb continued to trace circles on my palm, helping to ground me as my mind threatened to fade out.

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Some. Not everything,” he replied carefully. “I saw how you got those cuts on your back.” His fingers tightened briefly on my hand before they loosened, his thumb continuing its circuit across my skin.

“Tell me,” I demanded, and his eyes widened with shock. “Please, I want to know how it happened.”

Chapter nine

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