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1
CHARITY
Blood could be shocking when it was your own.
By his scent I knew him—even when I was blindfolded.
I grew to learn when the doctor entered the room, my cell, or the swaying, wave-rolled cabin of that unknown ship. The scent changed day by day, but never seemed right for a man. Lavender, rosemary, and the perfume of roses accompanied him, from his first step in the room, on that first occasion.
Some might think that would make him less a man but his eyes, if not his manners, gave him away. I could be left breathless simply by a casual connection, by the sweep of his gaze down my body. For that to happen with a man who was present to help me, even if he did have to lay hands on me, or instruments inside me…it was fucked up.
That first time, the first time I saw him, I was barely a person. I was shaken, bloodied, bruised, and sure that I was torn below.
The blood around my fingernails held me in horrified thrall.
* * *
When illuminated by the dusty light coming in through the smudged glass of the porthole, my hands were sad things. Every nail was shredded, torn, and bloodied. My wrists were bruised. Between my legs ached with deep pains, and now and then more urgent pains twinged at me. Yet it was my hands that bothered me the most. As I moved them, they shook. My chest was tight with shock and a need to breathe. Each moment seemed likely to erupt into fear and danger.
I’d felt my face, and it was swollen and almost as painful as below. One eye still wept liquid after I stopped crying.
These fingernails, though, they were stark evidence of the fight, and I could not avoid seeing them.
My throat hurt from the screaming or from their hands around it, but I could notseethat.
These I could see. I frowned at them. Finally, anger stirred.
I was alive. I would stay alive and not succumb to misery. I wouldn’t lie here moaning and rocking.Fuck the men who raped me.Fuck them to hell and back.
Anger was good. Anger was empowering.
The cabin door clicked, and the handle rotated. I snatched myself into a sitting position, wincing and stiff. The twist of the handcuffs abraded the wounds on my wrists. The harsh blanket slid from my upper body to my lap then to the floor. I was sitting up and glaring by the time the door swung open. His brown sneakersthunkedas they landed on the metal floor. I shivered and covered my chest, as best as I could. Minus the blanket, my nakedness reminded me of the cold on the ship.
The handcuffs had scraped my thighs. Even there I was bruised and already purple in broad lines and in places where their hands had grabbed.Fuck them, I reminded myself as a broad-shouldered man approached, slowly.
A shiver ran through me. He couldn’t be worse than them.
I’d stabbed one of them with a dropped knife. That incident flung itself into my memory, turned my stomach with newly fresh nausea. Maybe that was why they’d hurt me badly. My screams, from that night, echoed anew. More tears flooded my eyes.
Shit. Get a fucking grip. Survive this. It’s all I can do.
I swallowed and braced myself. If he meant to assault me, I would endure, I would live.
Best if I didn’t stab anyone again. Last time it had not worked out well.
Unless I can make them really,reallydead, and then escape.
He’d paused a moment, studying my face, while I took in his neat cream T-shirt, with the kraken illustration on the front, and his dark jeans. He looked as if he’d just returned from a holiday at the beach. He came closer and placed a gray metal case on the floor, a few feet away.
What was in that case? The unknown was frightening, as was he.
“Hello. I’m a doctor.” He spoke quietly, with a burr running through it. Maybe that was his bedside manner but there was no politeness in the way his gaze catalogued every inch of my nakedness in a languid, dragging assessment.
I blinked and cleared my throat, running through the possibilities. Although I was handcuffed, what doctor would be here if this was…bad. Had the police been involved? The men had fled from me, leaving me lying on the deck with my hands bound. Gunshots and male screams had echoed as I wobbled in and out of consciousness. Someone must have injected me with something, soon after that. I remembered a cold sting. I’d lapsed into unconsciousness.
“I’m here on behalf of the CNC Fraternity, which I’m informed you know of. They want you well, but you won’t be freed.”
Disturbed by his announcement, I swallowed. They wanted me well—that was something to cling to.
