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Like the depraved son of a bitch I am, I soak up every scream, every whimper, every ounce of pain and fear he releases, like it’s a balm made for my battered and bruised soul. His cries of pain and agony soothe the beast inside of me, if only for a short while.
I roll up his shirt and stuff it under his cock and cut his hands free. “Hold that there tightly and you might just make it to the hospital.” Standing, I slide his phone closer to him and hit 911 on the screen. “Thank you, Mr. Minor. You’ve been very helpful today. No need to get up, I’ll see myself out,” I say, and hit call on the screen.
A friendly female voice crackling through the little speaker, “911, what’s your emergency?” followed by Jeffery’s broken reply, “I need help,” are my swan song as I leave his office and wait for the elevator to take me down.
I stop by the security office on the ground floor and ensure there’s no footage of my presence here today, nothing they can use to tie me back to Jeffery, not that the man has the stones to attempt to point a finger in my direction.
As I walk outside, I pull out my phone and bring up the saved list of names Xav sent me and cross off Jeffery Minor. One down and nineteen to go, saving the best for last … Paul Little.
Wyatt leans backin his chair, his white button shirt sleeves rolled up, since the tattoos are no longer a trigger for me. He runs his fingers through his messy brown hair and calmly places his right ankle on his left knee resting a metal clipboard on the bend of his right leg. As though he’s got all the time in the world to just sit and talk with me today. He straightens his glasses on his face, I have to admit, I’m a sucker for nerdy glasses. “So, Eden, tell me how you’re doing? And remember, nothing shared will leave this room.”
He spared me the awkwardness of a paper gown by allowing me my comfy cotton robe, but I still feel out of place up on the medical table. I toy with the blanket underneath me as I search inward for a truthful answer to his question. Rather than the automaticI’m fineresponse I typically give one of the guys when they ask.
“I’m healing. Of course, you already know that, you’ve checked my physical wounds. Mentally and emotionally, however?” I bite my lower lip, pulling it between my teeth, and worry at the flesh as I contemplate how to continue. “Those are harder to heal.”
Wyatt nods as I talk, never taking his eyes off me, giving me his full attention. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone give me their attention like this. To sit with me, and really be interested in what I have to say, in how I am. He doesn’t ask me to explain, rather sits and waits for me to be ready to dig deeper.
I grab the pillow, hug it tightly to my body and pull my legs up to sit crisscross. “Some days I’m fine, completely normal—if there is such a thing as normal. Loud noises. Touches from the guys. Being alone in the dark. It’s like none of it can touch me. Other days, I feel like I’m losing my mind. My entire body is a basket of shaking nerves that I can’t control. Lungs that refuse to listen when I tell them to expand. Hands that won’t stop trembling no matter how much I try.”
Tears slip from the corners of my eyes, leaving a wet trail down my cheeks. I wipe them away with angry vigor, so tired of crying. “And this—” I shake the tears from my hand “—I’m so fucking sick of crying for no fucking reason at all.”
“Eden, what you went through and survived, no one should ever have to go through. You’ve come so far in your recovery, and I don’t mean just physically. The fact that you have days where you don’t feel nervous and jumpy is amazing. You are so strong, and you need to give yourself credit for the progress you’ve made.”
A burning sensation starts in my legs and travels up my spine. A need to stand, to move, has me putting the pillow down and jumping from the table. Fight or flight rides me hard.
I pace the length of the room, always keeping Wyatt in my line of sight. It’s not that I don’t trust him, I do, but survival demands that I not let my guard down right now.
“But I don’t want to jump and have a mental breakdown every single time one of the guys wants to hold my hand or comes up and wraps his arms around me. I like those feelings. Logically, I know they’ll never hurt me. I don’t know how I know that, but from the moment I met them, I felt it in my bones that they wouldn’t. So, with them, why can’t I control this? Like right now, why can’t I turn around and let you be out of my line of sight.Itrust you, but my body refuses to.”
Wyatt studies my movements as I pace. He keeps his expression neutral, no pitying sad smiles. Thank fuck; because if he did, I might just snap.
“The body has a strong will to survive, Eden. It’s designed with its own fight or flight instincts. It’ll shut down minor organs to protect the vital ones in times of physical trauma. It’ll erect a mental barrier in times of extreme emotional and mental distress. So, while the mind is a powerful tool, the body as a whole is even more powerful. Trust yourself, listen to your body. You’re a little out of sync right now but you’ll get back there and soon enough your body and mind will be on the same page.”
He taps his fingers on the clipboard as I continue to pace the room, seeming to deliberate over something hard. “I want you to try something for me. Can you do that?” he asks.
I force myself to stop pacing, pressing my body against the cool marble wall, and let out a deep sigh. I swallow thickly and place one hand over my racing heart, counting backwards from twenty. With each number passed, the storm raging inside my chest ebbs. Meeting Wyatt’s eyes, I nod, not trusting my voice to not break.
“All right. I want you to ask the guys to touch you. It can be as simple as holding your hand, or a press of their leg against yours while sitting on the couch side by side. Or, when you’re ready, it can be more intimate such as cuddling while watching a movie. By asking for it though, you’re initiating the act and taking back control of your desire and need for human contact.”
“Okay,” I whisper, sliding down the wall to land on the floor next to the only exit. My body grows heavier by the second as the adrenalin leaves my system, replaced with a bone deep fatigue.
My head drops, my chin hits my chest, and I snap my eyes open, even though I don’t remember closing them.
“Eden,” Lucifer whispers from beside me, crouching down in the doorway. “Let’s get you to bed, butterfly.” He holds out a hand to me, and I look over to where I remember Wyatt last being. He sits, relaxed in his chair, just as he was, though in his hand he now holds his phone. He nods his head with a smile in encouragement for me.
I place my hand in Lucifer’s and he stands, tugging me up from the floor. My legs wobble under my full weight and Lucifer wraps an arm around my waist, catching me before I fall.
“Are you okay?” he asks quickly, concern filling his voice.
“I’m okay. Panic attacks are exhausting. I really don’t like them,” I tell him with a humorless chuckle.
“A little bit of rest will do you some good then,” he says, guiding me from the room.
As we pass through the foyer, Kain walks through the front door. Blood dots his shirt and smears along his jaw. It’s been nearly a week since he last spoke to me, and the hole in the center of my chest has me aching for a bit of contact with him.
His gaze, not cold or invasive but rather heated and appreciative, rakes over my body from my toes to my eyes. The slow perusal is so primal and possessive it almost feels like a physical caress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When his eyes meet mine, there’s hunger in their depths, a hunger for me.
I take in the rest of his disheveled appearance. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, blood smears on his face and staining his shirt. My attention stops on the bulge pressing against the front of his pants, and a new feeling of excitement fills me, one I’ve never felt before. Hot and heavy in my lower abdomen. He looks down, and I follow his gaze to his hands. Dry blood coats his palms and fingers, and he promptly tucks them in his pocket as though trying to hide them from me.
