Page 38 of Siren in the Rain

True to his word, Dallas wastes no time in finding a therapist for me.

First, I have to undergo a visit with an Otherkind medical doctor who does a comprehensive examination to assess my overall physical state after so many years of mistreatment and imprisonment.

Apart from the ugly scar on my neck, my body doesn’t show a lot of signs of lingering trauma.

As I suspected, however, I am a bit malnourished from Margaret’s sadistic tendency to withhold food when I didn’t “behave” for her. Based on the gleam that assessment brought to Dallas’s eyes, I have no doubt that he’ll be focusing intently on fattening me up as quickly as possible.

I’d never say it to his face, but it’s super sweet in a fatherly kind of way.

Or at least what I’ve imagined caring fatherly behavior might be like. I wouldn’t really know since my dad’s always been an unfeeling prick.

I’ve quickly realized that what everyone else has told me about the man is true. Dallas is indeed the Papa Bear of this weird band of misfits I now find myself a part of. He’s big and loud, full of enthusiasm—but he’s also very much a caregiver to his core. I can tell just from watching from the sidelines for a few days how much he takes care of his friends.

Or rather, I suppose they are a family of sorts. I don’t know everyone’s backstory, but it’s clear they’re a tightly knit group that supports each other. Honestly, I’m majorly envious.

Everyone in this house has shown me genuine kindness and concern, but I’m still an awkward outsider.

I know a lot of that’s on me. They’re doing everything to include me, but I’m being the standoffish one.

In any case, I’m still finding my way and learning how to fit in with these people, so I spend a lot of time looking in rather than participating. Wolf Boy tries his hardest to pull me out of my shell, and having Emma around does make me engage more than I might otherwise, but part of me is still wary. I don’t know that I trust all of this just yet. It’s too easy for everything to fall apart.

Sometimes I worry it’s all a dream and I’ll wake up only to find myself back in hell.

“How are you adjusting to life at the compound?” Dr. Greenwater asks me.

She’s half-siren like me, and I suspect that Dallas deliberately chose her because of that. An attractive older woman with dark hair streaked with silver that she still wears long, Dr. Greenwater exudes a calm professionalism that instantly puts me at more ease than I expected. Her eyes, a pale shade of gray behind her red cat eye glasses, study me with interest.

I shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

She arches an eyebrow at me. “Do you like living with Dallas and the others?”

I shift uneasily in my seat and let out a bitter laugh. “It’s better than where I was living, or rather existing, before.” Almost anywhere would be better than that hellhole.

“I’m sure it is,” she says softly. “Why don’t you tell me how you’ve been spending your time this past week?”

I shrug again. “Sleeping a lot. I’m just tired all the time.”

It’s incredibly annoying.

Dr. Greenwater nods. “That’s understandable given all that you’ve gone through. It’s a common post-trauma response. You’ve spent most of your life on guard and in self-protection mode. Now that you’re free and safe, your body has finally been able to let go and take a much-needed hiatus from that constant high-alert mode.”

I guess that makes sense, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

I run a hand through my hair. “It’s kind of frustrating. I feel like I ought to be doing something.”

“Taking care of yourself, letting yourself rest, is doing something. Something very important.”

“If you say so,” I grouch.

She smiles, not the least bit fazed by my attitude. “Other than sleeping, what have you been doing with your time?”

I turn my head to the sky and let the bright sunshine bathe my face as the salty air caresses my skin. We’re sitting out on the patio leading down to the beach because Dallas had Dr. Greenwater come to the compound for my appointment. He and the others are still in very vigilant protective mode since Margaret undoubtedly has people looking for me by now.

I appreciate it, but it’s also kind of aggravating. After spending years trapped and hidden away, I want to be able to move freely in the world—and I worry that I might never be able to.

“I’ve been swimming a lot,” I admit.

“That’s excellent. The ocean is a natural habitat for our kind and one we should never spend too long away from.”

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