Page 114 of The Games We Play

Intellectually, I know I’m safe.

Emotionally, I don’t feel it yet.

I’m still hanging from a hook.

I’m still being assaulted.

I try to scramble from Spark’s lap, but he simply holds me tighter. “Come back to me, little chick.”

Adrenaline. Pain. They all surge around my body. I shake. Not from cold, because Spark radiates heat. My body no longer feels like my own.

“Jesus, are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?” he asks.

“I think ... so.” My words come on sobs.

“We’ll get you through this,” he says, his voice tortured. “That’s an ironclad promise, Iris.”

I look up at him. He’s aged since the morning. I focus on him, trying to catch the whisper of myself I seem to have lost in his eyes. “I knew you’d come.”

He places his lips to the side of my head. “Always. Smart girl to set off the alarm.”

The world is coming into focus. “Shit, I’m naked,” I whisper, and I start to cry again. Like everything that has already happened wasn’t degrading enough.

“It’s okay, little chick. No one can see. I’ve got you. And so what if you’re naked? You fucking lived, Iris. You were smart. Made clever choices.”

I look up at that goddamn hook. “Not always.”

“You kept yourself alive. It’s everything.”

He’s right. My prayers came true. “I’m alive.”

“Yeah, little chick. You fucking are.”

Suddenly, the sound of bullets stops. There is groaning, and crying, and words being fired at each other, but no bullets.

I take in a breath. Then another. I focus on the way Spark keeps kissing the top of my head, the solid strength of his thighs beneath me. The fierceness of his hold, so tight, I can barely breathe. But it helps me find a kind of calm.

When he finally straightens, he grabs the hem of his T-shirt and does his best to clean up my face. “You okay if I kiss you now?” he asks.

I nod.

And he does. It’s the gentlest of kisses, a whisper of a touch on my broken face. “I’m sorry it took so long. But I’ll always come find you, Iris.”

He turns me so I’m sitting with my back to his chest, then removes his cut and T-shirt. Gently, he places his T-shirt over my head. “This might hurt,” he says, taking great care to thread my arms through the sleeves.

I whimper, and he kisses the side of my neck.

Once I’m in the T-shirt, he pulls me back into his arms. “I know it would be easier to be seen by Switch,” I say, “but I think I need an x-ray. I don’t ... I don’t think I can pretend this didn’t happen. I can’t let Switch treat me and not report this to the police. There were four more women. They talked about selling perfect wives. Did you see them?”

Spark shakes his head. “I’m sorry. We didn’t. And I understand. Give us a chance to figure out what we need to do to make that happen.”

“I also ... I don’t think ... shit.”

Spark holds me closer. “Whatever it is, tell me. We get through all this together.”

“I was unconscious for chunks of time. I don’t know if he raped me. He did other things ... I ... oh, God.”

“Iris.” His voice is filled with anguish. “I’m so sorry. We’ll get you to a hospital. Fuck everything else.”