I nod stiffly because I’m too brittle to speak. The weight of the night hangs between us, a wrecking ball.
“She doesn’t think—” Jade shifts to meet my gaze. “That he raped me, but it takes time for the kit to be processed.”
“I’m proud of you, Jade. You’re so strong.” I reach for her hand, taking it between mine. “Please tell me what you need right now.”
She laughs humorlessly. “I have no idea what I need right now.”
“That’s completely normal.”
In my palm her fingers shift, curling tight.
“I know that doesn’t erase what happened,” I tell her. “We’ve just been out of that place for a few hours. It’s raw.”
She was groomed, kidnapped, hunted, by people she once trusted. Doesn’t erase the fear that’s still sitting in her body, plain as day if you know what to look for.
And I do.
Jade studies my face like she’s waiting for some kind of reaction, maybe judgment, maybe distance.
She’s braced for it.
I take a slow breath, forcing my shoulders to drop, forcing the tension out of my posture before it feeds into hers.
“Thank you for telling me,” I say, forcing my words gentle. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”
“I didn’t want you to think—” she starts, then cuts herself off again, shaking her head like she doesn’t know how to finish it.
I lean across the space, tilting her face up to look at me.
“Whatever happened, Jade, it only makes me respect and love you more.”
She searches my face.
“I don’t think anything about you except that you handled yourself like you had a spine of steel in a situation most people wouldn’t walk out of.”
Her breath catches just slightly, like that wasn’t what she expected to hear. She shifts her weight again in the chair, her attention drifting out the window.
“I feel weird. Like I’m not all the way here.”
“It’ll take time to collect all the pieces. This is common after fighting for your life.”
After a pause, she swallows and takes a few breaths. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“You don’t have to be. Have you eaten?” I ask, shifting us somewhere grounded.
“A little,” she replies, crunching her nose as if she hasn’t really thought about it until now.
“Come on,” I say, standing. “Let’s fix that.”
We move through the quiet hallway and into the kitchen. It’s bright and modern, clean. Nothing like the forest.
I grab a glass, fill it, set it in front of her.
“Drink some water, it helps.”
She obeys without question. I move around the counter, pulling together a simple plate. Fruit, bread, cheese. Things she can touch with her fingers. Tactile is good. For both of us. If I stop moving, I’m going to start thinking about everything I don’t have control over right now.
And that’s not useful.
