“You’re safe,” I repeat. “I’m going to get you cleaned up, get you into some comfortable clothes, and then you can sleep for a while. Okay?”
She doesn’t respond, but she does keep looking at me. I take that as a good sign and start washing off the rest of her. I’m careful around her bruises and her belly, expecting her to cringe from my touch, but she doesn’t. The only time her expression changes is when I wash between her legs. She looks away from me, and her eyes become unfocused.
“Almost done,” I say softly. I grab the cup and pour water over her upper body before helping her to stand so I can rinse off the rest of her. The only towels in the shelter are small hand towels, and they aren’t very useful, but I do my best. I dry off her body, but the water dripping from her hair gets her wet again. I know she used to wrap her hair in its own towel, but the ones I have aren’t big enough for that.
I settle for draping one over her shoulders to catch most of the drips and then dress her in the sweats and T-shirt. The shirt stretches over her stomach, leaving a little gap where her skin shows, but it will have to do for now.
“Okay,” I say, half to myself and half to her, “let’s see what we can do about this.”
I use a large comb, and I discover very quickly that I suck at brushing hair. I can’t get the comb through the tangles at all. At first, I think it’s just because her hair is so wet, but after drying it a bit more with the towel, I still can’t get the teeth through the strands. I actually get the comb stuck in her hair.
Hannah reaches up and takes the comb from my hand. I sit back a bit and watch her twist it back out of her hair, then start combing the strands herself. She starts at the bottom, getting the tangles out there before moving up farther. It works much better than starting at the top as I had done.
I continue to watch her as I grab some of the first aid supplies from my pack and doctor up the few cuts and scrapes I acquired during my battle with Brett. She doesn’t say anything, but she seems focused on the task at hand. It takes her a while to get through it all, and I just let her do her thing until she finally sets down the comb.
Standing from the edge of the bed, I head over to my pack and pull out my woobie. I take Hannah through the doorway into the small bedroom, climb into the bed, and scoot back toward the wall. Hannah tentatively lies down on her back beside me. She doesn’t look in my direction, and her body is stiff.
I pull the woobie around my shoulders and cover her with it. I want to hold her close to me, but I’m almost afraid to touch her. I want to help her feel safe, but I’m not sure where I should put my arm. I could slide it between her stomach and her tits, but that seems weird to me—like my arm will be pinned between. If I put it around her stomach, it will be a constant reminder of what she’s been through. I’m having a hard enough time trying not to think about whose child she might be carrying. I meant it when I told Christine I’d help Hannah raise the baby as if it were my own, but I can’t help the thoughts that run through my head.
The baby could be Brett’s or Caesar’s. It could be the progeny of some other nameless, faceless man who abused her. How is she even going to be able to raise it? What if she doesn’t want to? What if she refuses to?
“This is a woobie,” Hannah says suddenly. She looks up at me with wide eyes, and her shocked expression makes me smile.
“Yeah, it’s my woobie.”
“Don’t make fun of the woobie.” Her tone is serious, but it makes me smile.
“Yeah, you better not.” I chuckle.
She tightens her grip around the edge of the woobie and pulls it close to her shoulder. Settling her head against my shoulder, she lets out a long sigh. I tighten my arm around her for a second, but I don’t want to put too much pressure on her belly, so I relax again.
“Falk had a woobie.” Her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear her.
Her words make me feel cold.
“It’s me, Hannah. It’s Falk.”
“I know,” she whispers, “but this is a dream.”
“I swear I’m real, and I’m here. You aren’t dreaming.”
She looks at my face and narrows her eyes a little. She reaches up, stroking a single finger from my temple to my jaw. She touches my eyebrows, the bridge of my nose, and then my lips. When she takes her hand away, she sighs.
“When I wake up, will you still be here?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her. “I’m going to stay right here the whole time. I’m not going to let go of you. When you wake up, I’ll be right in this spot.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t seem completely convinced, but I feel the tension in her muscles wane as she rolls to her side, her back to me, and closes her eyes.
I listen to her breaths until I’m sure she’s asleep. Pressing my chest against her back, I close my eyes. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, but I still can’t sleep. There are too many thoughts running through my head, and I don’t know what to do with any of them.
I need to get Hannah completely out of the Atlanta area. I have no doubt of that. There are too many men at that camp who know who she is. I could never recognize them all, and the likelihood of running into any of them again is too great to take that risk.
Somehow, I need to prepare for childbirth.
But before I can do any of that, I have to find Caesar and kill him.
*****
I’m not sure how long I’ve slept, but I’m sure I’ve been in the same position the whole time. I shift my hips a bit to get comfortable, but it doesn’t help. I’m not moving even though I have to pee. I told Hannah I’d be right here when she woke up, and I’m not about to go back on my word.
Settling back with my head just above hers, I hold her closer to me. I inhale, grateful for the clean scent of her skin and hair. I wish I had some of the fruity-smelling shampoo she used back at my apartment. I can’t remember the brand, but I liked the smell. If she can remember the name of it, I’ll try to find some later.
Hannah rolls slightly and digs her fingers into my arm for a moment. She grunts softly as she shifts her hips and reaches down to rub her stomach. She stretches, pressing her back against my chest, and her eyes fly open.
She jerks away from me, and I have to tighten my grip to keep her from falling off the bed. Her gaze darts from my arm around her to the woobie covering the lower half of us and finally to my face.
“I’m awake.” Hannah looks from my face to the room around her and then back to me.
I’m not sure if she’s asking a question or making a statement.
“You’re awake.” I try to smile, but I feel apprehensive. I have no idea how she is going to react.
“You’re…you’re still here.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re real?” It’s definitely a question this time.
“I’m real, Hannah.”
“Oh, God!” She throws her arms around my neck, nearly strangling me.
She tucks her forehead against my chest and starts to shake all over. I wrap my arms around her back, holding her as tightly as I dare, and breathe a sigh of relief. I know this is far from over, but having her acknowledge that I’m here is huge.
“You weren’t there.” She pulls back and looks at me. Her eyes fill with tears. “I kept thinking you were going to show up, but you didn’t. They just kept…they kept going, and you weren’t there.”
“I know. I…” I don’t know what to say.
Hannah begins to sob as she buries her face back in my chest—huge, terrifying sobs that shudder through her body. Her grip around my neck tightens, and my ears burn with her cries.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Every defense, reason, and justification for abandoning her jump to the front of my brain. I want to tell her I was shot in the back. I want to explain to her how it felt to look down and see my own intestines through that hole in my side. I want to tell her how much it hurt to grab my skin and hold it closed while trying to remain conscious enough to stitch myself up. I want to tell her that I’m
not completely sure how I managed to survive and that I was trying to get to her—I just couldn’t get there fast enough because I didn’t have time to fix my leg properly. I want to tell her that I still walk with a limp sometimes because of it.
I don’t.
It doesn’t compare to what she’s been through.
“God, Hannah, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never should have left you alone.”
I feel her tears soaking through my shirt. I remember the first night she was with me and how she had held me and cried then. I’d felt so awkward. I didn’t know how to respond. I still don’t know how to respond.
This is all my fault.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I say it over and over again as if it makes some kind of difference. As if it takes away anything that’s happened to her.
My eyes ache with my own tears. I just want to be able to take all her pain away. I want to erase it, but I can’t. I can’t change what’s happened, and I can’t do anything about the constant reminder she will have of what she’s been through—the baby growing inside of her.
Slowly, Hannah’s choking sobs diminish to raspy breathing and eventually quiet. I hold her to my chest as my own tears dry on my cheeks. My eyes burn and my head aches, but I don’t move. We stay like that for a long time. I don’t have any comforting words. I just hold her until she shifts in my arms and moves her hand from behind my neck to my shoulder.
She slides her fingers down my arm until she comes to my hand. She takes it in hers and then places it over her stomach. I close my eyes again as my throat tightens up. I wait for her to tell me it’s my fault—that she blames me for this child she never wanted and will never be able to love.
All because of me.
“It’s yours, you know,” she says suddenly.
“What?”
“The baby—it’s yours.”
My heart flutters in my chest.
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” She shrugs.
She can’t possibly know that. Even if she found out she was pregnant shortly after she was captured, she couldn’t know for sure if it’s mine. We’ve had sex exactly four times. There is no way I could have gotten her pregnant.
Is there?
We hadn’t used protection. I remember seeing a box of condoms in one of the stores during a supply run and almost considered grabbing them. I wanted her, and I knew it, but it seemed in poor taste considering what she had already been through. It was simply too presumptuous, so I hadn’t taken them.
“It is yours, Falk,” Hannah says again, more emphatically this time.
I watch her eyes, but her expression doesn’t change. I have no doubt that she believes what she’s saying, but I’m not sure I can believe it.
Four times—that’s it. Four times over three days. The last time was the morning before she was taken from me.
Swallowing hard, I reach down and run my hand over her stomach, caressing her slowly. Hannah places her hand on top of mine again and guides it down around and underneath the bulge. A moment later, I feel a bump move across my palm.
“Is that…is that the baby?”
“He’s kicking,” she says with a smile. “He’s saying hi.”
“Was that his foot?”
“I’m not sure,” Hannah says with a shrug. “Maybe a knee or an elbow. It’s hard to tell.”
I’ve never felt anything like it. It seems completely unnatural and totally right all at the same time. I move my hand down a little more, trying to figure out just where the little guy went, and I feel another bump.
Looking back into Hannah’s eyes, I can’t explain how I feel. The idea that this child could be mine hadn’t entered my thoughts before she said it. I hadn’t considered the possibility at all. Now that I’m thinking about the very idea that this child could be exactly what she says—a son that comes out looking like a combination of Hannah and me—has my head spinning and my heart racing. I’m elated and excited, but there’s also a hint of terror deep down inside of me.
If this baby is mine, then maybe she’ll be able to put all of it behind her. Maybe she won’t see the child as a constant reminder of what she’s endured.
I stroke the side of her face and lean in close to her. I watch her eyes, not completely sure how I will be received. When she glances down at my mouth and her eyes close slightly, I close the distance between us and press my lips firmly against hers.
If Hannah believes the baby is mine, then I’ll believe it too.
Chapter 7
Hannah and I stay in the shelter for several days. There are plenty of supplies to keep us going, so there’s no need to go outside. I still exit twice a day—once in the morning and again in the evening—just to make sure there aren’t any signs that someone has tracked us here.
I find nothing.
Hannah progresses faster than I could have imagined. She’s not exactly herself, but every day she’s a little closer. She has nightmares and cries a lot, but when that happens, I just hold her, and she calms down pretty quickly.
I have no idea how much of it is trauma and how much of it is pregnancy.
We sit down together and calculate the due date of the baby based on when we were last together. She’s roughly six weeks away from giving birth, and I know we have a lot of preparation to do before that time.
“We should meet up with the rest of the group before you’re due,” I say. “The more help we have, the better.”
“I don’t think Christine ever had any children,” Hanna says. “What about that other woman you said you found?”
“Katrina? I doubt it. She’s pretty young.”
“How much help do you think they’re going to be?”
“Not sure,” I say with a shrug. “I just know they’ll be more help than I will.”
“Don’t you want to be there for the birth of your son?”
“You have no idea if it’s a boy or a girl.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Of course I want to be there,” I tell her. “I just don’t want to be there alone!”
“I thought you were a big, bad military hero!”
“What the fuck does that have to do with babies?”
Hannah covers her mouth to hold in the giggles.
“We can use your woobie as a cushion.”
“You mean, like…while you’re giving birth?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, fuck no! You are not going to give birth on my woobie!”
Hannah bursts out laughing this time, and I scowl at her. Her mood swings are going to give me an ulcer. I check the time and figure it will be about ten minutes before she starts crying over something else. It’s become the pattern.
She stands up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. I kiss her back, opening my mouth as I feel her tongue against my lips. She runs her hands over my chest, and I can feel the rest of my body—one part in particular—beginning to respond. I gently grab her hands and pull them down to her sides.
I haven’t touched her in that way since I brought her here. It’s not for lack of desire. Frankly, I’m terrified to attempt sex with her again. I have no idea how she’s going to react, and I’m afraid I’ll trigger something inside of her.
There’s more to it as well.
I can’t stop thinking about how long she was a prisoner. I have no idea how many men have been inside of her since I was with her or exactly what they’ve done to her. The bruises are healing, but the evidence is there. I know she was brutally raped multiple times. I know she was sodomized. I can’t even imagine everything they may have done to her. I don’t blame her for any of it, of course, but it’s still in my mind.
There’s also a tiny, completely irrational part of me that thinks the baby might grab on to my dick.
I know enough about anatomy to know the idea is ludicrous, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. I’m also afraid I’ll do something that will hurt the baby, but more than anything,
I can’t stop the image from invading my brain of having sex with Hannah and then feeling a tiny hand grab on to the end of my cock.
Hannah stares at me, her expression confused. It quickly changes to anger as she rips her hands away from my grasp and stomps away.
“What?” I call out after her.
It’s not like she can get very far from me in the small shelter. She’s only twelve feet away when she reaches the other side of the main room and turns on me.
“Do you still want me at all?”
Shit. Yeah, I’ve fucked this up.
“Of course I do.”
“So why won’t you touch me?”
“I didn’t want to…shit, Hannah.” I stop talking and run my hands over my face. “I don’t know what to do here. Yes, I want you. I want to pick up right where we left off, but I don’t know how to do that.”
“Because of everything that happened to me in between?”
“Yeah.”
“Or is it because I’m fat?”
“Christ, Hannah, you’re not fat. You’re pregnant.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not!”
There is no way I can win this argument.
I rack my brain for the right words to say but come up with nothing. She’s been through so much, and I can’t take it all away. There’s nothing I can do or say that will make any difference.
Tears start streaming down her face. I go to her, wrap my arms around her, and hold her against my chest. It isn’t easy with her stomach in the way, but I manage. She leans into me, circling my waist with her arms.
“I’m fat and ugly,” she says again.
“You’re hardly worth it now, you know? Fat, ugly bitch.”
Brett’s malicious words to her echo through my head. I tighten my hands into fists. For a moment, I wish he was still alive so I could beat him to death again.
“He said that to you.” I clench my teeth. “He did that just to break you down. You’re beautiful, you’re strong, and I’m still in awe of you.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak. I kiss the top of her head, hold her, and try to think of something clever to say. I’ve never been a wordy guy, and I don’t think I can really start that now. I’d spent all that time looking for her and thinking about her, dreaming about her, but now I don’t know what to say to her.