I can’t help the way my jaw suddenly gets tight at the fact that my autonomy has just been taken from me, but it’s like I can’t grasp my anger enough to throw it back at her creepy, smiling face. Gingerly sitting up, trying to ignore the dizziness and throbbing headache, I have to swallow a couple of times before I can answer.
“Um, sure, uh, do you know where I am?” I ask, my voice raspy. “Where is Ash?” She immediately goes over to the side table and fills a glass with water before handing it to me. I eye it for a minute, but I just can’t grasp what my mind is trying to tell me, so I bring it to my lips and glug the cool water down in one go. “Thanks,” I say, handing the glass back to her. Her brow is lowered, which makes my own dip down.
“You’re in Wiltshire, dear, at your uncle’s house. He’s looking after you, and the baby,” she tells me brightly, her arm coming round my upper back to help support me as I try to get up and out of the bed.
“Wiltshire?” I pause, feeling unsteady and wobbling slightly as I get to my feet. I’m not sure if it’s the thumping headache or the news that I’m back in England, with my uncle, that leaves me stumbling. “Adrian’s house?”
“That’s right, dear,” she replies, keeping her arm around me, and helping to guide me to the bathroom door, somehow knowing that I need a piss, like yesterday. “Right, let’s get you washed and dressed, shall we? You’ll feel right as rain then, and I can do some checks on the baby to make sure all is as it should be.”
I should feel embarrassed that a complete stranger is helping me sit on the toilet, then helping me into the shower and to wash, and a small part of me is mortified, but it’s like it’s buried deep inside me, drowning and unable to make it to the surface. I can’t seem to get my feet and legs to function normally. I’m like a newborn lamb, unable to get my feet underneath me enough to walk on my own. My head feels full of cotton wool, and all the colours of the room are dulled and lifeless like an old T-shirt washed too many times, so I’m mostly glad for the extra help.
After dressing me in a soft, cotton nightgown that she found in the chest of drawers, which, although clearly new and unworn, smells musty. Jacky supports me as I lie back on the bed then takes mine and the baby’s vitals. She listens to the heartbeat which makes tears sting my eyes, the steady rhythm grounding me as it always does, calming my fluttering nerves at this new reality that I’ve woken up in. She also takes blood samples and all the other things that Lisa, my midwife back in Colorado, used to do. The tears threaten to spill at the homesickness which fills me up at the thought of Highgate and my guys. My Knights.
“Where’s my husband?” I ask once she’s finished up.
“Husband, dear?” she questions, her eyebrows dipped as she helps me up again and leads me to a small table near the window that has a covered tray similar to last night’s on it. “I bet you’re hungry, dear,” she tells me, taking the lid off to reveal a large salad with fragrant marinated grilled chicken and buttered bread that looks and smells freshly baked. My stomach takes that moment to growl loudly, and she chuckles. “I’ll open the shutters, shall I? It’s a lovely day out.”
I nod, sitting down, and immediately shove a forkful of the salad with chicken into my mouth, thinking that I’m sure I just asked her something, but now I can’t remember what it was. The room is flooded with light seconds later as the shutters are flung open with a clatter, and once my eyes adjust, I see that she’s right, the sun is shining and the sky is a beautiful light blue, not a cloud in sight.
My fork pauses on its way back down to my plate as I notice something that sits at odds with the beautiful day outside.
Bars.
There are metal bars outside my window, and as soon as I see them, a wave of claustrophobia washes over me, leaving my skin tight and itchy and my breathing shallow. My wide eyes look up into Jacky’s brown ones, which are full of a gentle sympathy.
“Why are there bars?” I ask, my voice soft and small as I try to make sense of what is happening here, but my mind is too foggy, and I’m unable to grab hold of a thought for too long before it flies away like a petal on the breeze.
“Oh, dear girl,” she says with a sigh, coming to crouch next to me as my gaze goes back to those lines of metal that are trapping me in this room. “Your uncle is just trying to take care of you and the baby. He doesn’t want anything to happen to either of you, dear.”
I look back down at her. “Where is Ash? Loki? Kai and Jax?” I question, my voice trembling, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be held in familiar arms that chase all the nightmares away. Again, there’s a flash of softness in her eyes that I can’t work out the meaning of, the corners crinkling as she reaches out and takes my cold, shaking hand in hers.
“Why don’t you finish your meal, and then I can take you back to bed? To rest. You look so tired, dear.”
My eyes fill with tears. I don’t want to rest, I feel like I’ve lost so much time already. Letting go of Jacky’s hands, I, once again, pick up my fork and spear a piece of chicken, bringing it up to my mouth.
But as I continue to eat, washing it down with a glass of fresh fruit juice, I do start to feel so bone-weary that my fork clatters onto the plate as if I can’t hold it up anymore.
“Come on then, dear. Let’s get you back to bed,” Jacky tells me, helping me out of the chair and back into bed, tucking me in like a child. I’m sure I hear her whisper something that sounds suspiciously like, “poor delusional girl,” under her breath.
All too soon, I'm dragged under into blackness once more, unable to fight the crashing wave of exhaustion any longer or the nightmares that await me.
* * *
The next few weeks follow the same routine. Jacky is always there when I wake up, ready to aid me in getting up and dressed before taking me over to the window to look out at the manicured grounds and the woods in the distance of my uncle’s estate. I can see quite far into the distance, being on an upper floor, and it’s a mixed blessing as it taunts me as well as gives me something to gaze upon. Like a bird in a cage, placed next to an open window and being able to see freedom but not taste it.
I give up asking about Ash, my husband, or any of the guys as each time she expertly distracts me and avoids answering until I feel as though perhaps it was all a wonderful dream. Perhaps I dreamt of going to America, meeting the guys, and falling in love.
Maybe I’ve been here all along?
My mind clearly likes to torment me as I am plagued with nightmares of arms banded tightly around me which do not belong to any of my Knights. Of sweet words whispered in my ear, of being called Violet. The worst are the nights where I dream that I’m back in the library with cunt-face Robert, his hands in places that they have no right to be, and his breathing heavy in my ear.
After those nights, I wake up covered in sweat and feel sick to my stomach, my pillow damp and dried tears on my cheeks. I notice small bruises on my waist, hips, and breasts, yet I have no knowledge of how they got there.
My mind struggles to focus on even menial tasks. It’s getting worse and increasingly muddled the more time passes until I can barely remember what my life once was.
Before this room.
Before the bars on the window.