Chapter Twelve #3
Kade catches me before I fall, his arms wrapping around me with a gentleness that feels impossible after everything.
His injured hand closes around my waist despite the pain, despite the blood, despite the way I flinched from him moments ago.
He pulls me against his chest, holding me like I’m something fragile, something breakable, something he’s terrified of losing.
My head drops against his shoulder, my breath shaking, my vision blurring. I can feel his heartbeat under my cheek, fast and uneven, thundering like he ran through fire to get to me. His voice is low, cracked, barely holding together. “I’ve got you, Bunny. I’ve got you.”
I try to pull away, instinctive, panicked, but my body won’t move.
My arms stay limp at my sides. My fingers twitch weakly against his shirt.
My throat burns with the effort to breathe.
The room feels too bright, too loud, too close.
I can’t tell where I am. I can’t tell what’s real. I can’t tell if I’m safe.
Kade tightens his hold, careful but firm, grounding me with the weight of his body, the warmth of his chest, the steadiness of his voice. “You’re safe. You’re safe now. I swear it.”
The nurses hover nearby, unsure whether to intervene, unsure whether touching me will make things worse. They watch Kade instead, waiting for his signal, trusting him to handle me because he’s the only one I’m not fighting.
My breath stutters again, a broken sound escaping my lips. My fingers curl into his shirt, weak and trembling. I don’t mean to cling. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. But he feels it. I know he does. His arms tighten around me, his injured hand shaking as he holds me close.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I’m right here.”
I don’t believe any of it is real.
Not the room.
Not the lights.
Not the nurses.
Not the hands reaching for me.
Not the voice trying to calm me.
My mind is still trapped in that other place, the cold one, the humming one, the one where pain comes in waves and questions come with fists.
The one that feels too much like the rooms I grew up in.
The ones where men did things, unspeakable things, things that carved themselves into my bones and never left.
The ones I endured as a child. The ones I survived by disappearing inside myself.
So I disappear again.
The world tilts. My breath catches. My ribs tighten until it hurts.
I cling to Kade with a bruising force, my fingers digging into his shirt, my arms locking around him like he’s the only solid thing in a nightmare.
I don’t know it’s him. I don’t know I’m safe.
I don’t know I’m in a clinic. All I know is terror.
All I know is escape. All I know is that if I let go, they’ll take me back.
I choke out a sound, broken and raw, my body shaking so violently I can barely stay upright. My nails scrape against his back, desperate, frantic, clinging like I’m drowning. My vision blurs. My throat burns. My pulse is a frantic drumbeat that drowns out everything else.
He catches me fully, arms wrapping around me, holding me tight enough to keep me from falling but gentle enough not to hurt me.
His injured hand trembles against my spine, warm and steady even as blood smears faintly against my shirt.
He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t care that I cut him. He just holds me.
“Mara,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Bunny… you’re safe.”
But the words don’t reach me.
They don’t land. They don’t make sense.
Safe doesn’t exist. Safe is a lie. Safe is what they said before the door locked. Safe is what they said before the lights came on. Safe is what they said before the pain started.
I shake harder, clinging to him like he’s the last thing keeping me alive.
My breath comes in shallow, broken pulls.
My chest feels too tight. My mind spirals back into memories I never wanted to see again.
Hands. Voices. Restraints. Darkness. The same terror.
The same helplessness. The same violation.
I try to speak but nothing comes out except a strangled sound. My fingers curl tighter into his shirt, bruising, desperate, terrified. I don’t want to go back. I don’t want them to touch me again. I don’t want to be alone in the dark.
Kade lowers us both to the floor slowly, carefully, his arms never loosening, his voice never rising. “I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not letting anyone touch you.”
I don’t hear the words. But I feel the hold. And for the first time since the chair, since the blows, since the darkness, something inside me stops falling.
Kade
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She collapses in my arms and for a moment I think she’s gone.
Her weight folds against me, her fingers still twisted in my shirt, her breath shallow and uneven against my neck.
I lower us both to the floor, holding her tight, terrified she’ll slip away if I loosen my grip even a fraction.
My injured hand throbs, blood warm against her back, but I don’t care.
I don’t even feel it compared to the panic tearing through me.
She clings to me with a force that bruises, her nails digging into my skin, her arms locked around me like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her above water.
Her body shakes violently, her breath coming in broken, frantic pulls.
She’s not here. She’s not seeing me. She’s somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere dark. Somewhere cold. Somewhere she’s been before.
And then it hits me.
She’s not reacting to the warehouse. She’s not reacting to the men. She’s not reacting to the clinic.
She’s reacting to memories.
Childhood memories.
The kind she never talks about.
The kind she only hints at in nightmares.
The kind that shaped every scar she carries under her skin.
I feel it in the way she clings. I hear it in the way she breathes. I see it in the terror in her eyes when she looks at the walls, not at me.
She’s reliving something she survived once already.
My stomach twists violently, a cold, sickening realization settling under my ribs. They didn’t just hurt her. They triggered something old. Something buried. Something she endured long before I ever knew her. Something that carved itself into her bones and never left.
I pull her closer, my voice breaking as I whisper against her hair. “Bunny… I’m here. I’m right here.”
She doesn’t respond. She just clings harder, her fingers tightening until I feel the sting of her nails through my shirt. Her breath catches, a strangled sound escaping her lips, raw and terrified. She’s shaking so badly I can barely keep her steady.
I press my forehead to hers, grounding her, anchoring her, trying to pull her back from whatever hell her mind has dragged her into. “They’re gone. You’re safe. I swear it.”
But she doesn’t hear me. She’s somewhere else. Somewhere she never should have been. Somewhere she survived by disappearing inside herself.
And I realize, with a sickening clarity, that this isn’t just about tonight. This is about everything that came before. Everything she endured as a child. Everything she never told me. Everything she thought she escaped.
I tighten my hold, my voice shaking. “I’m not letting anyone hurt you again.”
Her fingers curl tighter into my shirt, desperate, terrified, clinging like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she loosens her grip.
And I know, without question, that whatever they did tonight didn’t just break her body.
It broke open her past.