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SEVEN

"Let me see." he said as soon as the door to the trailer was locked behind him. Bellamy had all but collapsed onto the couch the very second she stepped foot inside.

"I want to see Miya." she said through gritted teeth. It felt like her whole body was submerged in water that caused it pain. Hurt was everywhere. Her face, her hands, her stomach. It only seemed to get worse with time.

"Let me see." he said again, kneeling beside the couch. She saw his hands go for her shoulder and instinctively pushed him away. Using her arms to propel herself upward, she stood. "You're bleeding." he pointed out, clearly annoyed.

"You think I don't know that?" Bellamy barked on a laugh. "Call Curtis and have him bring Miya. I need to see Miya."

She could feel herself filling up with emotion. It started at her toes and slowly consumed every inch of her body until it threatened to choke her. Tears pooled in her eyes, her heart raced in fear and anticipation and sparks made themselves visible at the edges of her vision. She felt herself sway back and forth.

"Let me see your damn shoulder before you pass out." he was standing too, towering over her as always. His hand landed on her shoulder, pushing her body back onto the couch. For a moment, she couldn't do anything but breathe, and even that was a challenge. Her eyes watched his fingers as they pulled back the torn fabric of her shirt. Blood seeped through the threads and stained his hands.

Once her body stopped moving, she couldn't get it to go again. Were there cinder blocks tied to her arms? It sure felt so. Her neck wouldn't listen when she told it to turn. Her eyes were locked in one place, unmoving, unseeing.

"I can't see. Dammit." he mumbled. "The bathroom has more light." she registered that he was speaking, but the words didn't make sense. They sounded like he was whispering from a hundred yards away. "No,no, no, hey. Stay with me." a forced pulled her face to the side, putting her eyes directly in line with his.

The quick motion caused bile to rise in her throat and threaten to spew out. But it was also enough to knock her back into reality. She felt his tight grip on her chin and brought her own hand up to pry him away.

"Bathroom, come on." he pulled her to her feet and she limped her way to the bathroom. Bellamy felt like a robot. She was walking, but she didn't feel herself walking. She didn't feel her feet on the ground, her muscles tensing with the steps. She felt nothing. In the back of her mind, the logical part, she knew she was in shock. And if she knew, Frank did too.

The overhead light in the tiny bathroom beamed down and let off a low hum of power. Frank rustled through the med kit, tossing things onto the side of the tub when they got in his way. Band aids, gauze, thread, needles. Finally he pulled out a small sterile wipe and turned towards her.

"Take that off." he blinked down at her stomach and then turned on the tap. Bellamy stood still, watching him scrub the dirt and blood off his hands. Her hand settled at the hem of her jeans, but stopped there. Frank let out a growl of frustration, which she was sure came with an eye role that she couldn't see.

His hands took over and began fumbling with the end of her shirt, his knuckles bushing against the skin below her belly button. In a flash, Bellamy's mind erupted. Faces of men she hadn't seen in a year ran across her vision like a slideshow. Their voices clear as day in her ears, heavy with that sickening Irish accent. Her wrists burned where they'd held her down, her throat course and sore from screaming. Leg shaking from the pain of being pierced with the sharp blade. Heart kicking into overdrive, Bellamy pushed Frank away. It wasn't his hands she felt, it was theirs.

"Alright, alright." his voice was a low grunt. Frank pulled his hands back, keeping them low and in between them. Bellamy's breaths came quickly, her chest heaving with each gasp. He bent his knees, bringing their eyes to the same level. But her eyes couldn't be still and bounced around like ping pong balls. Frank's fingers grabbed her chin and tilted her head up, forcing her to focus on him. "You're here." he whispered.

The statement caught her off guard and yet, it anchored her. You're here. Bellamy's eyes finally latched onto his. She was here. In this shitty bathroom of this shitty trailer. She wasn't in the warehouse. She wasn't strung up or held down. She wasn't being violated and she wasn't being beaten.

She was here. With Frank.

"Welcome back." he said when Bellamy finally stopped convulsing with rapid breaths. "Yeah, flashbacks are a bitch." he murmured. She sent him a confused look. Is that what just happened to her? A flashback?

"I…" she trailed off, not even sure what she had planned on saying.

"You want me to patch ya up? Or do you still plan on bleeding to death?" his tone was stoic, but a small quirk of his lips told her he was joking. She glanced down at her chest where dark gooey liquid stained the front of her shirt. He had cut deeper than she'd thought. Shouldn't the blood have stopped by now? Frank had turned to busy himself at the sink, scrubbing soap into this hands. She was thankful that his attention was elsewhere for a moment, thankful that his eyes were no longer breaking through her exterior. And thankful that he hadn't tried to undress her again. He'd leave that task to her.

Bellamy's fingers played with the hem of her shirt, tugging it up and letting it drop. She had a bra on, and knew this wasn't the time to be shy. It was life or death.

It was a long process made longer by her slow and lethargic pace. But Frank had stopped rushing, allowing her to take her time and do it her way. When she was finally settled back on the toilet seat, she folded her arms around her middle and awkwardly sat forward, trying to hide herself. It was stupid for her to be so timid.

But as Frank bent in front of her, she couldn't stop herself from shaking. His dark eyes examined the wound and only left that spot to come directly up to her own. Carefully, Frank let his hand come to rest on her shoulder, just above the source of the blood, keeping his eyes on her to gauge her reaction to the touch. When she didn't flinch away, he continued his work on the wound. Wiping away whatever dirt and blood he could to get a clear view.

In the back of her mind, it occured to Bellamy that he must have had medical training. The way his fingers deftly worked around her damaged flesh was cut and dry. No bullshit, just work. He reached over and pulled something from the first aid kit on the edge of the tub. It was a clear airplane bottle.

What the hell? She thought as she watched him pull the cap off the small bottle with his teeth. Was he seriously going to have a goddamn drink in the middle of this? But when he peered up at her with an apologetic look and a mumbled "sorry" it became clear. Without much more warning, he poured the liquid over her collarbone, allowing it to drip down over the cut.. The burn was so strong that she couldn't stop herself from nearly jumping out of her seat. In fact, if it hadn't been for Frank's giant hands holding her in place, she would have.

"Easy." He repeated the word a few times before the burning subsided. Bellamy let her breath out through her teeth. That was the worst of it. From that moment on, Frank worked in silence to clean and cover the cut. She watched him, idly amazed with his efficentness.

"Thank you." she whispered, feeling suddenly compelled to say the words. He didn't look up, but nodded in acknowledgement.