Page 71 of Dollhouse

Jesse rests his forehead to her shoulder, listening as I try to coax her back to reality from whatever flashback is haunting that pretty little head of hers. “Emma, please.”

She shakes, letting us lower her arms and surround her with our presence. It’s the only thing that’s helped her so far. Being lodged between two of her men, beyond safe. Beyond loved.

“Come back to me, Em,” I repeat, brushing her cheekbone with the curve of my finger.

Her eyes blink open, red and watery. Her mouth parts, panting lightly from the exertion of fury bleeding her dry. She blinks at me, shaking her head and biting her lip as it trembles. “I can’t take anyone else leaving me.”

This girl. She fucking found my heart when I didn’t think it existed and stole it. Now she’s breaking it to pieces like I ever stood a chance. “Nobody’s leaving. Not us. Not you.”

With one had curling around my sleeve, she reaches back with her other to find Jesse’s mop of hair and holds his headwhere it rests on her shoulder. A hiccup racks her frame and she flinches in pain.

“Bo’s all that’s left of me frombefore. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.” Her mouth twists as she tries to keep the tremor hidden.

I press my forehead to hers, holding her tightly, meeting her hand where it holds Jesse’s head. He shifts, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder blade.

“That's okay because I fucking see you still, baby,” I remind her as she sniffs. “I told you that by the fire. If you want to leave here, we'll go. But it should be with me. Not without.”

She falls silent, thoughtlessly running her hand through Jesse’s hair. As if she can’t stop the urge to comfort us even when she’s the one raked in pain.

I wonder what she’s picturing. Is it the nights of laughter, with all of us right here in this room? Her birthday, where we’d shared each other on this couch? Maybe the woods outside the window where I’d chased her like I could consume her whole.

Because that’s what I see. A woman who had nothing fake or spiteful in her, who knew I screamed danger and still let me in. Who let me play, and push and take until we both were deeper than we knew how to handle.

She could say no, and I’d be forced to accept it. I won’t say it out loud, but if she held our past against me, of me forcing her out of her world and into mine, I’d have no choice but to let her go. Maybe she’s picturing running from here and starting over on her own. Without anyone else, for the very first time in her life. Striking out into the world asEmmainstead of as a wife.

“You’re killing me, Em,” Jesse mutters against her shoulder, nuzzling closer. A breathy laugh falls from her mouth, surprising both me and her.

She licks her lips, staring at mine. “No, Noah. I won’t take you away from this place. From your family. From Mercy. Icouldn’t. Not when there are people out there who deal with what I just did. We should stay.” She chews her lip, grazing my unshaved face with her soft hand. “We should help.”

I pull her face to mine, our mouths clashing in a sharp, euphoric haze. Because for a moment I hadn’t been sure. I pull back slightly, then steal another kiss, feeling as Jesse does the same with her neck. Worshipping. Thanking her. Praising her for coming back to us. For letting the two of us Finch men keep her, though we don’t deserve it at all.

The small, sad flick of a smile on the corner of her mouth is addicting.

I would do anything it took to make it stay.

THIRTY-SIX

Noah thinksI don’t know he’s got his camera up in this house still. I guess technically I have no proof of that, but because I know him, I’ll bet that he’s watching right now as I talk to the counselor that Mercy offered for me to use.

She’s got a sweet face and patient body language, like she's sat in front of hundreds of broken people before and hasn’t grown tired of helping them yet. God knows the horrible things she’s heard since working for the victims that Mercy saves, I can't imagine having to take all of that in. What Bo and I were put through was Hell, but it was only a few days. We know now that some of the people they saved had been there foryears.

How do you begin to move on from something like that? Noah tells me that sometimes they don’t. They can provide counseling, the medical team, the resources to connect to long-term care. Sometimes the damage isn’t fixable. Sometimes, the people they save lose the ability to feel hope. They try to keep tabs on them, but he says you can’t force someone to get better.

I guess he’s right.

“Can you tell me a little bit more about what you mean when you say you still feel like you’re in shock?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. Amy, that’s right. She said to call her Amy.

Chewing my lip, I hug the pillow in my lap and try to force my hesitance into something that makes sense. “When it was happening, when they were hurting me, it was like I could turn it off in my head. Sometimes it didn’t work, but most of the time I could. Like I’d be in a different spot in the room, looking out a window or something. Now I keep waiting for this giant emotional tidal wave to come but I mostly just feel…dulled. It’s like there’s barely any good or bad emotion left.”

“Disassociation is a common coping skill the body and mind use when faced with something like assault,” she offers. “Sometimes it can be hard to reattach and feel connected after our mind disassociates. Leaving us feeling that dullness you described.” She shifts on the couch, watching me for a moment. “Having that hallmarkfall-to-piecesmoment isn’t something everybody gets, Emma. It’s also not necessary to have one when you’re trying to rebuild. It’s possible that just helping you feel reconnected, reattached, could help with allowing you to start feeling some of those more positive emotions and experiences.”

“It sort of feels like cheating, like I'm skipping part if the healing process”

She shrugs. “There’s no cheating in therapy. Some people confront their trauma over and over and it goes nowhere, or they feel sort of the opposite of you. Everything is loud and impossible to forget. It’s different for everyone. For you, your brain just chose a different path, and it’s likely not to be consistent. Tomorrow you could wake up with that dullness gone, and that strong pain in its place. It’s best if we prepare for both situations so you can learn how to manage all the hurdles you’ll face.”

I nod, suddenly exhausted. The audacity of men to force their trauma onto people who are then left picking up the pieces possiblyforever. I hate them for leaving their stain on me, for thinking somehow that their moment of pleasure is worth a lifetime of my pain.

“I know your situation here isn’t the norm. Do you feel like you have support in this house? When the urge comes to talk things out, do you have someone you can do that with?”