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He doesn’t say anything at first, just peers into the night.
“Doc?”
“They didn’t ‘try’ to rape her,” he says finally. “They demolished her, Pavel.”
My head snaps to the side. “Explain.”
“Someone tore into her; there is definitely evidence of forced trauma. Looks likes this may not have been the first time, either. She has older scar tissue. I took samples for STD tests and did a pregnancy test.” He sighs and removes his glasses. “I’ve treated her the best I can, but she will need painkillers. I’ll check if I have something nonaddictive she can take that won’t react with the meds I gave her to reverse the overdose. She also has bruises, but they seem several days old. There is only one needle mark on her forearm, and it’s fresh. They probably injected her with whatever she overdosed with.”
“Send me the test results as soon as you get them,” I say through gritted teeth.
“You’re really taking her to your place?”
“Yes.” I head back inside.
“Pavel,” the doc calls after me. “I don’t know what her mental state will be when she wakes up. Don’t ask her what happened, just get her to her family. And tell them she’ll need psychological help.”
“Okay.” I nod.
* * *
I sit down in the recliner and watch the sleeping girl curled up in the middle of my bed. At first, I thought about placing her in one of the other two bedrooms but decided against it. Better to be close in case her state worsens.
She seems better. Her breathing sounds normal, and the shaking stopped completely. I tilt my head, watching her small frame under the thick duvet. She’s still naked under the covers. I didn’t want to risk maneuvering her arms and legs to get her into one of my pajamas. What if she woke up and thought I was trying to hurt her?
I grip the sides of the recliner and draw a deep breath. What kind of sick bastard would abuse a woman in such a way? Especially someone so tiny. I close my eyes and try to subdue the urge to run to my car, drive back to where I found her, and search for the motherfucker who hurt her. I can’t risk leaving her alone, though. What if she has another seizure? But I will find the man who dared beat and rape her, or whatever other torture the sick fuck subjected her to. And I will make him pay. My hold on the armrests intensifies, and the faint sound of wood squeaking follows. The sleeping girl stirs, and I release the recliner, not wanting to wake her.
I don’t know what came over me and made me decide to bring her to my place. I could have easily left her at a hospital and told them to send me the bill for the services. It doesn’t make sense, but I couldn’t make myself leave her somewhere. It’s been years since I felt any kind of connection with a person, even those closest to me. But seeing this girl, so hurt and unprotected, stirred something deep inside my soul. The need to shield her from anything that may try to hurt her again came viscerally, but with it, I also had the urge to destroy. It’s strange to have this hunger for violence rising inside of me again after so many years.
The girl rolls to her other side, and one of her legs slips out from under the duvet. I get up and tuck it back under the covers.
She seems fine for the moment, sound asleep, so I decide to take a quick shower. Inside the walk-in closet on the other side of the room, I use the flashlight on my phone to find a pair of black pajama bottoms and boxer briefs. I’m already at the bathroom door when a thought surfaces, and I return to the closet to grab a T-shirt, as well. When I’m home, I usually wear just pajama bottoms, but the girl could get scared if she sees all the ink on my torso. She will probably be scared when she wakes up in a strange place, and there is no need to distress her more than necessary.
I turn the water to cold in the shower, hoping it’ll help me shake off the persistent urge to kill someone. It doesn’t help much. Pressing my palms to the tiled wall, I lift my chin and let the cold spray hit me right in the face. As the freezing water runs down my body, I dig inside my brain, pulling out the memory of one of my last fights. The most violent one, since I need some way to deal with this urge to destroy someone. My opponent snuck a knife inside the ring and managed to slice my side twice before I overpowered him. I made sure he knew what I thought about his actions by breaking his back and burying his own blade to the hilt at the base of his skull. Violence isn’t something I enjoy, but when I find myself in a beast’s den, I inevitably become the very beast I’m fighting. It’s nothing more than survival. Reliving that scene helps feed my thirst for destruction. Somewhat, at least.
I take no more than five minutes in the bathroom, so I expect the girl to still be sleeping soundly. Instead, she is tossing and turning in the bed, her body shaking. I rush over and press my palm to her forehead, finding it hot. She is mumbling something I can’t decipher because her teeth are chattering too much. I bend my head trying to catch what she’s saying.
“Cold . . .” her small voice whimpers. “So, so cold.”
I grab the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, throw it over her, then take my phone from the nightstand.
“Doc,” I say the moment he picks up, “the girl has a fever and is shaking like a leaf, saying she’s cold.”
“Withdrawal,” he says. “It’s a normal reaction.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. Her body needs to go through that. She’ll be better in a couple of hours. But it may happen again over the next few days. Make sure you tell the family that tomorrow.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“She will probably feel sick tomorrow, but she needs to drink liquids. Try giving her water the moment she wakes up,” he says. “Oh, and Pavel, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but it would be best if you don’t touch her or get into her personal space. If she freaks out in the morning, give me a call and I’ll go get Varya. She can stay with the girl until her family comes to pick her up.”
“Thanks.”
I lower the phone and observe the girl again. She is still shaking, but I don’t think I should cover her with anything else. She’ll get too hot. There’s the mumbling again, but she’s turned with her back to me so it’s hard to hear. I put my knee on the bed and lean closer, trying to understand. She’s crying. The whimpers are very low, broken, and that sound is so fucking heartbreaking.
The doc said I shouldn’t try to touch her, but she’s delirious now and probably doesn’t know what’s happening around her. I can’t bear the idea of doing nothing any longer. I reach out and place my palm on her back, over the blanket, and brush it lightly. She doesn’t pull away, so I sprawl down onto the bed behind her, making sure my body doesn’t touch hers, and continue stroking her back. After some time, the crying stops. I pull my hand off, intending to get up when the girl suddenly turns around and buries her face into my chest. I lie there, not moving, not daring to touch her, but also unable to move away. Her hot breath fans my chest as she lies with her hands squeezed into fists and tucked between our bodies. She’s still shaking.
