Page 87 of Under Your Scars

“Also not surprising. You have a concussion. The headache will fade as long as you take care of yourself. You also came in with a large shard of glass in your leg, but we were able to remove it and stitch you up. That should heal relatively quickly and have minimal scarring.”

I blink at her again. “I don’t care about that.”

She gives me a knowing look and takes a seat in the rolling stool next to my bed. “I’m very sorry for what you went through. It was horrific, and it is completely normal for you to feel scared, angry, worried.”

She spends the next few minutes detailing STD tests, telling me that I’m clean so far, but I should do a follow-up visit in a few weeks to double check.

“Did…did you call my parents?”

“Yes, ma’am. They assured us they would be on their way as soon as possible.”

My heart squeezes, and I want to ask her how much my parents know about what happened to me, so that I can prepare myself for the way they’ll look at me when they get here. I already know my father will be on the warpath, and I can feel my mother crying on the other side of the country. It’s going to be so hard to face them, to look into their eyes and relive that experience all over again.

Dr. Portman leaves the room, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, I let the tears fall. Clutching Christian’s jacket close to my chest and letting the lining soak up my sorrow, I allow myself to be weak. I shake and my chest wheezes as I struggle to take steady breaths. It feels like my entire world has come crashing down around me, and I’m stuck in the rubble with no way to climb out. It feels like the worst kind of prison I could have been sentenced to.

Trapped in my own mind.

My punishment, being forced to relive my rape over and over again.

I hear another set of footsteps, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with rage. Without looking, I grab the spare pillow from under my head and throw it in the direction of the door with a frustrated snarl through my gritted teeth.

“Get out!” I shout, my vision blinded by my own tears.

“I’m not going anywhere, angel.”

I go stiff and wipe my eyes as I stare at Christian, lingering in the doorway. He stares back like it’s the first time he’s ever seen me. My chest tightens painfully. “Where have you been?” I spit out, suddenly furious that he wasn’t here when I woke up. He doesn’t answer me, moving to come sit in the chair next to me where his jacket was draped. He reaches for my hand, and I snatch it away so fast that the room turns ice cold with bitter tension.

Christian holds his hands up in surrender and shakes a small cup in his right hand. “I just went downstairs to the cafeteria for some coffee.” A wave of sadness flickers across his gaze, gone as quick as it came before his mouth falls into a straight line and his eyes soften.

I huff. My heart is unsatisfied with the answer at first, but then I get a look at him. The delicate skin under his eyes is a dark purple. His features look sunken in, and he’s so pale. One shade lighter and I’d be able to see right through him. He looks frail. Fragile. Like the smallest bit of wind will knock him over. I’ve never seen him without a clean-shaven face, but he’s got the beginnings of a beard and his hair has seen better days.

He doesn’t have to say anything for me to understand. He’s been so worried about me that he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Christian lightly rests his right arm and hand on the bed next to me. An offer to hold my hand if I choose to take it.

I don’t.

“You havenothingto be sorry for. How are you feeling?” he asks, and I reply with the same things I told Dr. Portman. I can tell by the constant twitch of his fingers that it’s a considerable effort to not reach for me and comfort me with his touch. His embrace.

The thing is, there’s nothing I want more right now, but the thought feels like a million insects crawling under my skin. It makes me itchy. It makes me restless and has me gazing towards the door every few seconds to make sure the path is clear in case I need to run.

I wonder if he’ll still chase me now that I’m broken and beaten. Now that I’m sliced open and had two other men forcefully shove their release inside me. I shudder at the memory of the pain and burning sensation that came along with the violation, and the utter emptiness I felt the first time Frank and Neil raped me, and then again downstairs when Christian got there, and he had to watch.

Goosebumps of anxiety break out over my body. “They got away, didn’t they?” I ask, too afraid to find the answer in his eyes.

“Valenti did,” he admits, and his voice breaks, turning into a whisper at the shame of it. I cringe as if I’m trapped in the room with that foul man again, letting out a shaky breath. “Elena, I swear on my fucking life I will hunt him to the ends of the earth. I will find him and I will make him suffer until even the devil himself fears me.”

“He could come back.”

“No, baby,” Christian coos. “I promise, you’re safe now. Neil is dead, and Valenti will be soon.”

I blink at him, something dark and unsettling swirling in my gut. “Did…did he suffer?”

Christian’s jaw tightens and I just know even thinking about it makes him feel unhinged and feral. He nods. “Yes. I made him suffer. Then I lit his corpse on fire so he wouldn’t know peace, even in death.”

“Good,” I whisper, and something sparkles in his eyes, but before I have a chance to consider what it is, arguing can be heard outside of my hospital room door. I immediately retreat under the blankets, and Christian stands, wrapping his fingers around the pistol under his shirt. I hear something that sounds like ‘get your hands off me’. More commotion rustles outside the door, and then it’s being shoved open, two men grabbing the arms of my—

“Dad!” I gasp, a sob wrecking through me when our eyes meet. “Daddy,” I cry, scrambling out of the bed trying to meet him halfway, but I’m tangled in the sheets, and he makes it to me first, wrapping me in the tightest embrace he can manage. We sob into each other’s necks, and I think my father might actually be more of a wreck than I am. I’ve never felt so much relief in my life as he holds me, and I’m clutching onto him like it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.