TORTURE ME_ The Bandits MC(15)

Fiona’s heart started pounding in her temples, feeling like somebody was taking a baseball bat to each side of her brain. She felt like she was going to throw up. He cleaned them, she kept thinking, on a loop within her mind. He fucking cleaned them.



That was the worst thing, looking back on it all, the way Fiona’s captor had taken care of her, the way he washed her and kissed her. For years after the event, she struggled to shower, to press a damp washcloth against her body without thinking about it. He’d beat her up, do things to her, and then take a towel to her body, cleaning off any dirt or grime or dust from her skin. “You’re my good girl,” he had murmured to her, kissing the top of her head. “You’re my good, clean girl.”



“Excuse me,” she murmured as she bolted upright from her seat. She had intended to rush to the bathroom, but she forgot that she didn’t know where it was in this new apartment. “Where…I…” Fiona stuttered out, words failing her as image after image of her own captivity returned to her.



“Hey, hey,” Gage said, putting a hand around her back, just like he used to do when panic attacks struck her in the middle of the night for no reason. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s okay here. It’s safe.”



Fiona collapsed back down into the chair, her knees too weak to do anything else. “I…I…” She swallowed again, trying to clear her throat so that words could come out, but none of them did. She realized belatedly that she didn’t even want to talk. She didn’t want to tell him what she’d been seeing behind her eyelids. It was too shameful, too dirty, too wrong. I’m dirty. I’m wrong. I’m gross, the old mantra in her head chanted. I’m dirty. I’m wrong. I’m gross.



Fiona’s head fell forward into her hands, her breath puffing out painfully as her lungs worked overtime to get oxygen to her heart, which pumped hard, like it was about to be cut out itself. “I’m…fucked-up,” she finally murmured, talking more to herself, to the voices in her head, than to Gage.



But Gage was there in a second, placing his strong hands on her shoulders, massaging her muscles with his fingers. Fiona rocked back into his touch, leaning her head back onto his stomach, her breathing starting to come out more and more slowly and regularly than before. “I’m not strong enough for this,” she whispered, saying her fear out loud.



“Yes, you are,” Gage said back, his hands digging harder into the flesh and muscle of her back, skimming over her spine as he moved downward. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”



“You must not know a lot of women,” Fiona said reflexively, laughing a little, even though she hadn’t meant it as a joke.



Gage returned her laughter, but then a second later, he leaned over her neck to whisper something into her ear: “You know you’re the only one.”



Fiona flinched back out of his touch, springing out of the chair like she’d been stung by something. “No, don’t,” she said, walking backwards until the back of her legs hit the kitchen counter behind her.



“What’s wrong?” Gage asked, and for a second, Fiona was terrified that he was going to approach her, to walk across the room and close the distance between their bodies, but he didn’t, staying behind the chair that Fiona had just vacated.



Fiona’s breathing gradually slowed down, the panic ebbing like a wave, little by little as the seconds went by. “I, just, you can’t touch me like that,” she finally replied as soon as she was capable of speech again.



“I’m sorry,” Gage said, and for a long moment Fiona was utterly convinced that she’d imagined it. Gage, apologizing? When had that ever happened? He always acted like he ruled the world, like every choice he made was deliberate and justified, that nothing should or could stand in his way. What was he doing apologizing to her, apparently sincerely, only an hour after they’d reunited?



“You’re sorry?” Fiona echoed, feeling like she needed to hear it again to make sure that she hadn’t totally hallucinated his last statement.



Gage nodded to her, a small smile spreading across his lips. So clearly he wasn’t that apologetic. But he said, “I am. I am sorry that I scared you. I was just trying to make you feel better. Come sit back down and eat. You need to get something in your stomach. That’s probably half the reason you panicked a minute ago.”



There was some truth to what he was saying. She used to go days without eating sometimes, just because it felt nice to ignore the pains and pleasures of her body, and then the panic attacks would come, overwhelming her until she finally stopped being stupid and ate. Fiona slowly walked back over to the chair now, staring at Gage and wordlessly ordering him to move. She waited for him to comply, stepping back a few feet, before she sat back down and stared again at the pictures he’d spread out in front of her.