Chapter 27 #2
I stare at myself. My hair hangs tangled in waves.
Dirt and blood streak my face, coated like a bad paint job.
My eyes drift down to my wrists. I slowly lift my sleeves to reveal the bruising and raw skin.
My hands begin to tremble at the sight of them.
I absentmindedly lift them, touching my hair.
It feels like straw as I gather it and lower it behind me away from my neck.
And then it hits me, worse than anyone ever has.
I suck in a sharp breath, stumbling a step backward.
My knees threaten to buckle as my eyelids shutter and the world stops spinning.
The bruising circles my throat in ugly shades of purple and black with two scabbed rings on the opposite sides of it, from where the edges of the collar dug in too deep.
Vincent’s fingerprints bruise in circles of blue just above the scabs. Exactly where Devin’s once were.
The first sob breaks free as I instantly slap the back of my hand to my mouth, attempting to stop it.
But it only brings the sight of my wrists back into view.
Glass explodes across the sink as I lash out, striking my reflection with my fist. Blood drips from my hand.
I hover it over the closest glass piece, letting the liquid drip onto my reflection.
Not even a second passes before the door flies open.
“Florence!” Nina screams, bursting inside.
Jasper, Nyx, Bear, and Jett crowd behind her. I spin toward them, completely frozen. I squeeze my eyes shut before opening them again, praying I can just vanish into thin air. Nina gasps, clasping her hand over her mouth as her eyes settle onto my neck. Nobody speaks. They’ve seen it now.
Nyx swears under his breath, dragging his hand down his beard, then buries it in his hair. I didn’t want it to be like this. If I wanted them to know, I would have told them. But not like this.
Jasper takes a step forward, but Bear shoves past him, almost knocking him off his feet. I don’t even make it a full step to try and escape. My knees buckle and my own sobs begin to tear me apart. Bear catches me before I hit the floor, one massive arm wrapping around me as he drops with me.
“No, no, no,” he cries.
I bury my face against his chest as he pulls me into his lap. The sobs won’t stop. Years of walls and survival all pour out at once against my will. Bear’s arms lock around me, refusing to let go.
Across the room, nobody moves. Nina’s body blocks the door; her elbow locked firmly into place as her hand holds tight to the door frame.
Tears fill Nyx’s eyes. Jasper looks sick, actually sick, as if he might throw up.
And Jett slams his crutch onto the floor, pacing behind them, punching his fists into the air as he curses.
Nina goes to close the door, her gaze snapping to the men behind her in warning, but Jett pushes through everyone and drops to his knees.
His hands shake so badly as he reaches for a piece of glass.
He drags it across the hem of his shirt, ripping off a long strip.
Gently, Jett lays it across my exposed throat, as if touching me might break me further. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking. He swallows dryly. “I’m so sorry, Florence.” Again and again, he apologizes, like if he says it enough, he can somehow heal me.
Nina steps into the hallway, her voice low and sharp.
The bathroom feels miles away now as our sobs continue to flow.
A minute later, she returns, sealing the door behind her, shutting out the rest of the world.
Nina lowers herself to the floor beside me, sliding one hand into my hair.
Slow and gentle she strokes her hand across my head.
The way someone would soothe a frightened child.
I lay my head against Bear’s arm, snubbing as I fight to breathe.
Jett still grips my hand, wrapping another piece of his shirt around my bloody knuckles.
Bear refuses to let me go, his arms still locked tight, crying almost as hard as I am. I let go of myself, and for once, I stop trying to hold the line.
I practically had to shove Greyline out of the door. Cici called from her hospital room, sobbing so hard I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying. I promised her I was okay.
The funny thing is, I’ve spent the last hour trying to convince myself the same thing.
The bed sinks beneath me as I sit and the nurse wraps a cuff around my arm.
Her gum pops, causing me to flinch. “Sorry miss,” she says, continuing to ask me questions I answer without even hearing.
“Wash up and call when you’re done cause’ we need to get some IV fluids in you Ms. Belcher.
” She pops her gum again and leaves, the door clicking softly behind her.
I sit a second longer, staring at the empty doorway. “Wash up,” I mockingly say to no one.
I stand, cringing at the stain behind me on the bed from my clothes.
The bathroom light hums as I flip it on.
The mirror startles me again, but I look the same as I did an hour ago.
I just don’t feel the same. I refuse to look at my neck.
There’s dried blood along my collarbone, not all mine.
My nose is faintly blue, under eyes dark and sunken.
Blood caked in my nostrils. Dirt streaks along my sleeves.
My hair is stiff with sweat and wolf fur, tangled in places I can’t separate with my fingers.
I scoop up my remaining boot and hurl it at the mirror. Glass shatters, again.
I turn the water on too hot. Steam fills the small room almost immediately.
I step in before it finishes warming and the heat hits my shoulders hard enough to sting.
I don’t move for a long time. Water runs down my face, and I realize I don’t know how long it’s been since I stopped shaking.
I scrub my hands first. Hard. Under my nails.
Between my fingers. Over and over until it burns.
The blood turns the water faintly pink at my feet.
I keep washing anyway. My fingers catch in my hair repeatedly.
I pull, but the knots won’t give. I pull harder until strands come loose in my hand.
I stare at them for a second, then press the wet clump onto the tile wall.
Another knot. Another pull. More hair comes free.
I leave them on the wall too. I don’t know why.
Maybe because I need to see something leaving.
The dirt goes next. Then the smell. I stand under the water until it cools and my skin numbs
When I finally step out, the room feels too quiet. I dry off quickly and crack the bathroom door open, searching for the folded hospital gown.
Nyx stands there, relief washing over his face. In his hands are a pair of sweatpants and a dark hoodie. “For you,” he says simply.
My lips part, but nothing comes out. I snatch them from him and slam the door shut. Looking around the bathroom, I lift the clothes to my nose, breathing in deeply. Charred cedar. The fabric is still warm from his hands. I roll my neck as the soft fleece slips across my skin.
After a minute, I open the door fully and step back into the room.
The bed dips as I sit, my muscles finally realizing they’re tired all at once.
Nyx moves to the windowsill, sitting sideways so he faces both me and the door.
Guarding position. Neither of us speak. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable.
It’s… relieving. I pull my knees slightly closer and lean back against the pillow, still checking the door every so often out of habit.
He doesn’t stare. “When I woke up in the tent,” he says, his voice a velvet echo in the room, “your wolf was outside.”
I frown slightly. “Torin?”
He nods once. “He had the lace from your boot in his mouth. Wouldn’t let anyone take it from him.”
I sit a little straighter as my heartbeat stumbles.
“I knew something was wrong,” he continues calmly. “You wouldn’t leave like that. And he wouldn’t leave you unless he had to; he proved that much in Alaska.”
I swallow. He grunts, clearing his throat. “Scott wanted to wait, because of Jett being undercover and the need to follow procedure.” Nyx slides his hands down his thighs, releasing a heavy breath.
“And you didn’t,” I say quietly.
“No.” He rests his forearms on his knees, gaze steady. “I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I checked every lead I could get to. Alone, mostly.”
My shoulders sag. “Why alone?” I ask.
“Because to them,” he says quietly, “it was an operation.” His eyes meet mine. “You weren’t an operation to me.”
I don’t have an answer for that. My chest tightens in a way I don’t recognize, not fear or panic… but something heavier, and quieter. “You found me,” I finally say, calculating his timing in the warehouse versus the T.A.L.O.N teams.
“I was always going to,” he replies.
Silence stretches between us, but it doesn’t feel empty. My eyelids feel heavier than they have in days, and my lashes flutter as I strain to keep them open.
“You need sleep,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re exhausted,” Nyx counters gently. “And you’re safe here, Florence.”
I glance at the door.
He sees it. Nyx stands, dragging a chair between me and the doorway. “Rest your eyes,” he says. “You can trust me to guard the door.”
I hesitate. Trust isn’t something I do. He doesn’t push, though. “I told Bear to text me when Cici wakes,” he adds. “I’ll let you know. I promise.”
The word promise sits in the air. I don’t remember the last time I believed one. But my body does something before my mind decides. I lie back against the pillow.
My eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer.
Nyx doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Just stays put.
The tension I’ve been holding finally slips a fraction.
I close my eyes. No footsteps. No shouting.
No gunshots. No waking tremors. Just quiet.
And when the darkness comes, it isn’t something I’m fighting through. It’s rest.