Page 16 of Broken Princess

“I need you to listen to me, Aurora. The last time you woke up, you ripped out your IV. I need you to stay still while you’re coming round. You’re safe, he’s not here.”

“Well, now I know I must be dreaming, Imaginary Enzo. Next, you’re going to tell me you can make the alarm fuck off and stop the lights from burning out my retinas,” I reply, tone dry and dripping with sarcasm.

There’s some shuffling and the alarms stop, the beeps fade away to a tolerable volume, and the light dims enough for me to open my eyes again. Well, eye. My left eye opens, but the right is being decidedly disobedient. I lift my hand to reach for it, but firm yet gentle fingers stop me.

“Your right eye is swollen shut, Aurora. Doc Em says it will hurt like hell for a while, but there’s no permanent damage.” His tone is a familiar rumble, the timbre reassuring me as it always has. It chases away any of the usual fear that normally accompanies waking from whatever torment Max has subjected me to.

The obedient eyelid may have opened, but focussing is beyond difficult and is making my head swim. Given how I’m feeling, it’s probably for the best. Not sure I’m ready to see what I look like—see what state he’s left me in this time. I can’t figure out if it’s a good or bad that Enzo is here. On the one hand, I’ve been taken to a doctor, but on the other, no one ever sees me after. I always wake up alone, where no one can witness my shame.

“Keep your eyes closed if it’s too much,” I hear Enzo whisper. “Aurora… we didn’t know it was you when he brought us to the warehouse. Please believe me. If I’d known you were in any danger, we would have?—”

“Done nothing, Enzo.” I cut him off abruptly. “People have been doing nothing for four years.”

My words choke me, stealing my breath.

“We had no idea, Aurora,” he says, voice heavy with regret. There’s pain and sorrow in his tone and I’m sorry, but no. I will not sit here and listen to self-deprecating platitudes.

“Cut it out right now, Zo. I don’t have the strength to survive another round with that psychopath and hold your hand as well.” It’s a battle to force out the words, but I have to protect what little dignity I can muster. I need him to shut this shit down, right now. I have a way of dealing with this and it does not involve being plied with unwanted pity.

I can feel his unwavering stare. Hear the gentle pant of his breath as he collects himself. Finally, in a more detached and considered tone, he speaks. “Max called us to the warehouse for a cleanup. He asked to dispose of some bodies and as we were moving you, you woke up.”

“Wait a minute, after you saw it was me you were going to carry on? You were just like, ‘Cool, let me just get rid of your wife’s body?’ What the fuck, Zo?”

“We still didn’t know it was you,” he says, his pleading tone returning, like he’s begging for me to hear him out. “Your face is—well, it’s so swollen—we couldn’t tell it was you.”

“Go on,” is all I can bite out in response to that. I can’t bring myself to assess my injuries in full, so I’ll have to take his word for it. I can lose my shit over it later.

“When you tried to open your eyes, we realised who you were, got you away from the warehouse and to a doctor. Given the situation, we called in Doc Em.”

Shit, how many more people know what he’s done to me? Fuck’s sake. “Makes sense,” I deadpan. “So, am I dying?”

“Aurora, it’s not a joke.”

“Oh, if anyone is aware of the seriousness of the situation, I think it’s me, you sanctimonious prick.” My blood is boiling. I’m guessing my blood pressure is through the roof because an aggressive beeping has begun behind me.

Excuse me for having an inappropriate trauma response.

“It’s never a joke. It’s not funny when he beats me. It doesn’t make me giggle when he locks me up or ties me down. Not so much as a smirk when he cuts me, sure as shit not filled with glee when he burns me, and I wasn’t fucking laughing when he stabbed me!”

I’m struggling to catch my breath, heaving like I’ve just run a marathon, like my heart is about to beat out of my chest. Everything is just too much. I close my eyes tightly, wishing the ball of emotion growing in my chest would just go away.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe. With that thought on repeat in my head, I burst into floods of tears. Full on, hysterical tears.

What fresh hell is this?

I feel hands pulling me up and a warm, solid body slides behind me. I sink back into his chest and cry until I can’t cry anymore, and my wails die down to whimpers. My incoherent ramblings are reduced to one sentence that I can’t help but let escape.

“I want my dad.”

“I know guerrierotta, I know,” he whispers into my ear as he holds me close and strokes my hair. “We’re working on it.”

I still in his arms. He doesn’t know… I don’t think I can do this. If I say it out loud, it’s real. It happened. Turning my head, I crack my eye open and force myself to hold his gaze. Taking in his features, I can see that he knows what I’m going to say.

“I hoped it wasn’t true. When I realised it was you… I prayed that it wasn’t him,” he forces out, hanging his head in defeat.

“You don’t have to say it.” He pulls me back to nestle into his torso. “I won’t make you say it.”

His hand returns to stroking my hair and there, cradled in the safety of his arms, I fall asleep. But this time isn’t like all those others. I’m not drifting away to hide from a monster. I’m falling asleep under the protection of someone I know won’t hurt me. I don’t know how I know, but I feel it.

---