Desperate to just get away, she made a beeline towards it, only to be suddenly yanked by her hair. Pain exploded in her scalp, a cry leaving her lips as the first man dragged her to the truck in the garage and shoved her over the hood.
“You still got fight in you, bitch?” he spat out against her ear, pressing into her from behind.
Bile rose up her throat, her skin crawling with revulsion.
Amara saw his companions come out into the garage.
“Please, no,” she begged. “Please.”
They laughed.
“Fucking slut,” the man held her down.
Her clothes went first.
And she screamed,
and screamed,
and screamed…
until she couldn’t anymore.
There was a little spider on the floor.
It was pretty too.
Amara lay on her side in the garage, her eyes watching the spider as it tried to climb up the wall. He fell down. It reminded her of that story ma used to tell her, of a king in a cave after a battle, watching the spider climb and fall a hundred times. Or was it a queen? Was it a hundred times, or fifty? This little spider had only climbed up twice, before moving on. Maybe, the stories were wrong.
Itsy, bitsy spider, Amara hummed in her mind.
God, she was tired. She didn’t even hurt anymore. She just wanted to sleep. Her whole body wanted to sleep. Her arms were already asleep. She tried to move them and only twitched her fingers. Why was she staying awake anyway? There was nothing for her to stay awake for.
The little spider returned.
Itsy, bitsy spider, she continued humming, watching with swollen eyes as he took another route, and began his climb again.
She almost smiled, rooting for him to make it to the top.
“Jesus, fuck!”
The sound penetrated from somewhere behind her but Amara didn’t bother focusing on it.
Hands touched her arms, slowly turning her on her back.
Fire flared again in slices down her flesh.
Something covered her.
It smelled nice.
Amara blinked up and saw blue, blue eyes looking down at her. She recognized those eyes from somewhere. It reminded her of clear skies and pretty clouds. She wanted to float there.
“I’m going to lift you up, okay?” the boy spoke quietly, his voice pulling her back to the ground. He had a nice voice. She wanted to wrap herself in it and never leave.
Recognition dawned through the haze in her mind.
The new boy. Tristan. What was he doing there? Or was she hallucinating? Had her mind truly splintered?
Amara opened her mouth to answer him, but something was burning her throat. No sound came out. Panic cleared the haze a little more.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he reassured her. “No one will lay a finger on you. I promise.”
She believed him for some reason. He should have made his promise before though.
“Please,” she somehow rasped out.
He leaned forward to hear her better.
“Don’t…don’t tell…any…one,” she got the words out, barely, through the pain in her throat. Tea. She needed her ma’s hot herbal tea.
The boy simply looked at her for a moment, something powerful in his eyes, before picking her up, careful with the injuries on her back, and placing her on a table. Setting her down gently, he wrapped the jacket, his jacket, more snugly around her.
“You doing okay?” he asked, in a voice so gentle, it made her lips tremble.
Amara shook her head. She didn’t think she’d ever be okay again.
“Hang in there, yeah?” he said softly.
What for, Amara wanted to ask but couldn’t get her throat to cooperate. Tea. She needed tea.
“Dante, I have her,” she heard the boy say and felt herself drifting off suddenly, her lids getting heavier.
She heard more voices but her eyes wouldn’t open.
And for some reason, somehow believing Tristan’s promise that she was safe, Amara let go and fell into blessed oblivion.
She couldn’t move.
Amara blinked her eyes open to an unfamiliar room, déjà-vu hitting her hard, as her heartbeat escalated in panic. The sudden sound of beeping had her looking to the side, to see some kind of monitor with wires, the kind that she’d seen in movies.
Hospital.
She was in the hospital.
Memories assaulted her and she took a deep breath, pushing them back into a vault.
Not now. Not now. Not now.
“Mumu?”
The voice had her eyes flying to see her mother at the door, her eyes wet and swollen, and Amara felt a noise leave her chest. Her mother ran to her, careful of the tubes going in her body, and hugged her tight to her chest, petting her hair like she always did.
Amara broke.
Wailing, her body remembering the pain and her mind remembering the moment it splintered, Amara sobbed as her mother held her, gentling her with kisses to her head, murmuring soft words to her that didn’t make any sense. They didn’t have to. Her mother was there and Amara was safe and loved and that was all that mattered. She could feel her mother crying with her and it was that which made her pull back to really see her. Her green eyes were shimmering with pain for her daughter, her mouth still in a gentle line, her ma looked exhausted and heartbroken and so, so loving.
Amara took a deep breath as her mother wiped her tears with her hand.
“We’ll get through this, Mumu,” her mother told her gently.
She opened her mouth to speak when a throat cleared from the door and a woman her mother’s age, clearly the doctor, entered the room.
“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Amara,” the doctor gave her a gentle smile. “How are you feeling?”
Amara started to speak when the doctor shook her head. “No, don’t speak yet. Just nod or shake your head, okay?”
She felt her mother squeeze her hand. Confused, Amara agreed.
“Do you know what day it is?” the doctor asked.
Amara shook her head.
“It’s January 6th,” the lady informed her.
Amara’s mind went reeling. Her last memory before her abduction had been in December. How? Her confusion must have been evident on her face as the doctor spoke again. “You were taken for over three days. And you’ve been here for two weeks under an induced coma.”
Shock filtered through her system.
“Your body was severely traumatized and needed to begin its healing process,” the doctor went on. “We felt under the circumstances, it would be best for both your mind and body to rest for a bit.”
Amara grit her teeth, processing everything she was being told.
“Your mother mentioned you’ve always had a low pain threshold?”
Amara nodded. She had never realized how low of a threshold it had been until the monsters had her.
The doctor continued with sympathy in her eyes. “That is probably why some of your injuries had such severe reactions. I’m sorry for everything you went through, Amara. But there is more I need to tell you. Is it alright if I continue?”
Amara liked the fact that the doctor asked her the question, giving her a choice. She looked at her mother, sitting strong beside her, and gave the doctor a nod.
“You have some acid burns and cuts on your back, sides, and feet that will more than likely scar,” the doctor went on. “The worst of the scarring will be over your wrists. The good news is that they’re all healing very well. You can have cosmetic surgery down the line to minimize them if you want.”