Emily POV

I opened my eyes, and saw a white ceiling. I looked around white everywhere. Where was I?

I sat up, and winced in pain. I looked around some more and realized I was in a hospital. I started to panic. My foster father said that if I ever left, he'd torture my siblings. I couldn't breath. What was happening? Why was I here? I just wanted to go back. I just wanted to be left alone. I pulled my legs up to my chest, and laid my head on my knees.

A few minutes later a nurse walked in. I panicked again. I started breathing heavy, and my vision started blurring. I could barely hear the nurse, "Honey calm down! You're ok now!" More doctors rushed in and that didn't help; it made it worse. The nurse continued talking, "She's hyperventilating! We have to get her breathing under control now!"

A doctor reached in a drawer and pulled out a syringe. I tried to back away from them but I was too weak; I could hardly move. The doctor plunged the needle into my IV, and I started to lose consciousness.

The cycle went on like that for a few days. They put me in restraints after the second time. That just made it worse. They finally took the restraints off after one of the officers who brought me in told them that I had been bolted to the wall.

I was laying here, my head turned towards the wall, hoping that my foster father had not touched my siblings, that maybe he'd come back for me instead.

The doctors finally noticed I was physically not able to speak. They already had me on pain meds for all my other injuries, so they gave me ice chips. Someone sent a therapist down to my room daily.

I didn't speak until two months later when they forced me to join the group therapy session. There were six of us, sitting on hard plastic chairs arranged in a circle. It was so cliché. I had finally gained enough strength to walk on my own, so I arrived early. I looked at the time. I was two hours early. Oh well, at least I didn't have to sit in that room any longer. I refused to talk in group therapy too. The police became frustrated because I wouldn't give them my statement of what happened to me.

About three sessions in to it, a soldier joined our group. He had damage to his voice, so he signed. He had an interpreter, but I understood sign language. He described to us all how he had been in Iraq until recently. The explosion that he was in damaged his vocal cords. He was also in a wheel chair. His thighbone had been broken. I rushed out of there after that session. I went back to my room, and curled up in my bed. I didn't know why, but he made me uncomfortable. The next session was the same. He sat next to me, asked me a question, didn't react when I didn't respond, and I ran out of the room when it was done. The session after that he came early too. His interpreter didn't show up until the meeting started though. We just sat there in silence until then. The meeting after that he brought me a coffee. I didn't drink it because of how the caffeine would react with my medication.

The meeting after that he brought me a candy bar. It was my favorite; twix. I tried not to remind myself of my siblings, and just enjoyed the gift. At the end of that meeting I waited before I left. He noticed and waited too. I signed, 'Thank you,' and then left.

Two hours later he wheeled into my room. My eyes widened in shock. He started to sign, 'My name is Nick. Why do you not talk in the sessions?' I noticed he whispered the words as he signed.

I shook my head and assessed him. He was pretty muscular, and I could guess he'd be tall. He couldn't be much older than me. His brown hair wasn't much darker than mine. His green eyes seemed to be constantly searching for more.

'What is your name?'

I uncurled my knees from my body, and sat up more, 'Emily.'

He smiled, 'How old are you?'

I hadn't thought about that since I had been here. I still didn't know how much time I had been with my last set of foster parents. I looked in Nate's eyes, 'I do not know.'

He didn't seem as shocked as I thought he would, 'Well do you know what year you were born in?' I nodded and told him. He thought for a second, 'You are 17.'

Had it truly been less than a year? 'That is not possible.'

His head tilted to the side, 'Why not?'

It seemed even in signing I had the capability to stutter, 'I-I was tortured.' I paused. 'I do not know for how long.'

He looked in my eyes then continued, 'Would you like to me to prove it to you?' I knew he wasn't being condescending; that he honestly wanted me to know. I nodded and he reached for my hand. 'If I tell you where to go, can you wheel me?" I nodded. 'Good.'

He instructed me through hallways, around corners, and up the elevator but we finally arrived at a room. I stopped just outside; I didn't want to interrupt whoever was in there. Nate waved me inside, so I pushed him in further. I rolled him next to a chair, and he rolled himself in further. He waved for me to sit, so I did. I made sure I could see the whole room though, and the door. He rolled over to the dresser and pulled out a little binder. It was leather bound. He rolled back over to me, ad handed it to me.

'Open up to the date you last remember.' I flipped through it until I found the date I entered the foster home. That was the only day I was completely sure of. He looked in my eye, then slowly flipped through the months. When he got through six months, he pointed to a date. 'That is today.'

I shook my head, 'No.' I started crying, small tears at first, but then they grew into giant heaves. I started sobbing. How would my siblings ever forgive me? They probably hated me right now. I had missed that much of their life. I had missed both their birthdays, and Christmas. Did they get gifts?

Nate rolled his chair next to me, and pulled me into his lap. I could hear him whispering, "It's ok Em, it's all gonna be ok."

When I stopped crying, he motioned for me to get up on the bed. 'Do you have nightmares?' I nodded. 'You can sleep in here with me tonight. I cannot sleep on those beds anyways. They are too uncomfortable.'

I nodded. 'How long were you in Iraq?'

I saw him faintly smile, 'You don't beat around the bush do you?'

I shook my head, 'Why should I? It wastes time.'

He chuckled. 'True. Well I was over there for almost a year. I joined the army on my eighteenth birthday, and they shipped me out six months later. I had four months left on my tour when they sent me home for medical reasons.'

'What reasons?'

'Well you told me so it is only fair I tell you huh?' Before I could ask what he meant he continued, 'I was tortured too, not as long though.'

'But you said it was an explosion?'

He nodded, 'That was the only reason I was found. The building next to the one I was in exploded. It knocked the wall of the room I was in off. My rescuers said it was by pure chance that I was found.'

I nodded, 'Me too.'

We talked until a nurse came in. Immediately I stopped signing. I put my hands in my lap and looked down. Hopefully she noticed I wasn't here. I noticed Nate take a whiteboard and start writing on it. Then he showed it to the nurse. I could feel her look at me, "Ok dearie, you can sleep in here tonight. But don't do this too often ok?" I nodded and she left.

It was a few days later when Nate came over next to me and slowly grabbed one of my hands. He pointed to the scar on it. I took a deep breath, 'They are both an 'X'.'

He nodded, "I can see that. Why?" We spent all of our time together, and the nurses let me sleep in his room most nights. The nights they wouldn't Nate would sneak up to my room and sleep on the couch.

I knew he meant why did I get them. 'My foster father did that. He did not liked it when I signed after he forced me to drink acid.'

Nate lifted my chin up so he could look in my eyes. "None of that was your fault you know." His voice came back a few days ago.

I shrugged my shoulders, 'I still deserved it.'

Nate looked over his shoulder, "If I show you something will you promise not to tell anyone?" I nodded. He shut the door and started to take his shirt off.

I panicked. I backed away from him and into the corner, 'No, no, no, no, no.' I started mouthing the words then started crying, 'Please don't. I'll be good.'

Nate stopped, 'What's wrong?' I shook my head and started sobbing again. He came closer to me and I whimpered. "I promise I won't hurt you Em." He grabbed my hand and held it. He let me calm down, then pulled me to his chest when I stopped crying. "I could never hurt you Em." He started stroking my hair.

"I'm sorry Nate." My voice came out very cracked and quiet, but it was still there.

Nate pulled me away from his body, "You have nothing to be sorry about."

I nodded, "Yes I do. I shouldn't have freaked out on you. I'm sorry, it's just I had a really bad nightmare last night." I lowered my head and let my hair cover my face. We hadn't ever talked about my nightmares before. I knew Nate knew I had them though because he would often be sitting right next to my bed, pretending to be asleep. He would always make sure he was in my line of sight when I woke up though.

"How bad were they?" He slowly got up on the couch next to me. Nate had regained some strength in his legs, but not enough to walk around; just enough to move from chair to chair easier. I could see his arms flex as he tried to use them to support himself. He winced as he lowered himself on to the couch.

I pulled my knees into my chest, "As bad as they were before I met you." My voice was slowly coming out more even, with less cracks in it.

He turned to face me more, "You've never told me about them before."

I paused, "I know. They were really bad. The only time I slept was when the nurses gave me sleeping pills in my food." I waited. "It's like I'm back there, except worse. I know I can't get out. And I can't protect my siblings his time either."

"Em, can I show you some of my scars? Just so you know you're not alone?"

"W-what do you mean?"

"I'd just take my shirt off to show you the scars. The moment it makes you uncomfortable I'll put my shirt back on."

Finally I nodded and he did so. It made me nervous when he took his shirt off, but he didn't move towards me at all. I looked at his chest then reached my hand out. I noticed the pink slash marks across his chest. Some of them had faded to white. When I had almost touched his chest, I pulled my hand back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to- I didn't realize-"

Nate interrupted me, "Hey it's okay. If you want to touch them you can. Just be gentle, some of them are a little sore with pressure put on them."

"Ok." I whispered.

I lightly put my finger on one of the scars, and noticed some stubble. "Did they shave your chest hair off?"

"The doctors did to stitch them up."

I could feel the vibrations of his chest. It looked like there were only three lines. Two looked like they were in an 'X' across his chest, the other was haphazardly from his heart down to the opposite hip. "They were trying to access your organs." I felt across the last one then pulled away. "Thank you."

Nate nodded and smiled, "No problem. Do you have nay questions about them?" I shook my head. "How did you know they were trying to get to my organs?"

"Oh, that. Um the first few weeks here I would go to the library daily. I looked up torture; a lot."

He nodded, "Makes sense."

"Well, I stumbled upon an article about torture in the middle east verses torture that was used at Guantanamo Bay." We talked about that for a while longer.

When the nurse told us we could go get food at the cafeteria, Nate looked at me, "How come you call me 'Nate'?"

I stuttered, "Oh, if-f you don't want me to c-call you that I won't."

He grabbed my wrist, "No, I like it. It's like me calling you 'Em.' I was just wondering why. Most people call me 'Drew' or something."

We continued walking, "I don't know. It's what popped into my mind when you told me your name. It's just like my brother Sam. His real name is Samuel, but that's too long for him. He's too care free for that. Plus when you first signed our name I thought you spelled 'Nate.' My sign language was still a little rusty." I stopped and put my hand up to my mouth. I wasn't supposed to talk about my siblings ever. If I did the nurses would find out and tell them to come here and my foster father could find them and kill them. I could get in so much trouble.

Nate stood up and walked over to me. He put his hands on my shoulders. He looked down to my face, "Hey, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong. Just tell me what's wrong."

I shook my head, "I can't. He'll kill me if I do." I saw a flash of anger in Nate's eyes and that made it worse. I tried to slide down the wall, but Nate held me up.

"Hey now, you're all right. He can't hurt you anymore."

I shook my head, "Y-you don't know that. He said he'd kill them."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise. You can trust me."

I shook my head, "He said he'd kill them if I ever talked about them again."

Nate lifted my chin up, "I promise I will always protect you. I think of you as a little sister Em. I'll make sure no one ever hurts you again. Got it?"

I sniffled and nodded, "So does that mean I can't talk about you too now?"

He chuckled and shook his head, "No hun. He never knew about me. You can talk about me, to me, or at me all you want."

I nodded, and wrapped my arms around myself, "Good. I don't think I could lose you too."

"Glad we got that one down. Now will you help me down into my chair again? My legs are shaking from trying to stand up."

"Oh! Sorry! Yeah, of course!" I grabbed his arms and helped lower him to his chair. When he was finally sitting I could see the pain on his face. "Sorry."

He looked up at me with a smirk in his eye, "I'm going to make you pay me every time you say that from now on."

I gave him a small smile, "Yeah, out of my million-dollar trust fund. Let's go get lunch dork."