Page 27 of Darkened Promises

She doesn’t acknowledge my sharp intake of breath as she gingerly climbs into the water, hissing as her abused skin encounters the heat. Nate climbs in, stretching his legs along the base, and she lowers herself onto his lap, her back leaning against his chest.

My throat’s thick as I dab a clean, wet cloth along the cuts on her body. Blood seeps into the material. I’m so lost in the process, trying to make sure I don’t make any part of her worse, that I don’t initially notice when her breathing increases.

Her hand moves, clenching around Nate’s so hard her knuckles whiten. I look up, and nausea sweeps through me. Her face is pinched, her eyes squeezed shut as she presses her lips together, nostrils flaring with her laboured breaths.

“Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe,” I say, tone low and gentle, just how she is with Moshi, and I hope it has the same effect on her.

Her eyes flash open. She’s teetering on the edge, flailing and drowning. I want to throw myself at her, pull her back from it, and assure her that we have her, always. But it’s as though my feet are stuck, unable to reach her.

“It’s hard to look at them…at me,” she croaks, her lip trembling as she sucks it between her teeth.

Nate glares daggers at me. I know he’s relying on me to fix this, but I’m just as lost as he is.

“You don’t need to look if you’re not ready. All that matters is that you’re here, safe. You’re home. Say it out loud if you need to. Just keep reminding yourself.”

“I’m h-home,” she stutters, and her eyes well with tears.

She looks so exhausted, that it fractures my heart at what she’s gone through. The questions burn hot on my tongue. I know she’s not ready to answer them, and it’s more important that she realises she’s not there anymore. Asking those questions might send her mentally back there, and she needs a moment to be safe.

“Good. Keep repeating it whilst I finish. Okay?”

She nods, eyes still watery, but she does it. “I’m…home.”

I gently lift each limb and very carefully work on getting her clean and taken care of.

“I’m home.”

We manage to get her hair washed and her face clean. She repeats the words every so often to help ground herself and trembles the entire time. We gently help her out of the bath, then she catches sight of herself in the mirror and my stomach drops.

We should’ve covered it.

Her face crumbles. A raw wail bursts from her and slices right through me.

“What can we do?” I implore, the words breathing out of me loudly as I exhale defeatedly. I dart in front of her and block her view, then cup her face as Nate still supports her from behind, never letting her fall.

This is more weight, more pain, than she should have to carry. Even before she was taken, she’d endured so much—all that loss and struggle. Now she’s in an even darker place, and I don’t know how we’re supposed to help dig her out.

All I can do is sit in it with her, so she knows she’s not alone.

She presses her trembling lips together, and tears streak her pale cheeks, catching in their crease. “You’re doing it. Y-you all found me, and now you’re here, dealing with all my b-broken pieces when you don’t need to be.” She hiccups, and fresh tears leak out at her words.

Pain hits me tenfold to have her thinking of us in a situation where she’s the one suffering.

I pick up a dry cloth and gently swipe the wet tracks on her face, blotting the moisture and allowing the material to soothe her fragile skin.

“Your strength is beyond what any of us have,” I say with another soft wipe across her face. “And we’re here because we want to be.”

Nate kisses her hair, then rests his cheek against her crown.

Rosy’s jaw quivers under my fingertips. “I don’t feel strong,” she whispers, as if she’s too afraid to voice it out loud.

“You don’t have to feel it. We all see it, and we can remind you whenever you need us to,” I promise.

FIFTEEN

ROSY

“Can I have a minute?”