Our bedroom.
I moved the chair so she could see out the window, but she stares out of it without seeing anything. I catch her like this often. I’m leaning on the doorframe even now watching her.
I don’t know what she’s thinking. When I ask, she never gives me a solid answer. I worry she’s traumatized. I’ve done a lot of searching on the internet. People who are survivors of assault deal with their ordeal in a million different ways. Sometimes, they snap right back out of it and come up fighting. Other times, they crawl into a ball and hide from the world.
I’m between a rock and a hard place here. On the one hand, I want our home to be her safe place. I don’t care if she never leaves the house again. She’s safe here. I know where she is. I have the alarm set. I even added extra security cameras and window sensors yesterday. No one is going to get to her here.
But I’m probably doing her a disservice by keeping her locked up in this gilded tower, so to speak. I don’t want her to become a hermit.
Simone is a vibrant woman. I’ve known her for a long time. I’ve never seen her so withdrawn. I know Natasha suggested she meet with Quinten Odell because Jameson told me she’d talked with him about it. I know Quinten. I should make her an appointment. I bet he’d come to the house if I asked him to. I wouldn’t want to force Simone to leave the house while her face is so bruised. She’d panic if people stared at her.
I know healing is going to take time, both emotionally and physically, but I’m starting to grow worried. She’s on a roller coaster. There are times when she smiles, but they never reach her ears. Most of the time, she looks blank, and it’s getting worse.
On top of everything else, I want her to open up to me a bit. It didn’t occur to me before I brought her home that I don’t know anything about her family or where she’s from. I never asked her anything personal while she was my student because I didn’t want to encourage her to spend more time than absolutely necessary in my office.
Now, I have questions. And they’re piling up.
It would help if the police could pick up the asshole who attacked her. The fact that he hasn’t been caught yet doesn’t make my girl feel safe. I called Colton at Black Blade Protection to see if he could help. Most of the guys who work at Black Blade are members of Surrender and have a soft spot for Littles. Every one of them I’ve met is a Daddy, including Colton, so I knew he would want to help. He used to work for the police, so he has contacts. He was able to call the station and get a copy of the DNA evidence. Unfortunately, he found out there was no match yet, which either means Simone’s attacker has gotten away with a lot of shit, or she was his first victim. Either case isn’t helpful. I have spoken to the owner, Blade, and he assures me his men are still working on it, but their hands are tied until there’s more evidence. The waiting sucks.
I shove off the wall and enter our bedroom. When I do, Simone looks up.
I head toward her, bend down, scoop her off the seat before taking her spot and settling her on my lap.
She doesn’t protest, nor does she seem surprised. She sighs and leans her head against my shoulder.
For a while, I simply stroke her hair. At least she isn’t wandering around half-naked anymore. I ordered her comfortable clothes. She’s wearing black leggings, a soft pink long-sleeved shirt, and pink socks. I’m the one who fixed her hair in a ponytail—mostly because she hasn’t shown much interest in doing so herself.
She hasn’t shown much interest in anything, and it’s killing me. I tell her when to eat. I give her baths. I comb her hair. I bundle her up either on the loveseat, this chair, or the bed. I pile books around her. I turn on reruns so she can watch television. She doesn’t ask for anything, but she doesn’t argue with me either.
This is not my girl. I want her back.
“Where are you from, Simone?” I ask, opening the can of worms.
She doesn’t hesitate to answer, “Chicago.”
“Ah, windy. It can be colder there than here in the winter.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you born there?”
“Yes.”
“Are your parents still there?”
She sighs and tips her head back to look at me. “I’m not stupid, Camden. I know what you’re doing.”
I chuckle. “Busted. Tell me about yourself, Simone.”
“I haven’t even told Natasha about my past. No one in Seattle knows anything.”
Oh, wow. I don’t know what to make of that. “I’m not Natasha or any other person you’ve ever met in Seattle. I’m the man who wants to spend his life making you happy. I’m the man who wants to be your Daddy Dom if you’ll have me. I want to know everything about you. Every last detail. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you laugh.”
She holds my gaze for a long time. Finally, she licks her lips. “I don’t know if my family is still there. I assume they are. I left when I turned eighteen to come here and never looked back. I haven’t had a single contact with any of them from that day.”
Jesus. Now I’m worried. “Will you tell me why?”
“My parents are pretentious assholes. All they ever care about is appearances. They would have sucked the life out of me and turned me into a robot if I’d let them. But I didn’t. I’m lucky. I had my inheritance from my grandparents. I came into it on my eighteenth birthday. I got a lawyer that very day, moved the money to my own private account, and then left town. No one can touch my trust fund.”
