Page 40 of Scorching Sienna

We are in my new place. I would have been jumping joyfully had Sienna OG walked into it just an hour ago. But she is gone, leaving this shell behind.

I pinch my skin, registering the pain. But it feels like something. And so, I dig my nails in. Deep. Until it draws blood. A drop trickles down the curve of my arm before meeting the water below. Cold water. I turn off the tap and take stock of my arm. Four little half-moons look back at me. Just down from where the needle was stuck in my arm. Full panel of blood tests. Precautionary.

But my mind was clear of the images for that brief moment.

Who knew? Covering pain with pain.

When I climb out, I don’t bother looking in the mirror. I just dry myself off and then apply the cream the doctor gave me. It is uncomfortable. That area is unaccustomed to having something so slippery between it, serving as an awful reminder. The package says fast absorbing. I pray it’s not a lie.

“Itwill take a while to heal. There is a lot of tearing and trauma, and the area is prone to infection.”

“How long?” Hoarse. Croaky.

“Every body is different. But Sienna, it’s not the body that takes the longest to heal. It’s the mind. Here are details of a support group for women who have been through what you have. And here is the name of a psychologist specializing in this kind of trauma. She is also a friend of mine. I know her, and I know she can help you.”

Been through what I have.

I have become a statistic. A number. Nothing more.

The Reaper wore a condom, so there was no semen for DNA, though they did swab for saliva traces. The police did not look hopeful.Hewore a mask and suit, blending in with the surroundings. Without a description of ‘the perp,’ as one officer put it, finding whoever did this would be challenging.

I wanted to look up statistics on how many rapists were ever apprehended, but I didn’t have my phone. It must be at Lady Chatman or with Damon.

Damon. The look on his face when he saw me gagged and tied up. Another image to add to the ever-growing collage of moments I would rather forget. He was livid. He crackled with barely contained rage. Nuclear. I could tell by the deathly way he asked me who did this to me. He didn’t shout. But he didn’t have to. It’s like watching a python just before it strikes.

While seeing him then filled me with relief, being alone with him now just makes me anxious.

Part of me blames him. I know it isn’t fair. But I do. I would never have been there if it wasn’t for him.

And while this place is nice, I miss my home—the one I was in just yesterday. When things were simpler, and my biggest worry waswhether I had enough milk for my coffee for the week because I didn’t want to go to the store.

Vanilla.

My life was vanilla before, but now it is just dark.

As I step out of the bathroom, the smell of my old life assaults me. Vanilla ironically. Mixed with lavender. Damon has lit some of my candles.

My new apartment is perfect. As if it was made for me. I just wasn’t sure which me.

The en suite bathroom exits into my room, the enormous four-poster bed draped with fairy lights and lace.

All my belongings are unpacked.

Had you told me yesterday that all my stuff would be packed away when I arrived, I would have insisted I do it myself. Today, I am grateful I don’t have to. It would sap the last of my energy. The only bit keeping me upright.

I pull on my fluffy pajamas. My comfort pajamas. Laid out on my bed like Damon knows.

It is close to six in the morning. You wouldn’t say with the automated blackout blinds, which make this room pitch dark if all the lights are out.

The Reaping took place at about one in the morning. Followed by a quick chat with the police, who arrived at the scene half an hour later. Then off to the hospital to get the rape kit done. All in all, it was a tiring and eventful day.

I am standing before the inviting bed when Damon enters the room with a mug of camomile tea and a book. One of mine. It was the one I was currently reading—a light-hearted romance about a hockey player and a news reporter.

When my eyes meet his, I expect pity, even some compassion. WhatI don’t expect to see is the hardness there. He usually looks at me gentler.

Damon moves around me, placing the mug of tea on the side table before pulling the covers back and stacking the pillows.

“In.” I do as I am told. Because I have no control anymore. It has been taken from me.

---