Page 29 of Kristoff

“No, Magdalena.” Rough hands push my knees together.

“I need to examine her,” the soft voice says.

“After I clean her up.”

A long sigh. “She’s torn. I can see that already. She needs stitches this time. And the welts on her back are still bleeding. The stitches on her shoulder held, that’s good at least.”

Two arms slide beneath me. I hiss when my back is touched.

“I’ll clean her quickly and bring her right back. Call for someone to get the bed changed. She’s bled all over the sheets.”

“I’ll do it, hurry with cleaning her.” The soft voice gets harder, but the touch to my knee is gentle.

I’m lifted in the air, but I don’t glance at the man holding me. I don’t care.

“Magdalena, look at me,” the hard voice demands, and I turn to him, but focus on the stubble on his chin. He should shave. “Where do you hurt?”

I huff a laugh. It’d be easier to ask where I don’t hurt.

He shifts me to my feet, and I hear water starting in the shower. I see the curtain, see him moving it out of the way and feel his hands on me, helping me into the stream, but it’s so far above me I can’t grasp it.

“Soap,” he says and begins running hands over my body. I gasp when he brushes over my nipples. They’re too sensitive. “Sorry,” he mutters and keeps washing me. “Can you do your face?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say and hold out my hands. He looks familiar with his square jaw and dark eyes. I rub the soap into my hands until there’s a thick lather then run them over my face. I can feel the crust on my cheeks and scratch it off with my fingernails. When I realize it’s dry cum, I scratch harder.

“Hey, no. No, it’s okay, Magdalena. You got it all.” He pulls my hands away from my face. “Step in the water.”

I listen. Because doing anything else will make him hurt me.

Once I’m clean, he dries me and plucks me back up in his arms.

“I can walk,” I say but don’t squirm to get free. I can, but I don’t want to. It hurts between my legs and moving makes it worse.

“Put her down here,” the soft voice says, and I look to where it’s coming from. An older man, less stern looking, smiles gently at me.

The strong arms put me down on the bed.

“I need you to drop your knees to the side again, like you did before,” the soft voice says, and I do what he says. He’s poking and prodding me. New tears I didn’t think were possible, roll down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, Magdalena. Dr. Morrow won’t hurt you. No one will hurt you ever again. I promise it,” the stern voice says to me in Russian.

I cringe.

“Yes, they will,” I say and turn away, letting the doctor do what he wants.

“She needs stitches, not many though,” the doctor says. “I’ll give you an antibiotic cream for the welts on her back and her butt.”

“Her throat,” the dark voice says and helps me to sit up slightly.

“Ah, yes.” The doctor instructs me to open my mouth and a wooden stick is used to press my tongue out of his way. I gag and wince at the burning, raw pain. “There’s a numbing spray that can be used, but I don’t have any with me. I’ll have to send out for it. Some pain relievers will help in the meantime. Soft foods until the swelling goes down. I don’t see any lacerations, so that’s good.”

There’s nothing good about this. About any of this.

“Send someone out to get it right away,” the dark voice says again.

“Magdalena, do you remember who this is?” the soft voice asks me. Apparently, he’s a mind reader as well.

I remember, but I don’t want to see him yet. I don’t want to see anything yet.

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