Page 13 of Satan's Naughty List
Fight or flight.
“Hey, hey,” I call, keeping my hands poised up and in surrender. Her body is partially on the bed, her braced leg barely on it. We didn’t get specifics if she could bear weight on it or not, but I’d rather not find out the hard way.
“Get away from me!” She screams, the look in her eyes is one that’s almost crazed. As if she’s not actually here. Maybe her brain transported her out of herself in an effort to protect her…
What has she gone through?
Taking a step forward, I slowly inch my hands out to her. Without warning, her eyes cross, her good leg gives out, and her whole body tumbles to the ground. Metal on the fixator thing scrapes on the ground.
Techy and I both curse, launching to help her. Her head cracks on the stone flooring, bouncing harshly while the rest of her limbs flail. A pitiful whimper pushes from between her lips. The blood pumping organ in my chest batters against its confines.
Pure, unadulterated horror echoes from my brain as I move cautiously toward the spooked girl. The last thing I want is for her to wake up and see me then start her rampage all over again.
Techy helps me gather the small girl, and together, we gently lift her back to the slight indent where she’d been resting. Her hair is thick on her head, a tangled mess, but I’m able to weave through it enough to rule out any lacerations. My husband repositions her leg before pressing the call button for either Heallie or Doc.
“What the actual fuck was that?” He mutters, slumping heavily into the chair. Before I can open my mouth, Heallie waltzes in with a small cup in her hand and the paper chart.
“Oh, she fell asleep!” She deduces brightly, setting the chart at the foot of the bed.
“Actually, not quite,” I sigh, rubbing the tension out of the back of my neck. Between Techy and I, we silently decide that I’ll be the one to tell the tale. “I’m not really sure what spurred it on, to be frank. We were telling her about her place here then she moves, her lines were pulled, we reached for her because she was about to fucking rip them out.” Shoving my fingers through my hair, I softly tug them.
“So, that would explain the IV pole sticking out of the wall,” she hums, thumbing over her shoulder. “Doc was saying that the girl has gone through some pretty tough shit.” Heallie moves around the room, opening cabinets and punching in codes before putting a syringe into the main line.
“What’s that?” I ask, but it comes out more of a demand. She quirks a brow at me, before twisting it and showing me the label.Saline solution.
“Either way, Aspen has been a true trooper for her circumstances. I don’t know the details, but I know the look. I’ve only ever witnessed those exact symptoms when I was working in the trafficking unit before I met my man.” Pushing the solution into the line, she nods for Techy to hold the bag for her while she retrieves the stand.
“That’s what we gathered.” She gets the lines all put back into place, readjusts Aspen’s stuff before nodding.
“I’ll be back to warn her of moving. I swear, I’d strap her down if I knew it wouldn’t cause a big fight.” Shaking her head, she writes notes on the chart before heading toward the door.
“Heallie,” Techy calls, a look of curiosity on his features. I’ve seen that look before. It’s one that may or may not get him into trouble later. “How would we be able to pull her out of this…funk?” She laughs, leaning against the wall.
“Well, therapy is a great start,” she points out, looking at the sleeping girl. “Honestly? I think you know someone else who has the answer to that question.” With that, she turns on her clog covered heel and shuts the door behind her.
“I can’t believe what you’re suggesting,” I scoff, disappointment unfurling in my stomach. “For the most obvious reasons, that wouldn’t work.”
“Babe, how do you know that?” He argues, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Just ask Widower! She underwent traumatic shit and was able to come out on the other side!”
“Pax, she wasn’t riddled with trauma based around sex,” I remind him gently, just in case the girl roused. “Take into consideration the fact that she was held captive. What if whips and chains are a trigger for her?”
“How do you know they aren’t?” He asks, the same sassy ass male who grates my nerves.
“I’m about to tan your ass,” I grunt, clenching my fists and forcing myself to stay seated. “You’re not understanding this, baby. She lacked that control.”
“Right,” he agrees, looking at me as if I’m on the same page as him. “Think about it. She could take back that control if she wanted. It may be different, sure, but it would give her that empowerment.”
“You’re also talking about a girl who can’t even be around men. Skittish if they move too quickly around her.”
“Okay then we use another female,” he retorts, like it’s the most common thing in the world. Unfortunately, he’s only seen the good side of BDSM. He may have had to join the club for less than great circumstances, but he’s not had to endure a bad dominant.
I’ve had to endure his sassy submission though. Fucking brat.
“Do you think she’ll want to control another female, knowing what it’s like to be controlled?” I ask, which finally seems to make him go silent. “You’ve not seen how bad the world can be because I’ve done my job as your husband in protecting you. If I could forever avoid you seeing or even hearing about it, I would. This girl has fallen into our laps, and you said it yourself that you’re attached. Is that still the case?”
His eyes shift from me to the gorgeous girl laying in the bed. Pale complexion, eyes and cheeks sunken, I can still see the beauty that she is. That damn blood pumping organ starts hammering faster at the thought of her being abused.
She’s got patches of hair missing, scars and bruises marring her body. I’ll be one to admit that those permanent marks only make someone that much hotter, but these aren’t self-inflicted or good story scars. The story is sinister, one that will most likely never be shared with the next generation.
