Free Necessary Evil of Nathan Miller by Demelza Carlton

can – I need to be able to defend myself. I have all the time in
the world while I’m stuck in bed. How often can I do them, without
doing myself further damage?”
    She must have seen my determination.
“You can do a set or two every hour, but make sure you take breaks
in between and stop if it hurts. You don’t need to push yourself
that hard.”
    “ I do. It’ll hurt far
more if they get their hands on me again. I won’t let that
happen.”
    She smiled sadly. “Good luck with that,
honey. You take care and I’ll see you for another session in a few
days.”
    As soon as she’d left, I started my
exercises again. I couldn’t get my strength back fast enough.

Part 27
    Nathan placed a pastel pink laptop by
my lunch tray.
    I looked at him, wondering how he’d
come to choose a pink computer. I hadn’t thought he was gay, but
who knew? Maybe the sleazy manner was an act to hide where his
tastes really lay.
    He saw me looking from the laptop to
him and he started to explain quickly.
    "It’s my sister’s old laptop. She
doesn’t need it any more. You can borrow this as long as you need
to, so you can record what you remember."
    I nodded, trying to steel myself.
    I could have said I lost my nerve, as
he took an inordinately long time setting up the laptop, plugging
it in, turning it on and waiting for it to boot up. I could have
said the sheer trauma and pain had made my memories hazy and I
experienced some sort of amnesia. But I didn’t.
    I can’t repeat what I said, because
what started as an effort to remember became an exercise in
forgetting. I’d start telling Nathan about one memory, then realise
that the memory was too painful to focus on or, with increasing
frequency, too graphic for me to burden Nathan with. I used vague
words and half-finished sentences to describe the very clear
nightmares in my head.
    Every time I returned to that Word
document to add to the record of my memories, I shuddered at the
memory of that first session, when I had to describe the PG version
of the horrors aloud to Nathan. He typed it all in, his expression
holding pity, sadness, desperation and furious resolve, as my
memories subjected me to the R-rated version that could never be
censored in my head.
    What would Nathan do if I told him
the uncensored version in all its detail? I wondered every time
I remembered his reaction to the little I told him that day.
    I lost track of time, but I kept going
until the horrible memories wouldn’t go away, with my eyes open or
closed. I tried to shut them out, but even that failed.
    Nathan wrapped his arms around me in an
attempt at comfort. Instead it felt like a reminder of help, which
when it came was too little, too late. His pity only made it
worse.
    I pushed away from him and lay down on
the crisp white sheets, not looking at him because I knew if I
apologised for my rudeness I’d cry again.
    When Nathan suggested he leave for a
bit, I panicked. The thought of being alone with my memories was
terrifying. Especially if his alone time brought him to the
realisation that he couldn't handle this any more. I need him to
come back.
    He must have seen it mirrored in my
eyes, our mutual desire to escape from my memories. He was already
up and poised for flight. After a slight hesitation, he invited me
to the coffee shop downstairs for cake.
    I felt wrung out like a dishcloth that
had been used on one too many dirty pots. Yet even the thought of
caffeine and sugar had me sitting up again, seriously considering
his half-hearted offer.
    I opened my mouth to accept, but he
pulled his shirt over his head. Oh.
    Beneath his loose-fitting shirt, Nathan
had been hiding more than just his injuries. I wondered how many
hours he spent in the gym to maintain those muscles. Looking at his
biceps, I could see how he managed to lift me so effortlessly. The
dressing was gone from his shoulder, but an angry patch of red
remained. What I'd thought to be a mortal injury had only been a
bad graze. There'd