It wasn't okay. What a fool I was to think it, Robin berated herself. It wasn't okay. It would never be okay.
"You're doing so great, Robin!" Chopper beamed at her. "Range of motion rehabilitation exercises can really hurt sometimes, but you're doing so good! Remember, pocket-to-brow only, okay? Don't try to raise your arm all the way up." Chopper smiled at her, real adoration in his eyes. "I'm so glad you're okay, Robin. I'm so glad you're okay!"
Not ever. Not ever again. "Thanks, Chopper. I think I've got it. Thirty repetitions today, right?"
"Yup, you've got it! You're such a fast learner too, Robin!" Chopper wrapped his small arms around her waist in a firm hug. "I'm just so glad you're back!"
She resisted the urge to vomit, having him so close to her. Touching her. She fought to keep her body from stiffening. At all costs, she couldn't let the little doctor know of her revulsion. He had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, and done each and every thing he could possibly have done to bring about her recovery.
And, indeed, she had recovered quickly. After a week spent largely bed bound, sleeping often, interrupted by what seemed like constant dressing changes, IV changes, status checks, she had come more or less back to herself…enough to insist on working towards standing, walking, rehabilitating. Chopper was concerned at the speed with which she demanded a return to normalcy, but as he saw her gaining ground, he couldn't deny that it seemed she was improving steadily with little ill effect.
Sanji waited on her hand and foot. Any opportunity he had to render any aid, bring her any item, compliment her healing face and body, he took it. Once when she had felt a moment of weakness and her knees seemed to nearly give out, he swooped in with a gentlemanly arm to lean against and walked her back to her bed, fluttering about and tucking her in, singing with joy at saving his darling Robin dear.
Luffy congratulated her often, but didn't involve himself largely in her care besides stating (twenty times a day, it seemed) how happy he was to see her. Usopp and Brook seemed to have no idea what to say or do. They may have even been a little bit afraid of her, she mused.
Franky looked at her like he wanted to say something. She often caught his glances, seeing him almost physically holding back something that looked like reproach. He seemed to be determined not to tell her whatever it was he thought was wrong. She didn't mind him staying silent. He could stay silent forever.
She hated them all. Hated them with a furious passion. Wished she could kill them, tear them apart with her purple, mutilated fingertips. Rip their eyes from their heads for daring to look at her. Cut off their hands for touching her; even a gentle and friendly hand on her shoulder was enough to invite death.
And Nami didn't even care. It meant nothing to her that she was surrounded by men, by male genitalia, by these hideous and horrible beasts that might strike at any moment. These creatures so inspiring of nausea and nightmares were her friends. Just for that, Nami was expelled from any circle of trust Robin may have built. Friends…men. The words together were repellent.
Zoro kept his distance, thankfully. She hated him most of all. Hated him for his presence in that horrible place. Hated him for touching her…she almost spat. She'd asked him to recount, specifically, with no details left out, precisely what had happened from the time he'd entered that room until the time her memories were clear again. He'd admitted his crimes freely: his hands had been on her body while she was naked; he'd clothed her nakedness in the haramaki he always wore. She'd made him get rid of it, get a new one. She didn't care where or how he was to get it, didn't care if he'd had any attachment to the old one, didn't care whether it meant anything at all. It had touched her body; now he had it; he could never touch it again. Ever. He'd paused only a moment before he nodded and untied the cloth, tossing it casually overboard into the waves. At least there was that. He didn't argue with her and, unlike Franky, didn't look like he wanted to. Acknowledging a begrudging approval of his actions, though…even that small concession…made the bile rise in her throat. Men were venomous, and she felt venomous towards them. She had nothing more than a few scattered half-memories of time lying in the infirmary, feeling frightened, feeling comforted, feeling…confused. She was sure he was present for at least some of that, and he may have been there for all of it. To see her vulnerable again, after he'd seen her naked and chained, touched her, forced his clothing onto her, then to also keep his disgusting body near her while she was confused and delirious…she wanted to tear his lying tongue from his mouth. He told her that all he'd done was be there when she woke from nightmares, remind her that she was onboard the ship when she forgot what had happened, and that he'd been there when she was overcome and needed comforting. God only knew what that meant. Looking at her. Breathing near her. Putting his hands on her. His penis would have been so near her body, she could scream just thinking of it. He was repulsive.
And she wasn't completely naïve. She knew she had come in covered in blood and God only knew what else. And that she later was not bloody and soiled. Someone had washed her. Someone had helped her with physical needs, eating and urinating and defecating. Someone had done it. She couldn't bring herself to ask who. The very thought nearly caused her throat to swell shut. She would never ask. She would never know. Perhaps it had been Zoro. Perhaps it had been Chopper. Perhaps it had been Crocodile and all the armies of hell. It didn't matter who had; they all shared the blame for her suffering here.
She did not think of what had happened in That Place. She closed the door firmly on any memories of slick and bloody stone, of torture and of fear. Occasionally, half asleep, sense memories would creep into her, slithering and slimy. Smells, sounds, textures. Sweat and semen, the flapping sounds of furious masturbation. Rough stone, cutting metal, creaking leather, wet mildew. Whenever she felt the intrusion of such primal memories, her eyes would snap open and there would be no more rest that night.
She sometimes gripped a coat around her (she never dressed with anything unbuttoned or half-zipped anymore), long pants, feet fully covered in boots, hat to hide behind. She'd go to the deck, lean over the rail, and breathe deeply of the salt air. The wind and blowing sea would disguise the cold sweat clinging to her skin and her mind would slowly clear.
She knew Zoro was often on watch at night, up in the crow's nest, and when she thought about it, she knew intellectually that he could see her. Unless she actually killed him, though, how could she stop his vile eyes from seeing her?
Killing herself, perhaps. It would turn off her brain, remove the memories. Robin had no belief in an afterlife, was sure that death was merely a stopping of all physical processes. And, after all, weren't physical processes the problem here? Most nights, the only thing stopping her was the knowledge that someone would probably jump in after her. Even if she gulped sea water to force a quick drowning, that someone would still have to contact her body. Traitorous.
Another option: give in. Allow her mind to wander and never return. Find that half-functioning place where memories didn't exist, the present didn't exist, only a limbo of vapid denial. Let herself become unfocused in every sense. Let go.
Her own thoughts betrayed her though: reasoning through her alternatives took long minutes, easing into hours against the warm oak rail of the Sunny, and sunrise greeted her too often, betraying her plans and ideas of plans. Perhaps there would never be an escape. Perhaps she would always be here, surrounded by shivering horror and sickening bodies.
Robin sighed. She closed a fist tightly, relishing the shooting pains that still plagued her smallest movements. Distraction, anyway. Redirection. It was the only power she had left.
"Robin?" She jumped in shock at the low voice. Sanji lit a cigarette and stood next to her. "What brings you out here this morning?"
She shook with a blind rage, but replied calmly, "Just couldn't sleep, I guess." Knowing her thoughts, her feelings, would be just another invasion of her soul she couldn't allow them to have. She would never tell them. Never.
"Hm," he dragged deeply on the cigarette. "Sure there isn't anything you want to share? Talk about?" He looked at her, eyes soulful and deep with concern that could only be a façade. Who knew he was such a good actor? He just wanted to force himself into her; there was no question; Robin knew it without doubt. He would become erect like some sort of hellish lizard, sickening skin bulging with intent to thrust and rape. Perhaps her eyes widened, revealing a bit of closely guarded emotion. Perhaps Sanji read between the lines of her actions and words and felt the waves of fear rolling off her skin. Perhaps he intended kindness, but as his hand extended to her shoulder, he began to ask again if she was all right…but it was too late to stop the cascade.
Robin pushed him, screamed, tried to back away, stumbled, fell onto the deck, kept screaming, shaking, spittle on her lips, eyes wide and rolling in panic, a growing wetness of urine spread down her legs, heels scrambling against the boards. She became aware that bodies were pressing in, her face at level with their most nightmarish members, leaning toward her, leering toward her, sex on their breath, her body as their conquest, ready to tear her apart, ready to plunge into her mouth, her anus, her vagina, her soul. She screamed, and the scream rang into the night, a wail of agony, stripping comfort from the night, ringing out the heartbreak and terror of a thousand years.
Barely, she heard a voice. "I said, get the fuck away from her! Right now! Leave her! Back the fuck off, everybody!" the voice culminated in a growl, "NOW!"
Fear plunged deeper into her heart, knowing this beast was almost upon her, wanted her for himself. Her focus fell apart at last, and with a final breathless scream and defeated sob, she reached the aft end of the deck, nowhere else to run…desperately, she slammed her head against the sharp corner of the rail. Death was truly her only escape now. Only death; nothing else could save her.