He smiles, but I can tell he’s searching my face for something. It takes me a second to put my finger on it.
Trauma. That’s what he’s looking for. Signs of scarring. The damage left behind from being abducted by a dangerous man.
But clearly, I’m disappointing him. Not nearly as broken as he hoped for, I guess.
“Before I let you go, however, would you mind if I asked you something?”
I tense. “Um… sure. Go ahead.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, emphasizing the word. He blinks slowly, sincerely, with a look in his eyes like he truly cares. His hand is warm and heavy on my shoulder and the faint scent of a pleasant cologne wafts into my nostrils.
It would be so easy to tell him no. To admit the truth of what’s happened to me.
But I’ve spent three months denying it, hiding it, running from it.
