Page 44 of Devoured
Her hand was hot. Fever-hot. Swollen so badly I could see the skin stretched tight over bones that might be cracked. Two fingers were taped together with medical tape already coming loose at the edges, stained with something brown. I wrapped my fingers around hers anyway, careful not to press too hard on what had to be incredibly tender flesh.
That’s when I started crying. Not loud. Not dramatic sobbing. Just water leaking from my eyes like a broken faucet. Marion’s hand squeezed mine, and I felt her shaking too.
“He did the same thing to you.”It wasn’t a question. She knew. We both knew. We’d been marked by the same monster. Claimed by the same nightmare.
“Yeah.”The word barely made it past my throat.
“The V. I saw it when they brought you in. You were naked. Sela fixed you as best as she could and dressed you in scrubs.”Marion’s voice was tight with anger.
Sela. Thank God for her. I nodded against the pillow that crinkled with every movement. The carved letter on my lower back throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sending fire through damaged nerves. Varnar had taken his time with that mark—making sure it would hurt for a long time. Making sure I’d never forget who I “belonged“ to.
“Did he mark—”I started, but Marion cut me off.
“Don’t.”Her tone turned panicked. “Just. Don’t. I can’t… if I think about it, I’ll lose what’s left.”
We held hands and cried without sound. Two women who’d been taken apart by the same man, trying to remember how to exist in our bodies again. Bodies that had been violated, marked, damaged in ways that might never heal.
“I can’t stop seeing it,”I whispered. “When I close my eyes, I’m back on that table. I can feel his hands. Smell his breath. It’s like it’s still happening.”
“Me too.”Marion sobbed. “I’ve faced him one too many times already. But this one was different. This one broke something in me.”
“It’s not your fault,”I whispered, squeezing her hand harder. “None of it. We survived. That’s what matters.”
But even as I said it, I wondered if survival was the right word for what we were doing. Breathing wasn’t the same as living. And existing wasn’t the same as being whole.
Suddenly, the door opened—and we both flinched like gunshots had gone off. Our hands gripped each other so tightly I felt Marion’s bones shift under her skin.
But it was Isaac, carrying a medical tray with hands that shook just enough to make the instruments rattle. He stopped when he saw us both awake, and something broke across his face—like he’d been hoping we’d stay unconscious, that he wouldn’t have to see what we’d become.
“Jesus,”he breathed, setting the tray down hard enough to make everything jump. “You’re both—I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. The sedatives should have kept you under for a few more hours.”
His voice was rough, like he’d been crying. Or screaming. Or both. There were dark circles under his eyes and stubble on his jaw that said he hadn’t left the hospital since Marion was brought in.
He went to Marion’s bed first, moving slowly like he was approaching a wounded animal. His fingers ghosted over her face—never quite touching—like he was afraid she’d break more than she already had. “Can I check your bandages? The ones on your arms need changing.”
She nodded, but I saw her whole body tense. Even gentle touch was going to hurt. Everything was going to hurt for a long time.
Isaac peeled back the gauze with infinite care, but Marion still hissed through her teeth. The wounds underneath were deep. Precise cuts designed to cause maximum suffering without death. Some were starting to go bad at the edges—red and swollen with the beginning of infection.
“These need cleaning,”he said, his voice thick with something that might have been rage. Or grief. Or both. “Marion, why didn’t you call for someone when you woke up? You must’ve been in incredible pain.”
“What’s the point?”She stared at the ceiling, tears leaking from her eyes. “What’s the point of healing? They’ll do it again. They’ll keep torturing. If not me, then Zahra. If not Zahra, then someone else.”
Isaac’s jaw worked like he was chewing words he couldn’t say—like there were things in his throat that would cut him if he let them out. He finished with Marion and walked around to the other side of my bed. I was lying on my side, facing her.
“I need to check your dressing.”His voice was quiet. “Is that okay?”
I nodded against the pillow.
His hands were gentler than any I’d ever felt in this place. He carefully lifted the hem of my scrub top and lowered the waistband of my pants just enough to expose the wound. When he removed the dressing from my lower back, he sucked in a sharp breath.
“He marked you.”The words came out strangled.
“Said I was his now.”The taste of ash filled my mouth.
Isaac’s hands stopped moving entirely. He just stood there, staring at Varnar’s signature, and I could tell something was happening behind his eyes. Something breaking. Or building. Or both.
When he finished with my bandages, he sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook once, then went still, like he was forcing himself to hold together through sheer will.
