Everyone fawns over me, including Remi, who says he won’t annoy me for a month and that if I dare getting hurt again, he’ll kick my arse.
The girls, Ava, Glyn, and Anni, remain by my side the most, bringing snacks behind the nurse’s back and staying around so we can watch films together.
This time I made a report to the police, both for the recent incident and two years ago. It was hard, and the more I talked about the events, the more nauseated I got, but I had my parents’ and friends’ support. Papa let me cry against his chest the first night, told me he was sorry he didn’t know and that he’d make sure Jonah pays.
Zayn, too, when they catch him.
But they won’t.
I might have been drugged, but I know what that gurgling sound I heard meant and that the liquid that covered my back was blood.
Jeremy killed him. No doubt about it. He sliced his throat open, left him spasming on the floor and then took me to the hospital.
Ilya or one of his guards probably took care of the corpse and the cleaning, because Annika told me they found nothing in the shelter, and the surveillance camera footage was erased.
Despite knowing that Jeremy is the type of unhinged to send people to the A&E and prison, I thought I would feel disgusted that he killed someone.
I’m not.
Not in the slightest.
Zayn was a serial rapist, even worse than Jonah, and he hurt so many other girls aside from me—girls who probably have it harder than me because they don’t remember. I can’t imagine the pain they went through if they woke up and found out they’d been raped.
People like him don’t deserve human rights or the regulated justice system. They deserve brutal execution that only someone like Jeremy would deliver.
I’ve spent three days in the hospital. They’re keeping me under surveillance in case of a concussion since my head hit the floor, and I’ll probably leave tomorrow.
Jeremy hasn’t come to my room at all during these three days.
Ilya did once. I asked him how Jeremy knew I was at the shelter, and he bluntly said that they have a tracker on my phone and that was the last location it sent them before it was turned off.
I wasn’t even surprised. There were often instances in the past when Jeremy found me without having to call me.
When I keep staring at the door, Annika says Jeremy’s always outside. Not once has he come into my room, and I doubt that has to do with the fact that Papa is constantly by my side.
At times, I think it’s a good thing that he’s not here. At least this way, I can gather my thoughts and process the pain. Other times, I’m angry at him for not wanting to see me.
And I’ve had enough of this stupid in-between.
So tonight, after Ava and Mum fall asleep beside me, I sneak out of the room and quietly close the door behind me.
“What are you doing out here? Go back inside.”
My spine jerks at the very familiar rough voice, and I carefully turn around to be crushed by Jeremy’s handsome looks.
He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that tightens around his muscular biceps. His hair is a mess, and his face looks tired, but his gray eyes are as dark and intense as ever.
He’s really right by the door, where Papa totally sees him whenever he goes in and out of my room.
And that pisses me off even more.
I cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re here, why haven’t you visited?”
A purse of his lips, a tightening of his jaw, a stroke of his finger against his thigh. “I thought you might need some time.”
“Some time for what? Oh, right, you let me go, didn’t you? You told me to run and never come back. Right before I was assaulted.”
He takes a step toward me, and I can feel my insides crumbling and smashing on the ground. “Cecily…”