Chapter 57
The Silence
Ian
The moment I step through the front door late in the evening, I get a bad feeling. I don’t know what it is. It’s not unusual for the house to be quiet at this time, but somehow, the silence seems thicker than usual.
When I hear feet come rushing down the hall, I know my gut feeling is right. Dread twists in my stomach when Killian appears, eyes wide and terrified.
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I fucked up. Bad.”
My voice drops to a rumbling register. “What did you do?”
He shoots a hand through his hair. “Shit, Dad, I’m sorry. I was so mad. She told me you had found her a flat and taken her virginity, and—”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“I-I...” He closes his eyes as if the memory is painful. “I used your p-pig harness on her. A-and the plug.”
An old, intense sense of fear awakens in me at the sound of Killian stuttering. He hasn’t done that since the first two months after his mother left. But another much more urgent sense of dread drowns it out. “You did what?” I growl, anger surging through me. But he’s not even done yet.
“Then I ca-ca-ca-came over her. Like th-that night. Sh-sh-she. She hasn’t responded since.”
“What?” I bite with a fury that echoes off the walls.
Shame draws over his features—another thing I haven’t seen since he shut down and turned his hurt into a cold facade. But I don’t care. I shove him aside and hurry down the hall.
“Where is she?” I demand when he follows.
“I-I-in your b-bedroom.”
Jenna is on the bed, under the covers, lying completely still.
I rush around the bed, over the discarded pink toys on the floor, and turn on the bedside lamp.
What I see as I sink to my haunches beside her has knots twisting and tightening deep in my gut.
Her eyes are open, staring straight ahead, blank and empty.
“Jenna, sweetheart,” I urge, stroking her cheek and forehead.
“It’s me. Ian. I’m here. You’re safe. Can you look at me? ”
She blinks, and that’s the only response I get.
I try a few more times, urging her to look at me, telling her I’m here and she’s safe, but nothing happens.
When I look up, Killian is at the door, staring wide-eyed at the unresponsive girl. Getting to my feet so Jenna won’t see the anger in my expression, I point at the door and mouth, out.
“But… P-p-please. I-I n-need to—”
“Out,” I say in a low voice, fury spreading through my entire body, darkening my eyes.
I register an almost scared look on Killian’s face just before he hurries off. But I don’t linger on it. I don’t have the time. All that matters right now is doing what’s right for Jenna. But I have no idea what that is as I sink back to the floor and see her still-distant eyes.
Getting up, I take off my dress shirt and my T-shirt.
I want her to feel my body, but without the threat of my dick.
Then I crawl in beside her and arrange her between my legs, her head on my chest. She barely even moves, her arms just falling limply where I place them.
It aggravates the twisting worry to a pounding sense of urgency.
Holding her close with one arm, I take out my phone and Google dissociation while continuously whispering reassuring words.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. It’s just you and me. You’re safe here. You’re my precious girl. Please come back to me.”
She doesn’t react to any of it.
***
I don’t sleep that night. Not even when Jenna finally drifts off into what seems to be a calm sleep do I dare to take my eyes off her. I stay alert, checking her pulse, her breathing, and keeping an eye out for any warning signs.
At some point, I get up and remove all the toys scattered on the floor, which I throw in the garbage in the kitchen.
I don’t want her to see them ever again.
When Killian comes rushing down the stairs, I consider doing the same to him—kicking him out.
Before he gets a chance to speak, I say, “Take out the trash,” then hurry back down the hall to check on Jenna.
In the morning, she’s a bit more responsive, but it only extends as far as nodding and shaking her head.
When I try to help her out of bed to take her to the toilet, her limbs are stiff, her movements slow.
Although I want to try to get her moving on her own, I decide it’s best to prioritize food first. If I have gauged the situation right, she hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon—if not longer.
So I end up carrying her to and from the bathroom.
Then I tuck her into bed again and go to the kitchen to fry some eggs and bacon, cut up some vegetables, and heat some bread.
I’m turning the eggs when I hear Killian come in. Instantly, my jaw hardens, my whole body teeming with the need to send him away.
“Can I see her?” Killian asks in a shaky voice, so unlike him.
“No,” I say, keeping my back to him.
“I n-need to s-see her.”
I turn around at the sound of his stutter. I had completely forgotten it had resurfaced last night.
Today, my rising worry is more palpable.
I’m about to ask if he’s okay, but I hold back when I notice how nervous he looks.
Redness in his eyes tells me he hasn’t slept much, and judging from the crumpled fabric of his shirt, he probably never even changed.
His hair is a tousled mess, and the twitching in his hands tells me something’s very off.
This is not his fault, I suddenly realize.
Not only. It’s as much my own fault. For not teaching Killian the consequences of neglecting aftercare.
For always cleaning up his messes. For bringing Jenna here in the first place.
I knew the risk I was putting her in by exposing her to Killian and his wobbling control and unresolved issues.
It doesn’t make what he did right—by any means—but I need to take care of him as well.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, I lead him to the table and pull out a chair for him. “Have you eaten anything?”
He gives a quick shake of his head, then looks up at me with wide, almost shell-shocked eyes. “I need to see her, Dad. P-please.”
“Okay,” I agree. He’s about to dart up, but I press my hand to his shoulder. “First, you need to eat. Going in there like this won’t help her.”
“I—”
I stop him. “Look at your hands.”
He glances down and brushes a finger over the crusted blood on his knuckles. But that’s not what I’m referring to. It’s the trembling.
“Your whole body is quaking. She’ll feel that stress. You need to calm down first.”
I go to fill a plate with half the eggs and bacon, adding avocado, tomatoes, and bread. Then I place it in front of him along with a big glass of orange juice and take a seat across from him.
I study him as he gobbles up the big meal in five minutes.
In that short time, my brain fires on all cylinders, trying to think of the best way to move forward.
The solution is definitely not to keep Killian away from Jenna.
Like he said, he needs her. And she just might need him as well.
I’m not sure I can be the one to mend her.
It kills me to admit it, but that’s where we are.
As I get up and clear the table, another thought occurs to me.
If this incident hasn’t broken Jenna for good, it might serve a purpose in the end.
Killian is finally opening up. It hasn’t come in a healthy way, but maybe he needed a brutal kick to come out of his cold shell and let Jenna in.
I just hope Jenna can forgive him this time.
After what he did, I wouldn’t hold it against her if she couldn’t.
But I desperately hope she will. Because after this, everything has changed.
If she doesn’t forgive him, I’ll have to choose between my son and the woman I love.
That last word swirls in my head as I fill a new plate with the rest of the food and pour another glass of orange juice. I never thought I’d be able to love a woman after what happened with Killian’s mother. But is that what’s happening now? Do I love Jenna?
Taking the tray with her breakfast, I nod for Killian to follow me. We walk in silence down the hall and into the bedroom where Jenna lies in the same place as I left her, eyes unfocused and empty, body unmoving.
Watching her, I realize that it’s true: I love this girl. The first woman I’ve ever truly loved.
There’s no way I can choose.
“What should we do?” Killian whispers, fear thick in his voice. “Should we take her to the hospital?”
I shake my head, place the tray on the mattress, and round the bed.
I’ve considered the same thing many times during the night but came to the same conclusion every time.
If we take her to a hospital, she’ll get admitted—taken away from us—and that might trigger her abandonment issues.
I’m not sure a doctor can fix the problem.
She needs warmth and care. People who love her.
I study Killian as I lift Jenna and scoot in behind her to sit against the headboard with her nestled between my legs. At that moment, I think he just might love her as well.
“But... What if she d-d-doesn’t come back?”
“Then we’ll take her to a hospital,” I say softly. “But I think what she needs just might be here.”
I’m terrified that I’m making the wrong decision and keeping her here will make everything worse, but I’m also terrified that taking her to a hospital will do just that. And what terrifies me even more about hospitalizing her is the thought that it might result in Killian getting arrested.
“We’ll keep her here and give it a few days,” I say with resolve. “She needs to feel that she’s wanted and that we’re here for her. She can’t get that at a hospital.”
The terror resurfaces when I lift a forkful of scrambled eggs to Jenna’s mouth and she doesn’t react.
I almost reconsider. But then I go over everything again and arrive at the same conclusion.
If I know Jenna well—which I think I do after everything—this is indeed what she needs.
Safety and care. To feel that she’s not abandoned.