Page 37

It’s nothing compared to what her next words do.

“I had a message from…Peter. He asked me to collect my things from the office. I can’t remember all the details in it; I’d still have the message, though?” she offers, and Logan nods, writing down everything she says.

Rosy describes her movements, and her gaze remains fixed on the carpet beneath her feet. Someone came up behind her. She woke up strapped to a bed. Her realisation when that monster walked in.

“I wasn’t sure how long I was there. I don’t think he fed me at regular mealtimes. If I misbehaved and was a bad pet, then I wasn’t fed.” Her mouth twists and sneers for a moment before it smooths out. “He would leave me alone in between visits, but I was always tied up. He said I hadn’t earned the freedom to wander about when he wasn’t there.”

Every word she says seems worse than the one before. Except it’s not just the words. The more she speaks, the more she’s not here. There’s no hitch in her voice, no trembling in her hands. It’s almost as if she’s a projection talking. She looks and sounds like Rosy, but she’s not Rosy.

“It was hard to know what I was doing wrong. I thought at first I could try to follow the rules he gave me. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me then. But he liked it too much. Almost as if he couldn’t stop. Anything that made me…hurt he seemed to like.”

Logan asks her for further details, and I fight to control the bile burning in my throat.

This man took her. She was already scarred and healing from a life that hadn’t given her an easy route, and he not only squeezed out all of that self-healing she’d worked for, he obliterated everything.

She continues, her emotionless shell giving us all the gut-wrenching details she can remember. Every time he took from her without her consent, every patch in her memory when her mind sought relief elsewhere.

She tells it all.

And I die bit by bit, wishing it could’ve been me. That I was the one who went through it for her.

I hate myself for not saving her, for not being able to stop it. Knowing that someone hurt her so badly, she spent last night suffering through the memories. Her smiles no longer shine, and she flinches at contact.

All because a piece of shit decided to abuse and take someone who was never his in the first place. He broke her in a way I’m not sure can ever be fixed.

Tears track down her pale cheeks, and it cements my resolve. I need to figure out a way to help her through this.

“Had Peter ever made any previous comments or moves prior to all this?” Logan asks, somehow managing to maintain a level of calm even when the rest of us are all barely holding it together.

Bry moves beside me, catching my attention. His finger slowly swipes at the moisture coating his cheeks. He’s soundless, not drawing anyone else’s gaze to him. I shuffle a little closer, letting our shoulders brush, and he leans into me.

“Not really. He never said or did anything when we were working together, or at least, nothing I ever picked up on. But…” She twists the bottom of her hoodie in her free hand, and her shoulders hunch up higher.

“Any information you give us is important, Rosy. I know this is hard for you, so if you need a break, we can take one,” Logan offers.

Her eyes squeeze closed, and her head shakes; a few more tears slip from her eyes. “No, I want to continue. I just want to get it all out and done.” She inhales a deep breath. “I’d received texts from an unknown number for a while. I can’t remember when they started, but I initially reported them to the police. There wasn’t anything concerning or threatening, they told me. So I left it and ignored them each time they came through after that.”

“You think it was Peter?” Logan prompts, pen idle as he waits for her to speak.

“I didn’t until…until he walked in the room that first day, and he called me p-pet.” She scrunches her face at the last word, and her breathing accelerates. Her knuckles whiten.

“Shit, what—” I start.

“I was s-so s-stupid.”

Noah drops to his knees in front of her and wraps his hands over the tops of her thighs. “Rosy, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe for us. Can you do that?” he asks, tipping her chin up to get her focus.

Her eyes are wide and glossy with moisture, and her cheeks are pink from the harsh breaths punching from her mouth.

“It’s just an anxiety attack. You’re okay,” he repeats, shuffling in closer between her legs. “I want you to breathe slower for me. Can you feel that?” He takes one of her clenched fists and spreads her hand flat on his chest.

She manages to nod, and he continues. “So breathe with me. Inhale.”

Bry darts up from the sofa and rushes into the kitchen behind us.

“And exhale. Okay, follow me again,” Noah coaxes, continuing to breathe in and out slowly as Rosy copies him.

Bry comes back with a glass and crouches next to Noah. “Your throat might be sore. Maybe try some water?”