I wanted to take her back to my place, but Addie refused—stating she’s been holed up in one prison for long enough and doesn’t want to find herself in another. So I stationed heavy security around the property, using advanced—and illegal—technology to ensure nothing gets by without my knowledge. Whatever Claire has up her sleeve next, she knows there’s no chance of touching Parsons.
After I found her, I took her straight to trusted old friends of mine, Teddy Angler, and his son, Tanner. Teddy is a retired surgeon but has been working for Z since I built the organization, taking in any survivors that need care. His son is a nurse, and often assists Teddy now that he’s getting older.
We stayed with him for a week so he could treat the lacerations all over her body, the open wound on the back of her neck, and pump her with fluids. She was dehydrated, malnourished, and ravaged by the abuse.
I refused to turn away from what was done to her, though all I wanted to do was walk right back out of his door and shred anyone who inhabited that house with my bare fucking teeth.
I’m not sure if she even recalls much of her time with Teddy. She was catatonic the entire stay.
It’s been a month since she's been home, and in the beginning, we were swarmed with police officers and media outlets. Law enforcement were requesting her statement, and wanted information on her kidnapping. And of course, because Addie’s a popular author, it got media attention. I’m not ashamed that I’ve lost count on how many paparazzi I’ve threatened bodily harm to due to them trying to sneak onto the property.
I would’ve loved to make a fucking example of one of them. String them up at the end of the driveway as a friendly reminder of what will happen if even their toe touches the goddamn property line.
The chaos has died down, but it sent Addie further into herself, and she’s been confined to her bedroom and cocooned under her black silk sheets as if she’s allergic to the outside air. For the first couple weeks after her rescue, she would hardly speak at all.
Addie often flipped between complete desolation, where she stared blankly and gave no reaction, to crying and inconsolable. I’ve had a therapist, Dr. Maybell, come in to talk to her a few times to help draw her out, and it has helped.
Seeing her like this breaks my fucking heart, and all I want is to hand her the pieces and give her something to hold on to.
But she won’t hold on to anything. Won’t even let me come near. If I get within a foot of her, she flips out. She absolutely refuses to let me touch her, and it’s fucking killing me because that’s all I want to do.
Daya and Serena have both visited frequently, as Addie is far more comfortable with their embrace than she is with mine.
“Alive,” I answer, though I’m not entirely sure that’s the truth. She’s breathing, but she’s not living. “And slowly getting better. She’s talking now and will smile and laugh sometimes. She’ll be up, down, and sideways for a long time.”
I glance down at the deep gouges in my hands, still bright red from last night.
Every night, she thrashes in the bed, screams tearing from her throat and body flailing. I’ve learned to be careful when I wake her. Some nights she goes into full attack mode. Sightless as she scratches at me, convinced I’m one of the demons haunting her nightmares.
During the day, she’s back to being a ghost. Though that doesn’t seem right, either—the ghosts in Parsons Manor are more active than she is.
And to be frank, I’m growing frustrated. Not because she’s lost in her trauma, but because I have no fucking idea how to bring her out of it.
Helplessness is a feeling I’ve become intimate with. I can’t save every girl, but I’ll be damned if I can’t save Addie, even if it’s from herself.
“She’s going to get through it, Z,” Jay assures, seeming to note the distress darkening the underside of my eyes.
“I know she will. She’s the strongest woman I know,” I agree.
Jay nods, and hands over a bouquet of red roses. “I don’t want to bother her right now, so give these to her for me, yeah?”
“Of course, thanks, man,” I say, grabbing the bundle from his hand. His nails are painted neon pink today, and they’re chipping already.
“Have you checked in on Katerina?”
Jay nods. “Yeah, she’s kind of like Addie right now. Doesn't speak much and her emotions are unstable. She’s so young and has been through a lot.”
Once Addie had gotten in my car, she had given me two names, along with a plea to save one of them from a sunflower field. Rio’s sister, Katerina Sanchez, and her groomer, Lillian Berez.