“Why isn’t she waking up?” I asked Jacobi, sitting against the wall with my gaze to the ceiling.
“Her body has been through so much trauma. It’s going to take time for her to heal and recover, including her mental state.”
I silently took in what he was saying.
“With your permission, I need to run further tests for organ failure.”
I closed my eyes. I could not imagine the hell she was put through. And I wasn’t there to prevent it from happening. I was too late.
Another knock came at the door. “Nico, I have something to remove the collar,” I heard Alphonse say.
I rose to my feet, and rinsed out the taste of bile with water and mouthwash.
Jacobi and I stepped out of the room, and Alphonse’s gaze hardened on Gigi. He extended a set of bolt cutters toward me. “Is my daughter going to make it?” he asked in a rough voice as if he too was struggling to control his emotions.
“Yes,” I replied.
Grabbing the bolt cutters from him, I made my way to Gigi’s bed, relieved that she was covered up. I positioned the cutters around the lock that held the collar around her neck. With a firm squeeze, I felt the metal give way, the lock clattering to the floor as I tossed it aside.
I drew back, and the collar slipped from her neck, revealing the raw skin beneath. My breath caught in my throat at the redness, the swelling, and the irritation marking her neck.
Anger rumbled inside me like an earthquake, a savage beast ready to wreak havoc on the bastard who had hurt her.
“She needs a bath,” I said, my hands clenching into fists at my sides, fighting to keep the beast in check.
“The nurse can give her a sponge bath,” Jacobi suggested.
“No,” I replied sharply. “I will take care of her.” My gaze swept the room, landing on Emillia, who stood by the door. “Can you help me?”
She smiled warmly. “Of course.”
Turning my attention back to the others, I said, “I need you to leave.”
Alphonse moved with purpose, retrieving the collar and cutters from the floor. He paused for a moment, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Gigi’s forehead.
One by one, the others filed out, leaving me with Gigi and Emillia.
“How did you want to do this, Nico?” Emillia asked.
I glanced down at Gigi, her fragile form still and silent. “I’ll give her a shower. Can you?—”
“I’ll get the shower ready,” Emillia interjected as she headed toward the bathroom.
A minute later, the sound of running water filled the space. Emillia returned, her expression focused. “There’s a shower chair. If you want to hold her, I can wash her,” she offered.
I felt a tightening in my chest that came from knowing I didn’t have a choice. But the thought of anyone else touching her made me feral like a rabid dog. I hoped that, somewhere deep in her unconscious mind, Gigi could feel my touch like a lifeline pulling her back to me.
With a deep breath, I unbuttoned my wet shirt and tossed it aside. Leaning down, I scooped Gigi into my arms, cradling her as Emillia grabbed the IV pole.
Stepping into the walk-in shower, I settled onto the shower chair with Gigi in my lap, her head lolling against me.
Emillia positioned the IV pole beside me, removing the blankets that had been wrapped around Gigi’s body, folding them neatly and placing them on the counter.
I pulled Gigi closer, my bare chest pressed against her cool skin, the warm water cascading over us both.
Emillia handed me a washcloth and squeezed bodywash onto it. The water began to turn a reddish-brown color as I washed the dirt and blood from Gigi’s body. My eyes followed the washcloth as it moved over every bruise, every cut that would leave a scar.
I'm so fucking sorry.
