Page 72 of Every Broken Piece
We sit on that unforgiving floor, jammed tightly together, until my ass goes numb.
Her tears continue to fall, breaking my heart a little more with each one, but those caramel-colored eyes are glued to mine, trusting me to get her through this. And I will. I’ll get her through this and everything else she’s facing. I’m not breaking this trust.
“Let’s get you off the floor and into bed,” I say once her breathing is back to normal and I’m satisfied she’s not going to pass out.
It takes some maneuvering to stand, then to get her onto her shaky legs. Her knees sag and it’s clear she’s not going to make it to her bedroom on her own. I somehow manage to bend down in the small space and swing her into my arms. Her body’s trembling so badly it’s making mine shake. We pass through the broken door with the splintered frame. I’ll have to fix that later and maybe speak to the landlord about getting better doors.
I carefully lower her onto the bed. I still don’t know if she’s hurt but I’m betting that what happened back there wasn’t about dizziness or a fall.
She immediately rolls to her side and curls into a ball. I climb in behind her, dragging the covers over us while pulling her to me and wrapping my arms tightly around her. She’s so slight in my arms, so vulnerable, hurt in so many ways I don’t even know about.
I bury my nose in the soft silk of her hair and close my eyes, inhaling her vanilla scent. One of my strengths in my career is knowing when I’ve been defeated. I have that feeling of defeatnow, but this isn’t crushing like it normally would be. This defeat is more a capitulation, a surrender to the inevitable. I’m in deep. And I don’t give a damn.
“It was the toothpaste,” she says quietly.
The toothpaste?
“The mint,” she says. “His breath smelled like mint, like he’d brushed his teeth before he attacked me.”
Shit.Now I’m trembling with rage, horror, fear for her.
“Do you remember anything else?” I don’t want to stir up more memories while at the same time recognizing anything she can remember will help us catch the asshole.
Her breaths become ragged again. Her chest heaves beneath my arms. I rest my chin on the top of her head so I’m completely surrounding her, a barrier to her fears.
“He said ‘bad things happen, Theresa’. Then he hit me.”
I close my eyes and swallow the bile crawling up my throat. My arms shake with the need to storm out of here and find that fucker.
“Tess.” I have no idea what to say to make this better. I don’t think there are words to make this better and I don’t know what’s worse—her not remembering, or her remembering.
And then it hits me what she’s just said. “He called you Theresa? He knew your name?” A name she rarely uses? “Did you tell him your name at some point?”
Her body stiffens. “I... I don’t remember.”
Is she lying? I feel like she’s not telling the truth, but I don’t know why she’d lie about this. Did he threaten her if she told anyone what she remembered? Does she know him and she’s keeping his identity from all of us?
Whatever it is, it has her entire body vibrating in fear and I’m fucking pissed that this man is haunting her.
“You can trust me, Spitfire. No matter what, I’ll help you. You know that, right?” I’ll do whatever it takes.
“I know,” she whispers.
I wait for more but there is no more.
Eventually her trembling stops and her breathing deepens. I should get up to make sure the flimsy lock on the front door is engaged and to find something to put in front of it to warn me if someone attempts to break in. I should turn off the lights in the living room and bathroom. But the thought of leaving her even for the small amount of time it would take to secure the house makes me anxious. I don’t want her waking up alone.
Hours later I’m roused from a light doze when her body starts twitching, then jerking. I’m on my back with her snuggled into my side, her arm and leg thrown over me.
Her fingers curl into a fist on my chest and her leg, stretched across the tops of my thighs, spasms.
She whimpers, then gasps.
I roll so I can throw my other arm around her and pull her in tight, hoping my body is enough to still the demons torturing her sleep.
Wrong move.
She cries out and pushes at my arms, her legs thrashing. I immediately release her and she rolls away, sitting up, her head on a swivel as she searches the shadows for whatever possessed her dreams.
