Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ingrid
I'm back in the spa.
The massage room is dark, but I can see everything with horrible clarity.
The empty table.
The door swinging shut behind me.
And him.
Stepping out from behind the door.
His hand over my mouth.
The knife at my throat.
"Don't scream. Don't move."
I try to fight.
Try to pull away.
But my body won't cooperate.
Won't do anything except stand frozen while his breath burns hot against my ear.
"Your boyfriend cost us a lot of money."
The knife presses harder.
I feel the blade bite into my skin.
Feel the warm trickle of blood.
"This is what happens when people don't mind their business."
Then I'm on the floor.
His boot connects with my ribs.
Again, again, and again.
I can't breathe.
Can't scream.
Can only curl into myself and pray for it to stop.
"Pretty ring. Too bad you won't get to wear it much longer."
He grabs my hand.
Yanks the ring from my finger.
"No—please—"
"This is the last warning."
His face looms over me.
Twisted.
Cruel.
"Keep out of our business or else."
Then the knife is coming toward my face and I'm screaming, screaming, screaming—
"Ingrid! Ingrid, wake up!"
My eyes fly open.
Darkness.
But different darkness.
Softer.
Safer.
Gunnar's face above me, his hands on my shoulders, his voice cutting through the terror.
"You're okay. You're safe. It was a dream. Just a dream."
I'm shaking.
Drenched in sweat.
My heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my broken ribs.
"He was—I was back there—the knife—"
"I know. I know, baby. But you're here now. You're with me. You're safe."
He pulls me against his chest.
Careful of my injuries.
Always so careful.
I bury my face in his shirt and sob.
Great, heaving sobs that make my ribs scream.
I don't care.
Can't stop.
The dream felt so real.
The fear is still clinging to me like a second skin.
"I've got you," Gunnar murmurs, stroking my hair. "I've got you. No one's going to hurt you. Not ever again."
I want to believe him.
I want to feel safe, but every time I close my eyes, I see that man's face.
Feel his hands on me.
Hear his voice promising worse to come.
"What time is it?" I manage.
"Almost seven. You slept a few hours."
A few hours.
It feels like minutes.
It feels like years.
"I can't—" My voice breaks. "I can't keep doing this. Every time I fall asleep—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I wish I could take it away."
"It's not your fault."
"Isn't it?" His voice is tight. "They came after you because of me. Because of what I did. If I hadn't—"
"Don't." I pull back, look at him. "Don't do that. You tried to save children. That's not something to apologize for."
"But you're the one who paid the price."
"And I'd rather pay that price than have you be the kind of man who could walk away from kids in danger." I cup his face with my uninjured hand. "I love you, Gunnar. All of you. Including the part that couldn't leave that little girl behind."
His eyes shine in the darkness.
He doesn't say anything.
Just kisses my forehead and holds me tighter.
We stay like that until the shaking stops.
Until my heartbeat slows.
Until the nightmare fades enough for me to breathe again.
"I need to take care of some club business," he says eventually. "Just for an hour or two. Will you be okay?"
No.
I won't be okay.
The thought of being alone makes my chest tight with panic.
But I can't make him stay by my side every second of every day.
That's not fair to him.
That's not who I want to be.
"I'll be fine," I lie. "Go. Do what you need to do."
He studies my face and sees through the lie, but doesn't call me on it.
"Astrid's downstairs. I'll send her up. And I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Okay."
One more kiss—soft, careful, full of things he can't say—and then he's gone.
The room feels too big without him.
Too quiet.
Too full of shadows.
I lie there for a while.
Staring at the ceiling.
Trying not to think about anything.
Failing.
Eventually, I need to use the bathroom.
A simple thing.
Something I've done a million times without thinking.
But now every movement is an ordeal.
Sitting up makes my ribs shriek.
Standing makes me dizzy.
Walking the ten feet to the bathroom door leaves me breathless and sweating.
I grip the doorframe.
Wait for the dizziness to pass.
Then flip on the light.
The bathroom is small but clean.
Typical clubhouse—functional, nothing fancy.
There's a mirror above the sink.
I haven't looked in a mirror since before the attack.
Three days.
Three days of avoiding my own reflection.
Three days of knowing what I'd see but not being ready to face it.
I'm still not ready.
But I can't avoid it forever.
Slowly, I lift my head.
And there she is.
The woman in the mirror.
The woman I don't recognize.
My left eye is swollen nearly shut, the skin around it a grotesque rainbow of purple and black and sickly yellow.
My cheek is bruised too—a dark smear that extends from my cheekbone to my jaw.
My lip is split.
Scabbed over now, but still visible.
I look like I've been in a car accident.
Like I've been hit by a truck.
Like I've been beaten by a man twice my size while I lay helpless on the floor.
That last one is true.
Slowly, I unwrap the bandage on my arm.
The cut runs from my elbow nearly to my wrist.
Stitched closed now, but still angry and red.
It's going to scar.
I'm going to carry this mark forever.
A permanent reminder of the worst night of my life.
My eyes drop to my left hand.
To the bare finger where my ring should be.
The ring Gunnar gave me.
The ring that belonged to a woman who wore it for fifty years.
The ring that was supposed to be mine.
Ours.
Gone.
Taken by a monster who wanted to send a message.
Something breaks inside me.
I don't know if it's the face I don't recognize or the scar I'll carry forever or the empty space where my ring should be.
Maybe it's all of it.
Maybe it's none of it.
Maybe it's just the weight of everything finally crashing down.
I sink to the floor.
The cold tile bites into my bare legs.
My ribs scream at the movement.
I don't care.
Can't care.
Can only sit there with my back against the cabinet and cry.
Not the quiet tears I've been shedding for three days.
Real crying.
Ugly crying.
The kind that comes from somewhere deep and primal and broken.
I don't know how long I sit there.
Long enough for my legs to go numb.
Long enough for my throat to go raw.
Long enough that I don't hear the bedroom door open.
Don't hear the footsteps crossing to the bathroom.
"Ingrid?" Astrid's voice.
Concerned.
Then she appears in the doorway and her face crumples.
"Oh, honey. Oh, Ingrid."
She's on the floor beside me in an instant.
Pulling me against her.
Holding me while I fall apart.
"I've got you. I'm here. Let it out."
"I can't—I don't—" The words won't come. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're my sister. You're Fenrir and Charm's daughter. You're Gunnar's fiancée. You're Ingrid."
"That woman in the mirror isn't me. That—that broken thing—"
"That woman in the mirror is a survivor." Astrid's voice is fierce. "That woman fought through something horrific and she's still here. Still breathing. Still standing."
"I'm not standing. I'm sitting on the bathroom floor crying."
"So? You're allowed to cry. You're allowed to fall apart. That doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."
I press my face into her shoulder.
Breathe in the familiar scent of my sister.
Lavender.
Vanilla.
Home.
"I keep seeing his face," I whisper. "Every time I close my eyes. I keep feeling his hands on me. Hearing his voice."
"I know."
"Will it ever stop?"
"It gets better. Not right away. But eventually."
"How do you know?"
She's quiet for a moment.
"Because I've been there. Maybe not exactly what you went through, but—I know what it's like to feel broken. To feel like you'll never be whole again. And I also know that you can come back from it. That the pieces can be put back together."
I pull back.
Look at her.
"When?"
"A long time ago. Before Geirolf. I was—" She stops, takes a breath. "I was in a bad relationship. Someone who made me feel small. Worthless. Someone who convinced me I deserved every terrible thing he said and did."
"I didn't know."
"No one did. I was ashamed. Thought it was my fault. Thought if I could just be better, love him more, try harder—" She shakes her head. "It took me years to realize it wasn't me. That some people are just broken in ways that make them want to break others."
"How did you get out?"
"Geirolf." Her smile is grim. "I spent a long time putting myself back together. Learning that I was worth more than what he made me believe."
"I didn't know any of this."
"You were young. We all wanted to protect you from the ugly parts.
" She takes my hand. "But I'm telling you now because I need you to hear this—what happened to you was not your fault.
The Facebook post, being alone at the spa, not fighting back hard enough—none of it.
The only person responsible is the man who did this. And he is going to pay."
"Gunnar keeps saying that too."
"Because it's true. The whole club is looking for him. And when they find him—" She doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. "But that's not what matters right now. What matters is you. Healing. Getting through each day."
"I don't know how."
"One breath at a time. One hour at a time. One day at a time." She squeezes my hand. "And you don't have to do it alone. You have me. You have Mom and Dad. You have Gunnar. You have the whole club behind you."
I look down at our joined hands.
At my bare finger.
"He took my ring."
"I know."
"It was supposed to be on my finger for fifty years. That's what Gunnar said when he proposed. Fifty years. A whole lifetime." Tears spill over again. "And now it's gone. Some monster has it. Probably sold it already for drug money or—"
"Gunnar's going to get it back."
"He can't promise that. He doesn't even know who the guy is."