I turned before the tears began falling and quickly made my way to the shower. The route was familiar, but at the same time, so foreign. It felt like I should be clinging to Trent’s shirt, like I should be watching out for any of the others to suddenly pop out of the shadows and grab me. It felt wrong to be in the bathroom alone with no one keeping guard. But I knew I needed to get used to my normal.
Or, well, what my normal used to be.
I mechanically went through the motions of getting clean and scrubbing every particle of Trent’s dried blood off me while trying not to think about whose blood it was, or how it had gotten on me in the first place. Twice while in the shower, I’d lost the battle with trying to keep my cries silent, and the last time my legs had given out from the exhaustion of the day . . . of the last thirty-six days.
I wasn’t sure I even knew what I was crying for anymore. It’s funny how when in the situation, in the moment, those bits and pieces didn’t seem like that big of a deal, or seemed like something I could easily handle. Then once it was all over, it was like a tidal wave had just crashed down on me and I was standing there confused, not knowing what to do, or how to act, or what to say anymore. All I knew was the exhaustion, and the terror, and the grief. All I could do was sit there for countless minutes until the water was cold and my tears were long gone before I could finally turn the water off and pull myself up.
In the same robotlike state, I dried myself off, brushed my hair and teeth, and went about finding my own pajamas. I stood there just staring at them, letting my fingers run over the material on my body, and wondering if I would ever be able to go back to wearing Logan’s clothes in bed again. Or if men’s shirts had been ruined for me forever.
Forcing my mind away from the direction it had been headed, I purposefully didn’t look in the mirror on my way out of the bathroom, not wanting to see the bruises on my body again. I walked down the hall and had almost reached the living room when I heard his harsh voice.
“No, Mom . . . no— What wedding, Mom?— There’s not going to be a wedding— Because she’s not the same Rachel anymore, that’s why!”
Even though my throat was raw from the crying, and my eyes could produce no more tears, one hand flew to my mouth to quiet any cry that could force its way out. The other hand flew to my chest, which felt like it was splitting in two.
“You think I don’t know that?— No, don’t put me on speaker—What, Dad?—I know! I fucking know that! But you guys didn’t see her reaction to me today. You didn’t see her reaction to the guy that took her from our goddamn house! You didn’t watch her kiss him or stumble over her answers about her relationship with him. You weren’t there for it, okay?— No, don’t come see her right now— Because, she . . .”
I finally figured out how to make my legs move again and turned to go back to the bedroom. What do you say to something like that? What do you do? How do you handle all the confusion and emotional pain, and then find out that some of your worst nightmares are coming true . . . because of you? I crawled onto the bed and didn’t even bother covering myself with the comforter. I just gripped at my chest and prayed the pain of losing everything would go away soon.
It didn’t.
And sleep didn’t come easy.
I lay there awake for hours, watching the glow from the sun behind the curtains eventually fade to darkness. I heard Logan come to check on me once, but it sounded like he hadn’t gotten past the doorway before stopping, and after a few seconds, turning and leaving. When I finally did fall asleep, I did it alone, and woke the same.
The fact that being alone went so much deeper than physical, made the pain intensify.
I missed Trent and was terrified for him. I needed my fiancé. I wanted my life to go back to normal.
I knew I wouldn’t get the first back, and hated that I wasn’t sure about the others.
Kash
I GROANED, and my eyes blinked open when the persistent knocking finally woke me. Putting my feet on the floor, I pushed off the couch and stretched my sore body from sleeping on the deceptively comfortable-looking couch. Checking the peephole, I let out a harsh breath and hung my head as I unlocked and opened the door.
“You have a key, Mason.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to use it if you were actually spending time with your fiancée, now that your fiancée is back from a fucking traumatic experience that your fiancée just went through. You know, because she’s your fiancée and all.”
“Say fiancée one more time.” I squinted my eyes at him. “Mom and Dad call you?”
He huffed roughly through his nose and pushed me back so he could fit in through the door. “Duh. You look like shit, so I’m guessing I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Wow, thank you. Would you like to insult me some more before I kick you out of my—”
“The couch?” he interrupted. “You slept on the couch? Please tell me that was by her request.”
Knowing he wouldn’t leave until he felt like it, I walked back over to my makeshift bed and sat down. “No, it wasn’t. I haven’t talked to her since we got back here.”
“And why is that?”
“Because she went to sleep after her shower. What did you want me to do? Wake her up so we could talk about her time away? About Trent?” I snarled and rubbed at my jaw.
“Yeah, sure, why the hell not? Why not ask her how she’s doing, ask if she’s fucking okay!”
Looking behind me, I listened for sounds from her and, when I didn’t get any, turned back to Mason. “She’s still sleeping, keep it down. And I’m sure she’s not okay, she was kidnapped and held for over a month. Who would be okay after that?”
“So then talk to her about it!”
“I can’t, Mase, okay? I can’t.”
He paced back and forth in the living room and finally stopped directly in front of me. “Why? Why can’t you? She needs you. I saw how she acted yesterday too, I watched the entire interview last night. I also know the sexual assault exam came back negative! Maybe he really was trying to help her, and she clung to that. Did you ever think about that?”
“Why would he after taking her?”
“Ask her yourself, since Chief told me you didn’t stay for the entire interview. But think about it, Kash . . . We were in gangs and helped some girls escape too. Did that never once cross your mind yesterday?”
I wanted to argue that we hadn’t kissed them. But we’d always had to do whatever was necessary to make our story believable for the gang we were in. My eyes shot up to Mason’s, and he gave a sad laugh as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“God, you’re so dense sometimes. I believe Rachel’s story, I don’t think he was an undercover, but I wouldn’t doubt for a second that he didn’t want to be in Juarez’s gang. I’ll admit, seeing her with him was weird, but you need to think about the whole situation. I don’t know what it is about her, but you seem to forget everything when it comes to her.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mason?”
He started ticking off points on his fingers. “We think she’s been raped and you automatically want to kill anyone that’s come near her before we even know for sure that it happened. The guy that raped her, and that she was terrified of, forces her to leave you . . . and you just automatically believe that she was really lying to you the entire time and wanted to be with him. A guy that has protected her in captivity kisses her right before they thought they were entering a suicide mission, and without a second thought you think she didn’t want to be rescued anymore?”