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“I’m just taking you up the front stairs to the door. Can you walk?” I asked.
Placing her down, I held her up by the waist and bent down so that she could wrap her arm around my shoulder.
We moved up the stairs to the red door, which was the entrance to my family’s Edwardian home.
My father stayed there mostly, but knowing I needed the space, he’d vacated it for my return, which I appreciated. I wasn’t quite ready to hang out with the family.
That would happen tomorrow.
For now, I had this drugged sex worker to deal with.
I helped her into the living room onto the couch where she flopped down.
“Your name?” I asked.
“Theadora.” She rubbed her face and brushed back her hair.
I glanced at my watch. It was midnight.
“Can I offer you some water? Coffee?”
She nodded. “That would be nice.”
When I returned, she was sound asleep, so I grabbed a blanket and laid it over her.
I went into the room where my sister normally stayed and, going through the cupboards found leggings, a pullover, socks, and trainers. It felt weird rummaging through her underwear, mostly made up of lacy bras and thongs. I settled for some cotton panties and a tank top. This girl was way too busty to fit in my sister’s bras.
I had a shower and studied my dark bruises and scratches on my face, arms, and shoulders.
Receiving blows was one thing I’d had trained into me. What they hadn’t trained into us, however, was how to deal with the aftermath of gore, death, and big strong men dropping to the floor crying like babies.
The army shrinks had left me feeling worse, so I did what I’d done all my life: man up, face life with a blank façade, and never show emotion. That was what being a strong man was all about. Going by my persistent nightmares, my subconscious wasn’t around when having that advice drummed into me.
I woke at seven, and although my body ached, I sprung out of bed, wondering whether I’d dreamt up Theadora.
Entering the living room, I saw a corset, silky panties, and torn fishnets on the ground but no girl.
I went into the bathroom and on the mirror, she’d written “Thanks!” in lipstick.
Disappointed to see her gone, I wanted to know Theadora’s story. Why she was there with those dangerous men, and why I’d nearly died for her.
