Page 58 of Truth

“Tonight I want us to start working on what happened Sunday morning.” She stiffened, and I leaned down to brush my lips along her shoulder. “I want you to write in your journal the words you can remember the men using.”

“Please...”

I turned her chin so that I could look at her. “They are only words, Brianna. Just words. They can’t hurt you, just like those men can’t hurt you anymore. You are safe here with me. Just. Words.”

She pressed her lips together but didn’t respond.

That fearful look in her eyes was back. I wished I could make it go away, but this was something we had to deal with.

Releasing her chin, I nodded toward her journal and waited for her to open it.

Slowly, she picked up her pen and opened to a fresh page. I could almost feel her giving herself a pep talk as she inched the writing utensil closer.

Then it was as if something clicked inside her, and she started to write. The words were written quickly, and I could barely make some of them out.

Whore.

Bitch.

Cunt.

Fuckhole.

Cumdump.

Slut.

The pen stopped moving and hovered over the paper before dropping from her hand, bouncing off my leg, and hitting the floor.

I reached out to touch her, and she flinched. It was subtle, but I noticed. Brianna hadn’t pulled away from me since those first few weeks.

“Brianna.”

Nothing.

“Brianna,” I said with more force.

She jumped.

“Turn around and look at me.”

When she did, I felt a sharp pain stab in my chest. The wonderful, strong woman I’d come to know these last two months wasn’t there. Her face was devoid of emotion. Her eyes were distant and unfocused. The sight made me want to cry and hit something at the same time. Preferably Ian’s face.

“Brianna, can you tell me what number?”

Still nothing.

Sighing, I removed the journal from her hands and stood. Picking her up, I situated us both back in my chair and wrapped my arms around her. She’d come out of it... eventually.

Brianna

I could feel movement under me, but it took me a while to realize it was someone breathing. Someone was holding me. It was as if I were underwater. I could hear things, but they all seemed muffled and far away. If someone was holding me, though, I couldn’t be underwater, right?

Gradually the sounds became voices. A television.

There were arms around me, holding me against a chest. I breathed deep, and a familiar scent filled my nostrils. Stephan.

I opened my eyes to find him staring down at me.

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