Page 100 of Shattered Lives

I’m safe.

After a moment, I nod. Mark opens his arms, and I go to him, burying my face in his chest, still panting.

“I’m sorry, Baby Girl,” he says softly, rubbing my back.

“I remembered specifics this time, from the day I was taken,” I mutter. “Details.”

“What can I do to help?”

I sit there for a minute, slowing my breathing and waiting for my heart to stop its furious pounding, but I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve just dreamed.

No. Not dreamed.

Remembered.

I fought back against those bastards.

I wasn’t weak. I fought back.

All this time, I've believed I was weak. A victim.

But I wasn't. I was a fighter.

I smile against his chest as tears of pride fill my eyes. I choke out words over the lump in my throat. “I fought back, Mark. I fought them. I never gave in.”

“Of course you fought,” he says with conviction. “You’re a warrior.”

“I fought them,” I repeat. “Maybe – maybe I didn’t remember before because I was trying so hard to forget.” I swallow hard. “I was strong,” I whisper.

He slips a hand under my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. “You still are, Charlie.”

“All these years, I’ve blamed myself for not being strong enough. But I – I was fierce, Mark. They overpowered me, but they never broke me.”

“No, Baby Girl, they didn’t. They may have outmuscled you, but you have a strength they never had.”

Chills run up my spine, and the hair on my arms stands on end, but not from fear – from my sudden clarity. It’s like I’m watching a movie in my head, seeing myself through someone else’s eyes.

I didn’t go quietly when they attacked us in the truck – I fought, killing them one at a time from a completely defensive position.

When they had me tied up, expecting me to be fearful and submissive, I fought with my words and my attitude and whatever I could manage with my restrained body.

And when they battered and wounded me, I still fought, refusing to submit, letting my fury rule my reactions.

Even in my worst night terrors, when I end up shooting holes in the walls, I’m fighting them.

I tuck my head back into Mark’s chest and smile softly.

I may be a train wreck, but those bastards didn’t beat me.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHARLIE

It’s late when I wake up and grab my phone. “Crap.” I sit up rapidly. It’s after nine-thirty.

“Relax.” Mark is resting on the chaise. “I turned off your alarm. It’s Saturday, and you needed the sleep.”

I stretch. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re too damn nice?” I get up and head toward his bathroom.

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