Silence. She pulls my jacket tighter around herself.
“Want to know what I think?”
She doesn’t respond, but her eyes meet mine as I stop at a red light.
“I think you’ve spent so long being someone’s property that you don’t know how to be your own person anymore. And tonight, you were forced back into that role when someone literally collared like an animal.”
Her breath hitches when I run my hand down her damp hair, a shiver going through her when I cup her face.
“Amazing how a single act of aggression can so effectively shatter the defense mechanisms you’ve built to protect yourself over the years.”
The blue of her eyes is barely visible around her pupils as she stares helplessly at me.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” I tell her, my thumb tracing over her cheekbone. “It’s over. You’re with me now.”
Her eyebrows draw together. “That’s worse.”
I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. We turn onto the private road leading to my house, and Haven whips her head to the window.
She knows the way to my house. Knows where I’m headed. Her hand reaches for the door handle as if she’s considering jumping from the moving car.
I’m silent as I leave her to weigh her options. By the time my house appears through the rain ahead, she’s still in her seat.
I turn off the ignition, and we sit in the car for a minute as the rain drums heavily on the roof.
“Should I take you back to the roommate who saw you lose your mind?” I ask quietly. “Want her to see you like this?”
“I don’t want to be here with you,” she replies lightning quick.
“I know.” I slide a hand over her knee, squeezing. She keeps staring straight ahead, as if, if she concentrates hard enough, she can make my house disappear.
Then she slowly turns to me, frowning hard, mouth in a tight line. And when our eyes meet, I let her see something real.
Well, real enough.
“You need someone who understands what’s happening in your head. Someone who won’t judge and who won’t ask questions you can’t answer.”
“You’re my professor,” she whispers.
My voice is firm. “I’m the only person in your life with a background in trauma psychology.” I soften my words a little. “I’m not going to hurt you, Haven. I’m going to keep you safe until you can think clearly enough to keep yourself safe.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the trap.
But she won’t find it. I’m too good at this.
“You need to trust me,” I say. “Even if it’s just for tonight. Can you do that, sweet girl?”
After a long moment, she nods.
I hurry around to her side, open the door, and offer my hand.
When she takes it without hesitation, something dark and primal tightens my chest.
The traumatized mind is so remarkably plastic. I’ve always marveled at how quickly it will reshape itself. All you have to do is provide a hint of safety in moments of crisis.
Right now, Haven’s brain is literally rewiring its neural pathways, forming new associations.
Bastian equals safety.
