"I'd never give up on you."
Chapter 33
Moving on
Atlas
Three months passed faster than I expected. The house had shifted. It was quieter now, less chaotic. The constant undercurrent of screams and nightmares had dulled over time, though they still came occasionally. There was light creeping back into the girls lives.
The horrible shit they dealt with, although for only a month, really fucked with their heads. There was no room for them to miss any of their appointments with their group sessions. Myself and Jacob made sure they attended every appointment. The counseling helped the three of them immensely. Kitten sees her doctor once a month now.
She has come a long way.
I'm fucking thrilled to have my girl back again.
Becca was the first to step out into the world. She moved back into her house, twenty minutes away, a month ago. Becca had made great strides in reclaiming her life. She was still a little fragile, but she had Jacob now.
He was smitten with the fiery redhead the first day he saw her on the cameras. I've known the man for at least a decade, and I've never seen him so taken with a woman. Extremely attentive and so protective. It wasn't a passing thing either. He was in deep. Good for him. Good for her. Becca deserved something human after the wreckage she'd survived. Jacob was a lot like me. She would be safe and well taken care of for the rest of her life.
Layla, on the other hand, had surprised us all. She'd chosen to attend the University of Florida, right in Orlando. Campus housing, a full schedule and a new start for her. At twenty-two, she wanted to study psychology, determined to spend her life helping survivors like herself. I footed the bill without a second thought. Money wasn't an issue for me. As long as she had a chance at freedom she never had before, it would be worth every penny.
We sent her off on a flight out of Green last week. Kit hugged her tight, whispering promises to visit. Layla cried, but it was different this time. They were tears of hope instead of fear. Watching her walk through the gate with her bag slung over her shoulder, I felt something close to pride.
She wasn't a victim anymore.
She was a survivor, building her own future.
The girls had gone on their own, which left just me and Kitten. The house was ours again. No more roommates, no more nightmares crawling along the walls. Even though Kit and I had slept together in Mexico before takeoff, she still had some difficulty with intimacy. At times she wanted to fuck like two jackrabbits, and other times, she would just go into herself, shutting me out. I never pushed the issue, just gave her space, allowing her wounds to scab over. I held her every night. No pressure, just support for my queen.
Her psychiatrist told us it was a normal part of the healing process. We just needed to be patient. With intense therapy, Kit slowly found her way back into my orbit. I'd see her in the mornings curled against me, her breathing even, her hand holding onto my arm like she was afraid I'd vanish. At night, she'd look at me like she was memorizing my face, reminding herself that I was real. We didn't talk about Mexico anymore. In the silence between us, I knew she was mending.
One evening, as the hot sun bled across the woods, she turned to me in the kitchen, her green eyes holding my gaze.
"It feels different now," she said softly. "Being here. Just the two of us."
I reached for her, sliding my hand along her jaw. "It should be because this is where you belong, and this is how things were supposed to be many months ago before you were taken." I lifted her chin, meeting her eyes.
"There is no room for ghosts of the past, love. The only room is here, with me."
Her lips curved, fragile, but certain this time.
"You're right, Atlas. There is no space for anything else but us. Not Mexico. Nothing from the past."
She smiled. "It's just me, you and Tuna."
And just like that, for the first time since Mexico, I felt like we weren't just surviving anymore. We were beginning again. The clean slate we always wanted, but never got to start because of Hector and his brothers.
This past week, the nights were going well. No nightmares, no screaming. They were few and far between now. Kit stood at the stove barefoot, in shorts and a T-shirt, her hair twisted up in a knot. She was stirring something in a pan, humming softly under her breath. It wasn't a song I knew, but it didn't matter. The sound alone brought me peace. I leaned against the door frame, watching her. "I didn't realize you were auditioning to be my personal chef."
She glanced back, smirking.
"Don't get used to it, or you'll starve."
I crossed the room in a few strides, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. She always stiffened for a second, but then melted back into me. It was a small price to pay for what she went through. My lips brushed the crown of her head. "I don't care if you were making shit cakes, as long as you're here with me." Her giggle pinged in my ears, and it was the best sound I've heard today.
We both took our seats at the table, our stomachs growling. It's been about six hours since we ate. Dinner was simple—pasta, bread and a bottle of red wine I pulledfrom the cellar. It looked like a feast. I watched her across from me as she twirled her spaghetti around her fork, rolling her eyes every time she caught me staring.
"Why do you keep looking at me?"
