Page 116 of Bonds of Hate

He picks up the scalpel and taps it gently against the nightstand. “Now, about those questions.”

The blade glinting in Poe’s hand becomes the only thing I can focus on. It doesn’t matter that I’m nearly positive it’s an empty threat, that he has no intention of using itto hurt me. If he wanted me in physical pain, then he wouldn’t have bothered to use an anesthetic.

But the terrified animal part of me doesn’t care. My hindbrain is alight with remembered fear and anxiety.

My chest constricts as memories flood back. The cold metal table, the doctor’s emotionless voice, the endless cuts and experiments. The restraints bite into my skin just like before.

“No, no, please...” My breath comes in short gasps. The room spins as panic claws up my throat. “I can’t…I can’t do this again.”

“Maya?” Poe’s voice sounds distant through the roaring in my ears. “It’s just me. You’re safe.”

But I’m not safe. I’m never safe. The doctor would always reassure me too, right before he’d cut into me, laughing at my naïve belief that mercy would ever come. My body thrashes against the restraints as terror takes over completely.

“Let me go!” I shriek, yanking so hard the bed frame rattles. Electric pain shoots from the wound in my arm, but I barely feel it. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just let me go!”

“Shit.” Poe drops the scalpel with a clatter. His hands hover uncertainly over my shoulders. “Maya, breathe. You need to breathe.”

I can’t breathe. My lungs refuse to expand properly as sobs wrack my body. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.

“I don’t want any more experiments,” I choke out between gasps. “Please don’t cut me open again.”

“What experiments? Maya, look at me.” Poe’s face swims in my blurring vision. The clinical smell of antisepticmakes bile rise in my throat. “No one’s experimenting on you. I was just putting in a tracker.”

But his words don’t penetrate the fog of panic. All I can see is the doctor’s wintry smile, feel the bite of scalpels, hear my own screams echoing off sterile walls.

“Make it stop,” I beg, tears streaming down my face. “Please make it stop.”

Poe’s hands flutter uselessly around me as my panic attack intensifies. “Maya, you have to relax.”

But I’m too far gone to respond, lost in the grip of remembered trauma as I continue to struggle and sob.

Poe shifts on the bed. I’m barely aware of it as the restraints fall free and my wrists are released.

He gathers me up in his arms, rocking me gently back and forth as my body continues to shake. I curl into a tight ball in an instinctive move to protect myself from the perceived threat. I barely hear the words of comfort he murmurs in my ear until several minutes have passed.

Reality slowly filters back into my conscious awareness. The soft mattress beneath me is nothing like the cold metal table from my memories. Burrowed into Poe’s chest, all I can smell is his signature sea salt and driftwood, not the acrid bite of antiseptic and old blood.

“That’s it, just breathe,” Poe hums, rubbing gentle circles on my back. “You’re with me. You’re safe.”

I let him comfort me for as long as I can stand it.

“It’s fine. I’m fine now.” My shaking hands push at the wall of his chest, about as useful as trying to move a boulder. “I just needed a minute.”

His arms tighten around me. “Nice try. I know a trauma response when I see one. Something triggeredyou. Was it just the scalpel or also being tied down that did it?”

I briefly consider lying, but decide against it. His piercing gaze is too alert as he studies me. “Both, probably. I thought you were going to cut me again.”

“What experiments were you talking about?”

I furrow my brow, feigning confusion. “Experiments? Is that what I said? I think I was just freaking out, talking nonsense.”

He brushes a thumb over the bandage on my arm, too light to cause pain. “Waking up bound to the bed really seemed to trigger you. Why is that?”

“Anyone waking up tied to the bed is going to freak out.” I lamely shrug at the skepticism I see in his gaze. “They used to restrain us at the Institute as punishment. Maybe that’s why.”

He makes a low humming sound in his throat, expression contemplative. “Maybe.”

“I’m fine now.” I try to pull away, but Poe’s grip remains firm around my shoulders. My heart rate picks up again, though not nearly as bad as during my panic attack. “You don’t have to comfort me. Seriously.”

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