Page 55 of Then Came You

“You’re not your past. You’re not your parents. You’re not your circumstances or environment, do you hear me? Nothing you could have shown me would have made me think any less of you.”

Chapter 24

Row

I gathered half a box of things from the place I had called home my whole life. Walking back into the crime scene enveloped me in grief. I had detached myself from the place a long time ago; the crumbling walls never quite felt like home. But it was the memory of the last time I was there, when my Mum was complicit in my rape.

In and out in ten minutes, I packed some photos, my childhood stuffed lamb, and my dad’s wedding ring. Nothing else held much value.

Officially homeless and out of options, I relented and took up Blade’s temporary offer, with the caveat that Xan would move back in for the first few weeks until I was settled and no longer needed around-the-clock supervision.

According to Grant, my case is open and shut. The countless eye witnesses, video recordings, doctors' reports, and physical evidence and testimonies make it ironclad that this was Common Assault and Assault Occasioning Actual Bodily Harm. The earliest any of them can make parole is five years, but we’ll have to wait for the magistrate to decide, which could take several months for my case to go to court.

Within a few weeks, most of my bruises had faded to a deep mustard yellow. While I still had slight swelling in my eyelids, numbness in my cheeks, and sensitivity to light, overall, I was on the mend.

Despite physically recuperating, it had still been a slow recovery mentally.

True to his word, Blade hired a nurse to take care of me physically and found me a counsellor to deal with all my emotional baggage. I liked her. She helped clear my head. I didn’t dare divulge my feelings for Blade, but I inherently trusted that she had my best interest at heart. She didn’t look at me like I was a problem she needed to fix.

I appreciated the constant coddling - even if it was mildly annoying. What I struggled the most with was the nights when I was alone and only my pain remained.

My trauma was always there. I didn’t know if it would ever fully disappear. It was my shadow, always trailing and looming over me. I didn’t feel the trauma of losing my mother. I never really had one in the first place. The trauma I felt was from feeling weighed down, unwanted. The trauma was from feeling helpless and on the verge of death. It was the idea that I was nothing but a punching bag.

Over the weeks, I had gotten exceptional at hiding the pain and demons during the day, but they came out in the dark.

Tonight, was one of those nights where I was pulled under.

Agonising aches overwhelmed my body, my face in particular. I cried out in frustration at how slow my healing was and got sucked back into a vortex when I remembered the excruciating mental scars I had endured at the hands of my mother.

Sobbing into the pillow, I didn’t realise my hair was being pushed away from my snotty face. “Baby girl, I’m here. Shhh, everything is going to be okay,” Blade soothed, cupping my cheek as his thumb brushed away the errant tears. His voice lulled me back to a safer space. “I’ve got you, Tink. No one is ever going to hurt you again.” My skin was coated in a mist of sweat, and my body was trembling from the haunting memories of being pinned down. With my eyes shut, I could feel the weight of my attackers.

Opening my eyes, I trained them on Blade - even if he was just a blur in the shadows - and forced myself to feel his palm on my skin. If I didn’t, I was going to get stuck in this tormenting nightmare.

Even though Blade was gentle with me, the pain in my face throbbed. The pain medication I had been taking to help numb my injuries was wearing off, but I didn’t feel like I needed more when Blade was healing me bit by bit.

I knew that I was safe, and I knew that he would do anything to help me fight to get to the other side.

I was going to make it through this.

I had to.

I wouldn’t let this defeat me.

I wouldn’t let this define me.

After that night, Blade ramped up my monitoring.

If I wasn’t being tended to by the nurse or seeing my counsellor, there was always someone here.

I had barely had time alone with Blade. Not that that was the goal, I just meant Xander had been plastered by my side, lounging around with me. It was sweet but suffocating. I was never alone with my thoughts.

Today was the first day I had a moment to myself with Xander going back to classes and Blade in meetings.

While I’ve had intense traditional therapy, I’m finding that I prefer the little healing activities she gives me much better. My favourite so far is art therapy. Trish gifted me this paint-by-numbers set, and I’m addicted.

I’m currently finishing off a funky pop art piece, sipping on tepid Salted Sakura Tea made from dried and salted cherry blossoms. Just as I’m savouring my sips, I’m interrupted by an annoying ding! The door chimes, disturbing my moment of peace. I lackadaisically trudge to the intercom, where I see a preppy Cindy, kitted out in a push-up sports bra and g-string tights, bopping on the spot. She fluffs her ponytail and smacks her bright pink lips together.

While I was in the hospital, she was noticeably absent, but as soon as she found out I was staying here, she’s been insufferably suffocating, stopping by with any excuse she can think of.

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