Page 35 of Darkened Promises

Not yet.

“I’ll be okay. Can I use a room? Moshi’s in yours, and I don’t want to disturb him.”

“You can use mine,” Bry offers, his brow pinched with concern as he watches me.

I nod, then leave the comfort of them all and guide Camille down to Bry’s bedroom.

After sitting me down on the bed, she starts asking a series of questions. It somehow makes it easier than her waiting for me to start talking. It becomes easy to almost switch off and let my mouth reply automatically.

At her first touch to begin the physical examination and tests, my skin recoils, and I flinch away from her.

“Are you okay for me to continue?” Camille asks gently.

My throat closes when I try to tell her I am.

I’m not.

I nod, giving her the consent I don’t want to.

Because why would I react to her like this? Why does it feel as though my skin itches with the need to get away and escape her touch? None of the guys have caused this reaction, and all of them have held me at some point, even if briefly.

So why her? Why a doctor who’s only trying to help me? I’m either so broken that I don’t know who to trust anymore, or my internal warning has finally kicked in after betraying me over trusting him, and now I need to listen to it.

Is she going to hurt me?

The seemingly kind doctor announces where she’s going to touch me next, talking through her moves in a calm, gentle voice.

I stare up at the ceiling. I don’t want to look down at my abused body. It feels like someone else’s. I don’t want to see someone else’s hands on me. I don’t want to be touched.

“I’m all done,” she murmurs, packing up her equipment and giving me a moment to gather myself. “The results will be ready tomorrow. I’ll give you a call to update you. Nothing feels broken, and there’s nothing concerning internally. If the bruising’s painful, you can take some painkillers. The cuts aren’t too deep, but they need to be kept clean,” Camille directs, sliding her coat back on and picking up her bag.

I nod, perched on the edge of the bed. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

“This is part of what I do—helping people who need me. If you need anything at all, you have my number now.”

I nod again, curling my fingers tighter around the cards she gave me. One was hers, the other was for a therapist who had experience with helping victims…like me.

The word tastes like ash in my mouth. I’ve spent my whole life trying to shirk the idea of having the label. I was a victim of loss when my mum died, of abandonment when my dad left, of more loss when Nanna died; a victim of anxiety and now of kidnapping, assault, and so much more.

Something warm presses into my hand, and the smell of cinnamon draws me back from my thoughts. Thoughts I’m starting to dislike more and more. Coupled with the nightmares, my mind’s not a safe place.

Noah’s fingers brush against mine, making sure I’ve got a hold on the mug of tea he places in my hand.

“Thank you,” I say, staring into his gaze.

His green eyes hold me steady. Having him look at me like this gives me something to latch on to. Someone who can be strong enough to stop me drifting away.

“What do you need?” His hand rises slowly, giving me the time to refuse if I need to, then his thumb brushes along my jaw.

“A…hug?”

He removes the mug and places it on his bedside table, then his arms wrap around me. His warmth seeps into my tired, aching body, and I push my face into his chest, breathing him in.

In his touch and embrace, I’m safe. It’s familiar, it’s…home.

“Ah…there’s someone here to take the statement,” Max says from the doorway, then walks away too quickly for me to respond.

As his words sink in, the breath in my lungs stutters out. “I don’t think I can do it.”