"Ice."
"Sorry, Dragonfly, I know you don't like it, but tough. I would hate to go outside and you pass out again," I tell her.
She blows out a breath. "Okay, but please don't look."
I don't say anything. I fold my arms over my chest and wait for her to put her clothes on. I hear small noises, groans and squeaks coming from her as I hear what sounds to be her struggling to get dressed. "You okay there?" I ask.
"Erm, yeah. Could you maybe help me, but without looking at me? I know that sounds ridiculous." She sounds defeated.
"Mmm hmm, can I turn around?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says quietly.
I turn to see her sitting on the edge of the bed, she has the leggings on, but she only has the T-shirt over one arm. She's pulled it up to her chest to try and cover herself. "We're gonna need to take that off and put it over your head first before we get your arms in. I'm sorry," I tell her.
She bites the inside of her cheek, as her eyes fill with unshed tears. I stand in front of her, cupping my hand around the back of her head and pulling it to my chest. "It's okay to need help once in a while, you know," I tell her as wrap my other arm around her and rub her back, while she begins to sob.
I hold her and let her cry for a couple of minutes before pulling away. "Let’s get this T-shirt on and then we can talk." She tenses a little but doesn't say anything. She angles her body for me to help her get dressed, and I see the marks on her shoulders and back. They are clearly scars from a cigarette and what looks like cigar burns on her back. She has longer, thinner scars, I don't know what they are from but her back is covered with them—some older scars and some barely healed.
The fact that her uncle did this pisses me off. My insides are literally fucking boiling. Who the fuck hurts women and children? Who the fuck hurts their own fucking family?
"Stop staring." She pulls away from me.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, gently grabbing her arm and holding her in place. I finish helping her get the T-shirt on, then I reach for the hoody that I brought her from my room. She doesn't fight me on it, she just lets me help her put it on and then drops her head.
"Thank you," she whispers toward the ground. I place my hand under her chin, gently using my finger to tip her head up to look at me.
"What's going through that head of yours?" I ask her.
She blinks a couple of times then shakes her head. I kneel down, so I'm closer to her level. I don't want her to feel afraid or feel intimidated.
"Look, Nova, you had quite the panic earlier. You want to tell me what happened?" I ask, trying my best not to sound like I'm judging her. She bites the inside of her cheek, and I’m beginning to think she does it when she's nervous or scared.
"I don't know you, I don't know anyone here..."
"But you will. You've only been here a few days, and all you have to do is ask. Club business is off limits, and some may not want to share their stories, but most of us will tell you what you want to know." I want her to know that we aren't monsters, that we'll talk to her. That she can trust us.
"I appreciate that, I really do. But what I meant was that I don't know anyone here, yet somehow I feel safe." She throws me with her confession. I don't know what I thought she was going to say, but it definitely wasn't that she feels safe.
I sit down next to her and turn her face toward mine. "I'm really pleased that you feel safe. I'm hoping that means that you'll trust us enough to share your story. Don't shake your head at me, please." I swallow, I'm taking a risk, but I want to be honest with her, and I'm hoping telling her encourages her to open up.
"So, Mason—"
"Oh god, what, is he okay?" She panics.
"Woah, relax, he's fine. Worried about you, but he's okay. But he, erm, because he was worried about you, he told us about you having your fingers broken after you dropped a plate."
Her eyes widen and she starts biting the inside of her cheek again. "He told you that?" she says, so quietly I barely heard her. I simply nod and wait for her to process it.
The only sound that can be heard in the room is her breath as she takes deep ones in. I don't know if she's trying to stop herself from crying or stop herself from having a panic attack. I gently rub my hand in circles around her back, trying to keep her calm.
"Nova." I whisper her name, wanting to get her attention without startling her. "Please talk to me. We want to help but can't unless you tell us what's going on."
"What else did Mason tell you?" she asks, her voice quivering.
"Nothing, just that you were startled by your family coming home and you dropped a plate. He said that your uncle broke your fingers." I watch her as I repeat the information we got from Mason. She closes her eyes as I talk, taking a few deep breaths. When she opens them again, tears sit on the brim, ready to fall any second.
"I'm not ready. Please don't make me," she begs.
