Page 7 of Don't Let Go

The pain had been off the charts. The pain and my completely obliterated memory.

The physician said it would come back. Eventually. He assured me that it was a trauma reaction, probably not anything to do with my brain. Or maybe just my brain protecting me. Great. I didn’t like maybes and shoulds.

I liked concrete facts. For example, between my physical condition and everything the guys hadn’t said, I’d definitely experienced the trauma to have this kind of reaction.

Specific type of trauma?

I could guess. My last memories before waking up in the clinic had been being in my house in Estes Park, and working in my safe room.

Someone had to have taken me. Taken me. Tortured me.

But where? And who?

Had I told them anything? Was it already too late?

The guys didn't think so, or so they insisted the spare once or twice I’d actually managed to get Locke or Remy to answer a question regarding it.

Dammit.

I wanted to push. The first few days, I let them call the shots, but the headache was better. More manageable.

I needed answers.

Remy insisted I needed to let them worry about things right now while I took it easy. My brain needed the time to heal. He reminded me what the doctor had said about trying to force it could make it worse.

What he’d actually said was forcing it could exacerbate the trauma and hurt me more than help. The minute he said those words, the guys dug in, McQuade, in particular. We wouldn’t be pushing. End of story.

Hating every part of this, I shoved away from the door. I used the facilities, then washed my hands before staring at myself in the mirror again. There were new scars in addition to the thin one along my hair line. A couple on my chin, and another on my throat.

Scars I didn't recognize, from injuries I couldn’t really remember.

Stripping off the t-shirt and panties, I braced to study the scars on my chest and the ones along my arms.

Cigarette burns were hard to think of as anything else. They were stained pink, the skin waxy, and the circles kind of oblong. It made me think whoever had inflicted them had moved the cigarette in circles to extinguish it on my flesh.

There was evidence of more burns over my breasts and abdomen down to my thighs. These looked more electrical than cigarette. The lines thin, almost ribboning over each other.

A crop? A whip? Hot wire?

No matter how much I studied them, the marks only gave me more questions, not answers. The thud in my head increased, as though the pound of my heart echoed in my brain.

After twisting the shower on, I didn’t wait for it to heat up all the way and just ducked under the water. The chill in the waterbraced me, the spray washing away the fog and the cobwebs. Gradually, it heated before I could get too cold. McQuade might still be in my room, but if he heard the shower come on, he wouldn’t bother me.

So far the guys had all been good about respecting my privacy unless I called for help. Something I’d ceased the moment I could stand and walk on my own. My feet still hurt, the wounds there mostly healed, but it made my arches tight and I didn’t think the ball of my right foot would ever not be bruised.

It had been my nightmares that pulled him into the room. Had I cried out? Screamed? What were they about? But no matter how hard I tried, the dreams were no more substantial than wisps on the air.

Showering relaxed some of the tension out of me, even as it washed away the cobwebs. By the time I finished and toweled off, I was ready for coffee. What I wanted was coffee and my computer.

The guys weren’t exactly forthcoming with the latter. That needed to change. Dressed in my t-shirt and panties once more, I opened the door to the bedroom. It was empty. McQuade had also pulled up the bedcovers and made it.

It was kind of sweet. It only took me a few minutes to pull out a pair of leggings, some thick socks, and a sweater I could pull on over the t-shirt. I didn’t bother with a bra.

Some of the wounds on my back had left the skin there very sensitive and I hadn’t had time to figure out a solution for it. Later, I promised myself.

Later, I would get all of this sorted out. I would also get all the answers I wanted and needed. First, I needed to persuade my erstwhile guardians that I could handle the tough stuff. That meant I needed my computer back and some straight answers.

They could give them to me or I would figure it out on my own. Healing meant I was more mobile and independent. My computer had to be in this house somewhere.

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