Fight, Flight, or Freeze: The Healer's Story
Chapter 113: Am I Broken?

Chapter 113: Am I Broken?

The sun was starting to set, and the screams and cheers of men began to fill the darkness. I curled up even more in my cage, wishing I had the ability to disappear.

I had been here for almost two weeks now, the days being tracked by notches in the dirt by my head. If Bai Long Qiang was alive, he would have rescued me by now. Even if he weren’t, Cheng Bo Jing or any of the other guys would have saved me.

Unless the whole team is dead. Is that it? Am I the only one left alive?

"What are you thinking about, Little Bird?" asked a posh accent as a giant of a man sat down beside my cage, his back pressed against the bars. I tentatively reached through the metal slots and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling myself closer to his warmth.

"Little Bird?" I asked, my voice breaking halfway through. I needed more water, and I needed to stop screaming. But my body hurt so much. His nickname for me also reminded me of Bai Long Qiang and Cheng Bo Jing. They both called me animals as well.

"Yeah. Like a small house sparrow. Feisty, never giving up even in the harshest of weathers, but so small and delicate that one wrong move could utterly break them," he answered. His voice wasn’t like this a few weeks ago, but every time I touched his skin, I was able to heal him a little bit more every time.

Of course, when there were others around, he still played the part of a Reaver, but when it was just the two of us...

"It’s the first week of May," I said slowly. The last fighter I had healed was strangled before he managed to break his opponent’s neck and the swelling transferred over to me as I took his injuries into myself. "I thought my fiancé would have saved me by now."

I wouldn’t cry in front of Rip. I refused to cry.

Feeling him stiffen, I gripped his shirt even tighter. I needed him here with me right now and for the first time since my parents were alive, I allowed myself to be selfish.

"Oh, Little Bird, it’s the middle of May, according to the old calendar," sighed Rip as he reached around his back to grip onto my hand. My healing lunged into him, more comfortable in his body than my own at this point. But I didn’t care...

"Middle of May?" I choked out. "How?"

"Where were you picked up?" asked Rip, not answering my question. I couldn’t see his face as his back was to me, but even that offered me comfort. I knew he was keeping his eye out, making sure that no one could come here and hurt me like they did the other women.

I should feel bad about the special treatment, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to stop.

"Just outside of City D," I answered. My mind had been going in a hundred different directions since I was captured and sometimes I found it hard to keep track of a conversation, but Rip understood. He always understood.

"We are just outside of City I," he told me. "With everything that has been going on lately, it would have taken the Recruiter a week, week and a half to get here from City D."

"What? How?" I was so confused. I remember getting into his car and the next thing I knew, I woke up here.

"He probably gave you something to knock you out," admitted Rip and I could hear his teeth grinding together, pissed at the idea I had lost a whole week of time.

But the scariest thing for me was that I couldn’t bring myself to really care. A tear silently escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek as I realized how broken I had become.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t care that it took a week or longer to get me here. I didn’t care what he might have done to my body while I was at his mercy. I just... didn’t care.

And if I didn’t care... what did that say about me?

"Rip," I whispered as I opened my eyes in his unconsciousness. I was back in the room of mirrors, this time staring at a man in a three-piece suit standing in front of me. He wasn’t locked in the mirror like the child was, he was just there.

"Little Bird," smiled the Rip in his head, his hand reached out and cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking the skin under his finger.

"Or should I call you Randolph?" I asked hesitantly as I rubbed my cheek even more against his hand.

"You can call me whatever you want, Little Bird. We are all the same. Me, the monster, the kid; all of us are different sides of the same coin," he murmured before leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. "What’s the matter?"

"I think I am broken," I answered softly, almost as if saying the words out loud would make them true.

"No, you aren’t," Rip assured me as he pulled me into his chest. I knew this was nothing more than an illusion, just like seeing the guys in my bunker. But I needed this hug more than I needed my next breath.

"You might be bruised and battered, but you are not broken. Trust me on that one," he chuckled. I could feel the vibrations of his voice through his chest.

"Then why don’t I care about anything?"

"Why do you need to?" asked the businessman, pulling away just so he could see my face.

"I think I should care," I answered, my brows furrowing in confusion. "I should care that I have no memories of a week with a strange man. I should care that my fiancé and friends are probably dead. I should care."

"And what is caring going to change?" mused Rip, pulling me back to him before I could see the smile on his face. I knew it was there, but I didn’t mind. I loved his smile, no matter when it came out.

"What do you mean?"

"Is caring about all those thoughts in your head going to get you out of your prison?" he asked, spelling it out.

"No."

"Is caring going to turn back time to before you were unconscious for so long?"

"No," I replied, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath. His smell was like no other. Like a cup of London Fog with lavender. It seemed to seep into my very being, encompassing me in a hug inside and out.

"Is caring going to make everyone treat you better?"

"No."

The more he spoke the more I understood. Caring about all the shit that has happened to be so far is not going to change where I am right now. And if it isn’t going to change anything, why do I need to stress myself out over these types of thoughts?

"Is caring going to change how you feel toward me?"

His question took me off guard, but I didn’t even need to think about the answer.

"No."

"And I can tell you, whatever goes on in your head, whether you stay whole or shatter into a million pieces, whether you care or not, it isn’t going to change how I feel about you," he whispered in my head before he leaned forward and captured my lips with his.

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