“You’re going to regret that, son,” he says. Julian snorts.
“The only thing we regret is not figuring out who you were sooner, Dad,” Julian says. “Take a good look. Because this is the day you lost your sons.”
Then, my brothers turn around and walk out of the room into the hallway with us as a group of the agents swarm him. Julian walks over to us and takes Wren in his arms, Keaton rubbing her shoulder.
“You did so good, Wren,” Julian says. “You saved so many people today.”
I look down at her, still shaking in my arms.
“Come on, baby,” I say. “Let’s get you home.”
WREN
The warm water has been running over me for what feels like an hour, but somehow, I still don’t feel clean.
I knew they were coming for me all along. I knew they were listening. I knew I was going to be saved.
But there is always something that can foil a plan.
There’s always something that can go wrong.
I knew that dirty, disgusting man wasn’t going to get what he wanted from me, but that fire in his eyes told me another story.
I knew I was safe when the door came crashing down, but my fight-or-flight told me to fly.
And I know now that here, in his shower, with his arms wrapped around me, I’m safe. I never have to put myself in harm’s way like that ever again. My brain knows I’m safe, but my body hasn’t gotten the message yet.
He reaches over and pumps out some shampoo on his hands, running it through my hair and massaging my scalp. Then he conditions it and then uses his fingers to scrub it out while I stand under the water. He washes every inch of my body slowly and gently, leaving light kisses on my neck and shoulders.
My brain is kissing him back, but my body can’t react. I’m frozen. Paralyzed in a state of anxiety that won’t go away.
He tucks me into his bed, setting a warm cup of tea next to me.
“Tell me what you need, baby,” he whispers, kneeling down next to the bed and stroking my forehead with his thumb. His eyes are pleading. I want to tell him I’m okay. I want to give him comfort in knowing that I’m still here.
I just need a minute.
I can’t stop thinking about all the women who didn’t have someone waiting for them on the other end of a surveillance camera. Who didn’t have a safe word. Who didn’t have a safe person. And I just need a minute to sit with that thought.
I shake my head slowly.
“I’m just so tired,” I say. He nods slowly, leaning forward to kiss my head.
“Okay, baby,” he says, and then he stands up and turns off the light.
A few days pass,and I am a shell of myself. I can feel myself going through all the motions, but I can’t seem to pull myself out of the funk I’m in. I asked him to bring me back to my apartment yesterday, and although I could see the hurt in his eyes, I needed a little bit of time with no one else around me. He had X sit outside of my door so that I would know—and he would know—that I was safe.
But I stayed inside with me, myself, and I.
I wake up, I drink something, and then I sleep some more.
After the third day in my self-imposed solitary confinement, there’s a knock on my door.
I wrap my blanket-cape around myself, shuffling to it in my slippers.
I see him through the peephole, his head dropped in desperation. When he lifts his head, I see the sadness in his eyes. I see the heaviness. The hopelessness.
It breaks me.
