Early Imprint [Book 3] ✔️

30 • Recovering Slowly

QUIL'S POV

They say time heals all wounds. They must have meant the physical kind, because emotionally, time didn't heal shit for Claire.

After waking up from her coma, Claire spent another month in the hospital. She was transferred to a rehabilitation center because her muscles had been weakened from lying comatose for a month. Thankfully, they moved her to a place in Port Angeles, so she had a steady stream of people coming to visit her. Normally, Claire would have been ecstatic to see her friends and family. But she wasn't. Claire didn't seem to like being around people anymore. She couldn't even muster up a smile for them, because her emotional well being was in ruins.

Mentally, however, she was okay. She remembered everything up until when the pig slammed her head into the wall. She'd told the doctor with a blank look on her face that she remembered him breaking into the apartment. She also remembered being assaulted though she never went into details. But once he slammed her head into the wall, she didn't remember a thing until she woke up in the hospital.

The only physical problem that Claire suffered was that her hand had permanent nerve damage from where it was broken. She could barely hold a pen and had trouble writing her name. She spent time in the rehabilitation center not only trying to get feeling back in her damaged hand, but also learning to write her name with her other hand.

What concerned me the most though was the emptiness in Claire's eyes. It was like Claire was there physically, but emotionally she was lost in a prison of her own demons. I tried to be there for her, but she shut me out. All I wanted to do was wrap her in my arms and never let go, especially after I had been so close to losing her already, but Claire cringed whenever anyone touched her.

What Claire truly needed was to discuss what that man did to her, but she wouldn't speak of it. In fact, she refused all forms of psychological treatment the hospital offered. They offered to let her speak one-on-one with a counselor. She wouldn't do it. They offered to arrange for her to go to a support group for victims of sexual assault. She wouldn't hear of it.

And since she wouldn't get help, I talked to the doctors instead. I wanted to do whatever I could to help Claire. I was told I had to wait until she was ready to talk. That victims needed someone to listen to them without placing blame or judgment. No problem there. I knew exactly where the blame went and that person was currently a vegetable.

The most important thing they stressed to me was that I couldn't tell Claire what to do. They said that sexual assault rips away a victim's self worth and power. Claire was going to need to choose to take back her life by making her own decisions. So not matter how frustrated I was by the barrier that existed between us now, I tried to be patient and just be there for her whenever she needed me.

With that mind set firmly in my head, I made my way to the rehabilitation center one day. I walked into Claire's room and felt my heart leap as I noticed she wasn't in her room. I had to remind myself that Claire was safe and no longer in danger. She was probably out somewhere and that was why she was gone.

Taking a deep breath, I followed the pull that linked me to Claire. I found her sitting in the center's garden. She was sitting on a bench, staring blankly into space. The look of misery on her face tore at my heart.

"Hey," I said as I sat down next to her. She stiffened instantly

"Hey," Claire replied, looking at the ground. I sighed in frustration.

"So where's your wheelchair?" I asked. She had been using a wheelchair over the past few weeks to help her get around while her legs tried to regain their strength.