The Night I Was Saved

Chapter Forty-Five

Twenty-six days. It's been twenty-six days since Jo told me that she wanted to talk to the police. Since she told me everything about what they did to her when she was still locked in that hellhole.

And today -right now- she's finally doing it.

She's talking.

She's in Hanson's office, telling him and two other colleagues that lead her case, everything she knows. It's the first talk of many, as she is aware, but I'm sure that once she'll walk out of that door, the hardest part is done.

She was nervous and frightened, even though we've worked towards this moment for more than three weeks.

Countless talks with Alice; sometimes even more than once a day. Some even harder than others in which Alice pretended to be an officer and asked all the questions that they'll ask her too. All the intrusive questions that will require Jo to spill all the dirt, she asked them. And every time, Jo answered, even though it hurt her.

Three weeks in which Jo felt all the misery the five brought to her all over again. Nightmares, torturous nightmares that would wake her up sweaty and panicked in the middle of the night, even though she was sleeping next to me.

Sometimes they were so bad, she didn't even recognize me when she woke. There was just blind panic and a frantic need to fight, which made it hard to come close to her and bring her back.

In those three weeks, she also shut down on me on regular basis. It scared the shit out of me, especially because when her mind isn't with them and what they did to her, she comes closer and closer.

It's hardest for her, let that be clear, but I can't bear to see her that terrified and scarred either. It hurts me more than anything else ever did.

And the rage I feel towards Leonard and those other four is growing with each day.

But in between all the dark clouds, the hurt, the fear that consumes Jo from time to time, there is our little private sunshine Daisy. She's pulling us through, especially Jo, and I couldn't have been more thankful for that.

She's growing rapidly now; she's getting better at focusing, and she's smiling more and more too. The small outfits that she wore at first are starting to be too small, and she's getting strong too.

She can lift her head and push up on her arms when she's on her belly, and I swear to fuck it's the cutest thing I've ever seen. She even looks proud when she does it.

She's fucking perfect.

Just like now, as if she feels the tension that's radiating from me as I wait for her mum to march out of the door across me, she's a doll. She's doing exactly what I need her to do.

She's awake, looking around with her big, blue eyes without making a sound. She isn't crying, isn't making a fuss about being in the car seat for too long. She's patient, and I love her for it.

Because I'm anything but calm and patient.

It's taking long. It's taking so bloody long, and each second is drumming through my body while millions of questions invade my already stressful mind.

Is she okay in there? Are they giving her the time she needs to fathom everything that's happened to her? Do they back off when it becomes too much? Does she need me there with her?

She's in there for an hour and a half now, and although I'm completely aware that things like these, statements like the one that Jo is making today, take approximately six hours, I can't imagine sitting here for much longer while not knowing how she's doing.