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Gentle hands press against my upper thighs, but don’t reach between my legs. “As far as I can tell, no,” the doctor says. “But I won’t do a full examination, not whilst she’s unable to give her consent. That alone could do more harm than good given what she’s been through.”
I black out, coming too when my eyelids are gently pried open and a bright light passes across my vision.
"Pupils are reacting as expected. It’s a good response. I will need to reset and splint her fingers though.”
Pain. Sharp.
"She's fit to travel after she's had some fluids and more analgesia. But she will require a lot of rest and recuperation. This won’t be easy…" His voice trails off, and the air stills as though holding a trembling breath.
What won’t be easy?
My internal question dissolves as I feel a sharp scratch to my inner elbow, followed by cool liquid flooding my veins. My body welcomes the darkness again.
Some time later, I rouse as murmured conversations brush against my ears like velvet, the occasional hushed whisper floating over my skin. Around me sounds and smells trickle into my subconsciousness as a warm breeze drifts over me, carrying with it the earthy scent of spices, mingled with the light aroma of flowers coming from the distant sound of a busy city.
Pain lances my chest as I hear the sound of women crying, only ebbing away when reassurances come from voices I recognise but for some reason can't place right now.
Images appear in my mind. Memories of naked women, afraid, tied to tables. My heart races, my pulse becomes erratic until darkness returns, sucking me beneath its blissful surface once more.
Sometime later, my subconscious mind is drawn to the surface as the repetitive sound of a train passes over metal tracks. More voices. More murmured talk. Plans are being made. Lives rearranged. A promise of safety given.
Next there’s a gentle rocking, accompanied by the swishing sound of waves. I sleep, dragged back beneath exhaustion and trauma.
The roar of a plane’s jet engines jerks me awake. Wherever I am it’s dark, warm, safe. I have no concept of time, no real understanding of what’s happening around me, just that I’m no longer gasping for breath, no longer fighting to live.
I'm kept safe. Held in warm arms.
Never alone.
I hear murmured words. Feel gentle hands and soft kisses peppering my temple. It’s as though whoever’s holding me needs to check I’m actually real and not a mirage.
“We’re nearly home. Hold on, Cyn,” he says as I fall back into oblivion.
More time passes.
Then I'm lifted into a spacious car with heated leather seats, and cuddled against another strong, warm chest as muscular arms wrap around me. This man smells of freshly laundered cotton and strangely, suntan cream. He talks to me, words of comfort washing over me in a gentle caress, soothing me back to sleep. I curl into his body, finding solace in his arms. My body responds to him, my heart recognising him, but my mind isn’t ready to acknowledge him just yet.
Later, I stare up at a different man with a shock of dark brown hair and obsidian eyes. Despite seeing him through only one eye because the other is swollen shut, I don’t really feel in control of my body or my actions. There’s a physical disconnect that I don’t understand. I can see, hear, touch, taste, and yet it’s as though those senses belong to someone else.
“We’re back in London, Cyn,” he says softly, tucking me into a warm bed. “Grim is letting us stay overnight at her place until we can get you back home.”
Home? Do I even have a home?
Concern etches a deep line between his brows. Dark shadows reflect the exhaustion in his eyes. He stares at me, waiting for some kind of response. I don’t answer. I can’t.
“Cyn, it’s me, Carrick,” he whispers, laying down beside me.
I face him. Seeing, but not responding.
Deep down inside, I know who he is. I recognise him. Yet, I can’t seem to bring myself to acknowledge that fact. I’m both within my body, but separate from it. Feeling and unfeeling. Aware and unaware. Both me and not me. I can’t think too deeply or remember too much.
There's something agonising, something that will break me, just out of reach. I don't want to remember. It’s easier to just close my eyes. So that’s what I do. The last thing I hear before sleep drags me under is the sound of an angel singing.
As time moves on voices come and go.
Male. female. Some are familiar. Others are not.
But all are concerned.
