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“She mentioned that I’d be working with animals. I guess I thought she meant like dogs and cats.”
She bobs her head. “Close.” In what world is that animal close to a cat? “What we do here is use horses as emotional support, helping guide you through recovery. I know it sounds weird, but horses have this unique sensitivity to how we are feeling.”
I sigh, my eyes swelling again as memories of where I was four days ago flood my mind. “I don’t think I want him burdened with my fears.”
She attempts to hold back her emotions, but they get lodged in her throat. She clears it. “You won’t, I promise.”
How can a horse help me? Unless he can find the man who put me in a grave and stomp on his head until he’s dead—which I’d be on board with—it seems like a lost cause.
“Kali, I can’t sit here and say I understand how you’re feeling because I can’t. I can’t even imagine the horror you went through. But with your strength and will, and by the grace of God that led that dog to you, you’re here today. What I can tell you is that Rusty has magical healing powers.” That sounds fishy. “You laugh, but I know firsthand. My daughter was his first partner. She also went through a horrible, horrible ordeal. I thought she’d never be the same snarky, bad-ass woman she once was. But she found her way back. And I believe you will too.”
I feel like shit for laughing now. But her daughter’s ordeal couldn’t have been as bad as mine. What could be worse than being buried alive? A heavy sigh escapes me as the full weight of my situation settles in.
“Thank you for the food,” I say, noticing the finger food, easy enough for me to pick up with my left hand.
“Of course,” she replies, not making a fuss about the shift in conversation. She pushes off the bed and walks to the door. “Again, you’re always welcome out with us. And if you need my help with anything because of your bandages, please let me know. I’m here to help you.”
I nod, and watch as she disappears, closing the door behind her.
CHAPTER 14
Kali
It was five hours.
197,100 hours. That is how many hours I’ve been alive. I stare at the clock on the dresser until the second hand hits the top of the hour and then roll back over to stare at the yellow wall. 197,101.
Thousands of hours lived, yet my brain is chained to those five. I tried to push past it, to think about the money and the dreams that were so close to coming true, searching for that high. But all I find is darkness and pain.
Dr. Betty explained those five hours are like the wounds on my hands and legs. Wounds on my brain. It’ll take time for them to scab over and turn into scars. A reminder. A memory. But like the scars on our body, they’ll fade—not disappear—and become a faint memory.
That’s when I started wondering if I needed a new doctor. Faint memory, my ass. There will never be a night when I lie in the darkness and not hear those thumps.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I’ve been here for four days. Yesterday was a week since I was found. On top of living in this nightmare, I feel like a burden. I’m sure Amy didn’t sign up to be a nurse, caregiver, cook, and therapist when Dr. Betty and the nurse aren’t around. I’m an adult, yet I can’t even shower on my own because of the bandages. It’s humiliating.
Dr. Betty thinks talking to a friend might cheer me up. Like Pearl. But that takes energy. Energy that I can’t find. Just the thought of talking to Pearl and the questions she’ll have makes my chest tighten.
The door creaks open, and I already know it’s Amy. I glance over my shoulder, and she greets me with that small, unwavering smile. It’s mentally hard for me to get out of bed these days.
“Ready for your shower?”
I shake my head and roll back toward the wall. “I’m not ready to get out of bed yet.” Despite it being eleven in the morning.
“How about I make you a deal? I’ll give you another half hour, but I need you to give me something.”
Bartering? Really? This is my life. I don’t owe her anything.
“What do you want?” I mutter, already feeling the defeat because I need her help.
“I want you to meet Rusty.”
I whip my head around, a surge of energy in the form of panic bubbling out. “I already told you, I’m not going to ride that beast.” I’ve watched him from my window. He towers over Ted, and Ted is not a small man.
