Page 39 of Acts of Contrition
“Remember that creep who keeps bothering me? He cornered me in the café and when Diana saw him, she lost it,” Lisa explains.
“Please let me go!” I shriek, using all my strength to push Thomas away. Just when I think I’m free, his arms come around me from behind, holding me closer, pinning my arms to my sides.
“Shh shh shh,” he rasps. “I’m not letting you go, and I am not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise. You’remine; no other man is allowed to evenlookat you without my permission.”
I start to sob; irrationality and trauma causes me to believe if I stay here, I am going to be found. Taken. Raped and tortured and killed. Why won’t they understand I need to leave? Why won’t they let me go?
“She’s in shock and this is a trauma response,” Catherine says.
“She’ll wear herself out,” Lisa adds.
I sob harder; my throat hurts from screaming. I just need togo.
“We can sedate her, but that may make it worse when she wakes up,” Catherine says.
I can’t get free. I can’t escape. So I do the one thing I have not done since that first night when I was thirteen, when Mike forced himself on me.
I beg.
“Don’t let him find me! Don’t let him take me, please. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to go through all that again,please!” My body sags, my energy flagging even as panic still grips my heart and mind. All I can do is cry.
Pleas are useless. They always have been. I learned that the hard way, that’s why I stopped pleading after the first time. No one listens. No one cares.
“Diana,” Thomas whispers. He holds me tight; I may be bruised. “No onewill find you.No onewill take you away from me. Not now. Not ever.” He is all that holds me upright now; I’m too exhausted. “I promise you.”
I can’t answer, and I think he knows that. I also think he knows I don’t believe him.
In an instant, Thomas literally sweeps me off my feet, into his arms, bridal-style. “Open my bedroom door, please.”
“Thomas, you know you can’t—”
“I wouldn’t dare, Mother,” he interrupts Catherine. “I am not carrying her down there right now. Let her rest up here.”
“I can’t rest,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
Thomas walks with me, then I am placed on a butter-soft mattress, my body sinking into it like a cloud. I’ve never felt anything so blissful. I’m so tired, and my eyes burn from crying, I can’t open them much to see the room around me.
When a duvet covers me, I try to kick it away but am too weak to even do that properly.
“Little dove,stop.”
The sternness in Thomas’ voice breaks through the haze and I listen, blinking to clear my eyes of tears. My eyes won’t focus.
I want to sleep, but my brain doesn’t want to listen to my exhausted body. It still commands me to leave, but I can’t. Too weak. Always too weak.
For a moment, I have no idea where I am. It’s soft and smells nice, like fancy cologne. Warm. Safe.
I’ve never been safe.
My eyes struggle to open; they’re dry and crusted. My body is heavy; it doesn’t want to follow my brain’s commands.
My ears work, though.
A soft, deep male voice speaks in a language I can’t understand. Fear jolts me and makes me turn my head and force my eyes open.
It’s Thomas, knelt at my bedside, his silver cross necklace clasped between his hands; he’s praying.
I try to speak, but my throat hurts. My voice manages to make some little squeak, and Thomas looks up sharply, startled.
