“She is,” I nod.
“How did she get home?” he questions as his brows scrunch, much like Harlow’s.
“I’m not sure. She didn’t really say much. Just came into the house, made herself known, and then went and showered before falling asleep with Rosie.”
“Oh,” he whispers, looking down the hall towards Rosie’s room. “Do you know who took her?”
I nod. “Someone we both thought was dead.”
“Who...?” Sam asks with caution in his tone.
“Triver.” I feel the bile rising in the back of my throat from just saying his name.
Sam’s eyes widen, pure horror written on his face. He doesn’t even have to ask, he just knows. He’s lived through some of the same horrors we have. He’s the most recent one who's experienced the hell of having your body being taken without permission. It’s still fresh for him.
“No,” he breathes, his eyes filling with tears.
“Yeah.” My own eyes start to water. “But we're gonna be there for her when she's ready. We need to let her know that she's not alone. But, on the other hand, we also gotta be careful not to push her, okay?”
He wipes at some fallen tears, but they keep coming. “Yeah. I’m just glad she's home. I was starting to worry she’d never come back.”
“She’s home. That's what matters.”
Saying goodnight to Sam and giving him a bone crushing hug, I leave him to go take a shower. I feel bad because I’m sure he needs someone right now, but my brain... it’s still on autopilot. I haven’t had a chance to just think, to process everything.
Stripping out of my sweats, I pull my hair out of the bun I had it in and shake it out before turning on the shower. Stepping under the spray, I close my eyes and let the warm water work my muscles.
She’s home. She’s safe. I keep telling myself that over and over again.
But she’s not okay. No matter how much we want her to be, she's not. How can she be? She might put on a front like nothing bothers her. She's Queenie, she can kill you with a flick of her wrist, but what people sometimes seem to forget, even Harlow herself sometimes, is that she's still human. She can be hurt. She can feel pain.
She was raped. She was taken by the man who destroyed her life. The man who caused her the worst pain imaginable, and allowed others to do the same.
She told me so many times before that she’d never let someone take her choice away, and if they tried, she’d destroy them.
The look in her eyes... it was the same one she had every time she came back from whatever sick fuck had her for a night. I know that look all too well.
My hands cover my mouth as my broken cry makes its way out of my throat. My knees buckle, and I crash to the wet tile below. Painful wails heave from my chest as tears pour down my face, mixing with the water from the shower. She was raped. Again. She was fucking raped.
I couldn’t protect her then, and I wasn’t able to now. The helpless feeling inside me crushes my soul.
But Icando something now, and that's love her. I can be there for her, and support her. I always have and always will. That will never change.