I thought about him when you reached for me.
I worried
I wanted
Dang it. This feels weird. But Jane said starting with how I felt when you found me focuses on the future. On getting better. On healing. So write it all down she says. Good or bad. Every feeling and emotion and thought. Just let it flow.
Okay, here it goes. Regardless of how stupid I sound.
I know it was dumb to be scared. You looked so devastated I wouldn’t come to you when you finally found me and held out your hand. That I wouldn’t leave the cage I was locked in after you pried open the door. That I wouldn’t unclench my fingers from the metal bars. Scooting as far back as I could and splashing into the puddle of pee that humiliated me every time I went. But I was in there for so long after he came back to the bedroom and said we were under attack. That he was leaving me to burn so you could find me and know that you were the one who killed me. I wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. After he’d told me you were dead before, I didn’t know what to believe any more.
I’m sorry that I screamed and kicked and fought when you leaned in to pull me out. But there were so many times I dreamed of you and it was really him. Curling next to you only to wake up and find his chest under my cheek. Hearing you whisper my name in the darkness only to blink in the bright lights to see his hand on the switch. Feeling your hands on my wrists when you unhooked me from the chains only to be wrapped in his arms when I collapsed.
So even with you standing in front of me I couldn’t take you being just my imagination again. I couldn’t believe you were finally real this time. That you were really there.
But you were still so calm. Just like you used to be. Just like you always were. You held me to you. Even though I was covered in urine. Who knows how long it had been since I’d taken a bath. Or brushed my teeth. You didn’t seem to care how disgusting I was. You didn’t seem to mind that I was gross and dirty and bruised. I liked that.
I liked that it was almost painful how tight you held me to you. The pain proved you were real. You were really there and alive and taking me away. I ignored the yelling and smoke and blood. Just closed my eyes and let you take care of me. I felt a blanket cover my bare body—a cocoon of me and you as you walked us out of there. It seemed like a second and forever until you finally stopped. Never putting me down once. Not even when you climbed into a vehicle and kept me on your lap, burrowed in your arms the entire ride home.
I wanted to thank you and tell you I thought you were dead and I was glad to finally be with you but for some reason my mind wouldn’t work right. My lips wouldn’t move. I only wanted to hold on tight to you too because you were shaking so hard my teeth banged against each other. Even though you were trembling, fire radiated off of you broiling hotter than a furnace. I knew you were burning up from rage but I liked your heat. After being cold and naked and abandoned for so long, I was finally warm and covered and safe.
I didn’t like the way you looked at me when you set me down on our bed. As if you didn’t know what was wrong with me. As if you didn’t know what do to with me. Your doubt terrified me because I didn’t know either.
I closed my eyes. Never thinking I would want to hide from you. In that moment I did. I had to. Then I couldn’t see the revulsion growing in your expression. I didn’t say a word when a gentle finger stroked my wrist. My throat. My cheek. All the places where he hurt me. Well, not all of them. I wouldn’t let you touch me there. I wasn’t ready to let you touch me any place he had violated.
When you whispered, asking me what I needed, I couldn’t face you yet. That’s why I pointed to the bathroom. But I felt better when your strong arms wrapped around me again and carried me to the shower. Setting me gently inside, keeping your comforting fingers splayed over my upper back and my spinning stomach to make sure I was steady on my feet. I wasn’t. I pretended like I was anyway. I couldn’t stand being filthy any longer. I couldn’t stand knowing his cum marred my skin. I couldn’t stand the thought of bringing anything of his into our home.
I didn’t want to let you go either so I held your hand. It was weird and awkward and perfect. I needed you and you didn’t let go. You stood there letting me clutch you, dressed in your ravished tee and jeans, and allowed yourself to be drenched without a complaint. Although your eyes couldn’t hide your fury, looking and lingering on the ugliest parts of me. I shook despite the scorching water and your gaze returned to mine. That was better.
You talked. Telling me things I wanted to know but somehow couldn’t find a way to ask you.
My mom was fine. I sobbed so hard when the words left your lips I dropped the shampoo out of my trembling hands. The slim white bottle tumbling down and sliding across the black tile. Pink liquid flooding out on the huge marble squares. Neither of us moved. I cried and you waited. Patient and composed until my shuddering stopped.
After a few minutes you admitted to me that you lied and told her that you’d sent me off to a spa for some pampering and that’s why I wasn’t calling or texting her. I nodded when you swore under your breath about the fucking irony of that lie. Your fingers digging into my skin with your indignation. When I tried to pull away you loosened your grip but didn’t let me go. I was glad. I didn’t want you to let me go either.
Since mine was spiraling down the drain, I used your shampoo. I liked smelling like you. I used my own soap. Without having to speak, we worked as a team. You squeezed the cleanser onto the poof, and I scrubbed myself down. Cleaning off the dirt if not the filth. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to scour myself hard enough to remove that sickening residue.
I couldn’t respond when you told me how you searched for me. How terrified you were. How determined you were. How you would never give up until you found me.
Straight forward and matter of fact. No exaggerating or yelling. Simply laying out the truth of what happened. I worried about your lack of emotion. The absence of any remorse or sense of guilt for all the men you killed. The empires you toppled. The destruction you caused.
For me.
To find me.
To get me back.
The enormity of your actions was more than I could bear. Not you though. Resilient and strong as always, you caught me when my knees buckled. Cuddling my frail body with only one arm while you ripped off the shreds of your tattered shirt. Nothing between us but the streaking droplets. Skin to skin. You, exposed with your smooth muscles and expansive ink. Me, vulnerable with my rough scars and solitary tattoo. That you probably hate even more than I do.
Wet, exhausted, and overwhelmed, I shut my eyes as soon as you laid me on the mattress. Tucking my damp body in the sheets and my fingers in your hand. I was grateful you didn’t expect anything from me. Because as much I wanted to explain everything, I couldn’t give you anything. Nothing more than breathing and being happy to be home and lying in your bed. That was enough for me. Luckily, that was enough for you.
When I woke up seven hours later you were still there.
So was Jane.
So was Dr. Miller.
I was scared. I couldn’t hide anymore.