21
Giovanna
The villa is too quiet. Even the wind outside seems to move carefully, as if it’s afraid to disturb the air that stills around me like glass. Tommy found us a beautiful safe house out on the water in Brooklyn: big enough to have multiple escape routes, including a helipad on the roof and a boat docked out back.
Everything smells faintly of lemon oil and eucalyptus. Clean, but not pure. Nothing feels pure anymore. I don’t think it ever will again.
I sit curled in the corner of a cream sofa, wrapped in a gray knit blanket. I can’t believe how skinny I got; I don’t even recognize myself. When I cross my arms, it feels like my bones are too long to organize themselves without jangling together.
My body is still healing. They stopped tying me up weeks ago when the rapes stopped, so the bruises are fading, the markson my wrists mostly gone. It’s the fog that won’t lift. It sits embedded under my skin, muffling everything.
Tommy sits across from me, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on me like I might vanish if he looks away. His shirt is wrinkled. His hair’s longer than before, curling against his collar. He hasn’t shaved, and he looks tired in a way that sleep can’t fix.
He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
Dr. Rossi stands by the window with his medical case open on the table. He’s quiet, respectful. His voice, when it comes, is soft, like he’s talking to a wild animal.
“Giovanna,” he says, “I need to do a full exam. It’s important we know the extent of your injuries.”
Tommy’s head snaps up. “How exactly do you plan to do that without inflicting any further trauma?”
My heart starts to hammer. Why did he say ‘trauma?’ Does he know I was raped? No, he must mean the bruises that he can see, the marks on my arms and legs where I was tied up.
I’m not ready for him to know that Antonio raped me. I don’t remember much of anything beyond that it happened, and I know I won’t be able to answer his questions or handle the devastation in his eyes.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. I don’t want this. Not now. Not ever.
I shake my head slowly, clutching the blanket tighter around me. “Is there any way we can do this without—”
I try to communicate silently with Dr. Rossi.Don’t tell Tommy. Don’t tell Tommy.But he just looks at me uncomfortably.
“Without what, Gi? Tell me what you need, baby.” Tommy kneels in front of me, his eyes so open, so kind.
When Dr. Rossi opens his God damn mouth and the softness in Tommy’s eyes turns hard and cold, I want to cry.
“There’s no way to do a complete rape kit without an internal examination, if that’s what you’re trying to avoid.”
Tommy whirls on Dr. Rossi and slams him against the wall by his collar. “What the fuck do we need to do that for?
Dr. Rossi doesn’t flinch. “Tommy, she’s been through a lot. We’ll move gently.”
“Tell me why we need it, Doc.” His tone sharpens.
“We need DNA samples and samples for testing.”
“We don’t fucking need a DNA sample. It’s not like we need evidence for the cops.”
Dr. Rossi glances between us. His jaw tightens, then he exhales like he’s irritated. “She was drugged heavily, over a long period of time. There’s evidence she was…violated.”
The words hit me like bullets. Even though I knew it was true, hearing it spoken out loud somehow makes it more real. I bury my face in the grey blanket and sob. And now he fucking knows.
Tommy drops Dr. Rossi and drops to his knees beside me again, pulling me against him, blanket and all. He says something I can’t hear, and when I don’t respond, he sits down on the floor and pulls me into his lap.
“We don’t need a rape kit, Doc. We know she was raped, and we know who did it.”
I go completely still, then slowly lift my head from the blanket. “What did you say?”
He brushes his thumb over my cheek, wiping away the tears. His eyes are so sad it crushes my heart.
