Page 99 of My Crazy Killers
He takes a second to look me over. I can’t imagine how bad I look in my prison sweats, messy hair, and probably slightly red eyes.
He grabs my hand and pulls me over to the bed as he sits on the side and pulls me to stand between his knees. We stare at each other silently until I start to fidget, unsure what he’s thinking.
Finally, he reaches out with one hand to cup my cheek as he speaks. “You know, it’s okay if you want to cry.”
“What?” My head pulls back an inch in surprise, not expecting him to say that. And despite my resolve not to cry, I can feel my eyes instantly fighting back the tears. “Why would I cry? Everything is finally perfect. I’m free. You and the others are going to finally be free, too. Nobody is injured. Everything is perfect.” But my voice betrays me, cracking on the last word.
Instead of looking like he pities me, he gives me a small smile. “You’re right. Everything is perfect. But sometimes it takes a little time for our emotions to catch up with our brains. Don’t forget that until a few hours ago, you were imprisoned for three weeks where you were hurt, and completely alone. And today’s rescue, being stuck in that laundry bag, must have been extremely difficult for you. That’s a lot to go through. Your mind is probably on overdrive right now.”
I nod in response, afraid that if I try to speak, I’ll start crying. Somehow, he’s able to verbalize how I’m feeling.
“It’s not healthy to hold back your emotions. And you never need to,” he says as his thumb wipes at a stray tear. “Not with me, and not with them. Some of them might notknow what to do with your tears,” he gives me a conspiratorial grin, “But we both know that they’d never judge you for them, either.”
“I don’t want to be weak,” I admit to him.
“Oh, sweetheart. You’re the strongest person I know. Crying doesn’t make you weak. In fact, being able to share that part of you with us makes you incredibly strong.”
I press my lips together, my emotions still running rampant through me. I want to feel happy, excited, and relieved, but instead I just feel like bursting into tears. “Being in there, especially without being able to see any of you,” I start to tell him. “It was so hard.”
“It must have been horrible,” he says, still stroking my cheeks gently.
“Your letters kept me going. And I never cried, not even once.”
“See?” he says with a smile. “You’re strong. I bet even Sly shed a tear when he landed in prison.”
A laugh escapes me at that picture, but it somehow opens the gates, and my laughter quickly turns to tears. Elias, knowing exactly what I need, pulls me sideways into his lap and holds me tight as he whispers words of reassurance. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let it all out.”
I press my face to his chest as I finally let go, all my emotions pouring from me as I cling to him.
After a minute, I hear Dex’s panicked voice. “Is she okay? Is she hurt?”
“She’s okay. Just overwhelmed. She needs to get it all out,” Elias replies. I feel other hands start touching me. Someone rubs my back, another hand strokes down the back of my head, someone squeezes my shoulder.
I feel the bed move a bit and lift my head to see Jaggersitting beside us. He lifts his hands and signs,“I love you.”Silently, I start to reach for him, and knowing what I want, he pulls me into his lap so I’m straddling him. I press my face into the crook of his neck, and he holds me tight. I take a deep breath as a few more tears escape.
“I don’t like when she’s sad,” Dex says, breaking the silence.
I lift my head and sniffle before telling him, “I’m not sad.”
He frowns. “You look sad.” His honesty makes me smile, which turns his frown into a smile. “That’s better.”
“You look a little better,” Sly comments. “Do you feel better?”
I take a second to assess myself and realize that the relief I’d expected to feel as soon as they rescued me is finally here. As if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. “I do,” I finally reply. Elias might be right; crying is therapeutic after all.
“Good, because there is something I need to take care of,” Sly says.
“What? You’re leaving?” I ask in worry.
“Leaving?” he asks in confusion. “No, never.” That one word warms my heart as the momentary panic quickly fades.
“What do you need to take care of then?”
“You.”
“Uhhh…” I say eloquently, unsure what he means.
“I need to see what they did to you. I want to note every bruise and every mark.”
