Something happened during her therapy session. I don't know what it is, and I don't know if it's a good or a bad thing, but I know for sure that something has changed. I felt it when she threw her arms around my neck the moment I stepped out of the car.

She felt tensed yet her eyes look tired. She is pale, but she felt warm when I held her in my arms. She sobbed, but I don't think she cried, or at least I didn't see it when we pulled apart.

And now, she hasn't said anything outside of the fact that she wanted to go home. And although I feel ten feet tall because she called my home her home again, I can't shake off the need to ask her how it went.

Initially, I'd intended not to ask her about it while driving, and I still try to honor that intention since I want my full attention on her while she tells me. But the way she's staring out of the window right now in a way that's different from how she normally does it, worries me.

Her arm is resting on Daisy's car seat, and I know for a fact that she's holding Daisy's hand or Daisy's holding hers. I want to tell Jo all about my time alone with her, even though it was just a little over an hour, but since I can't read her mood, I'm not sure if it's what she wants to hear right now.

The fact that she hasn't asked me while we are a good ten minutes on our way now might be an indication of what she wants to hear, and it's clearly not what I want to tell her.

Something's up.

"You okay?" I eventually settle on. It's not as direct as "what's wrong?" and I'm hoping it's an opening to a conversation. A normal conversation; one that's like us, easy-going. If she just gives me a normal conversation now, we'll leave the heavy talk for later.

Her eyes tear away from the window and the moment they meet mine in the mirror, I know the answer to my question. She's not okay.

We are just five minutes from my house, and I seriously regret asking her this now. Fuck, I should've waited until my full attention was on her.

"Can I... I... W... Want to tell you later?" Her incoherent answer clenches my heart. She isn't crying, but I can tell she is fighting against the tears.

I'd hoped that this first session would make her feel better. I'd so badly hoped that she'd come out of that door with a relieved smile on her face because it wasn't as bad as she thought. I hadn't expected any major breakthroughs obviously, but I'd at least hoped she had gotten a positive experience.

Right now, her demeanor makes me fear the worst.

"Of course. I'm sorry," I mumble.

The five minutes that follow are quiet. Only when I drive into the underground parking, Daisy starts to cry which ends the heavy silence. Jo tries to comfort her by softly talking to her, but she isn't having any of it. I know it's because she's hungry. It's thirty past twelve now, and when I put Dais into the car seat because Dr. Brown had called that they were done, she was already searching with her mouth.

Jo seems to understand her daughter too, because we both pick up speed while walking to the lift. Luckily we don't have to wait, and just five minutes later, Jo's sitting in the corner of the couch with Daisy in her arms, drinking contently.

"She's wearing something different," she softly states while her hand follows the white and pink legging and brown sweater she is wearing. I'm standing in the kitchen and I can't help but chuckle as I think back on my first time alone with Dias.

"Yeah, she had pooped during the drive home, and it was everywhere. So I showered her and then put her in a new outfit. I then chilled on the couch for just a few minutes, and I thought she fell asleep, but then she pooped again, and I had to clean her all over. When Dr. Brown called, I was just done." The way I tell her makes it sound as if it wasn't a big deal, while in reality, it was the most stressful thing I've ever done in my life, both times. "So, this is her third outfit today."

A small giggle leaves Jo's lips, but it isn't a happy one. It sounds forced and as if she's doing it for me.

I walk over to the couch and sit next to her, making sure to keep some distance between us. "What happened, Jo?"

She sighs, her eyes never leaving Daisy. Her hand is mindlessly trailing over Daisy's arm, and I can tell she's fighting the tears by blinking rapidly. "I don't want to cry anymore," she whimpers. She sounds so tired. "I just don't want to cry anymore. I hate crying. It feels as if I give him what he wants every time."

"What?" I frown while I repeat her words in my head.

"Leonard," she spits with so much hate and venom, it almost makes me proud. I've never heard her say his name before, and for just a second I think it's progress. But then she continues talking, and I realize I couldn't be more wrong. "Look at me, Hero. I'm one little bundle of misery and all I do is cry. Even while I'm safe and you take care of me and Daisy. I'm broken, unfixable even. And it's what he wants. If he could see me now, he would enjoy this. He would sit on his chair and just laugh because he knows that I'm like this because of what he did. He'd be proud and I don't want to give him that satisfaction, but I can't even bring myself to stop crying. I hate it."

I don't like the way she's thinking. Not at all. "Jo, you are-"

"I'm what?" Her eyes shoot up so she is looking at me, the frustration visible on every feature of her pale face. "I'm not broken? I'm not miserable? I'm normal? I'm not, Hero. I'm not normal. He made sure I'm not. He and those five men made sure I won't ever be normal. They tore me apart, literally. They took everything that made me, me, even though I was so young and clueless about the world that I hadn't even figured out who that me was. And even now, while my brain tells me that he can't hurt me anymore and that he's lost all control over me, he still manages to leave his mark. The thought of him and what he did makes sure I lose that little piece that's left of me still."

I'm stunned by her voice. Stunned by the tone she uses. She's mad, frustrated, and even slightly panicked but above all, I hear pain. There is so much pain in her voice, I feel it too. She sounds so different from her normal, soft speaking voice.

"Jo, I-"

"You don't know Hero," she cuts me off again while shaking her head furiously. "Me, Josephine, she is no-one. I belong to them. Mind, body, and soul. Even Daisy belongs to them. They've taken everything from me. Those lips you kissed, you don't want to know what they did with them for years. If you'd know you'd never kiss me again. And my mind, they are in there. They are there and when I'm alone, I hear them. They took over long ago. And they took my body too. They took me-"

"Jo, stop," I mumble. I don't recognize her like this. Therapy should've made her feel better, but instead, it seems like she's fallen back. She's completely closed off; she doesn't even hear my plea to stop.

"They didn't even have the decency to take turns, Hero," she rambles on, and I don't like where this is going at all. My jaw tightens and I hold my hands up in an attempt to make her stop, but her eyes -that looked at me moments ago still- are now boring straight through me. It's as if she's reliving everything she says. "Not even the first time. They just did it, together. All of them. They literally tore me apart."

I feel the anger boiling in my chest, and my hands clench to fists. I manage to mumble another "Jo, stop," but she doesn't listen. She fucking doesn't listen. She just sits there, Daisy in her arms and still drinking from her breast, while her mouth rabbles on, ignoring the heavy sobs that force their way over her lips.

"I'm disgusting. I know I am. And nothing will change that. Nothing. You will see it too. They've marked me in ways that can't be erased. I'm-"

I jump from the couch, my body shaking because I don't know how to express the anger that I'm feeling. "Enough! Fucking stop." Jo's eyes widen while she presses her lips into a thin line, a single tear falling from her right cheek. Daisy's stopped drinking and has turned her head towards me. She isn't crying, but that's only because she seems full from drinking. "Enough, Josephine," I repeat, this time in a much softer tone for the sake of that girl in her arms.

For a long moment, we don't speak. Jo's sobs take the upper hand but she doesn't cry. She's looking at Daisy, who has turned to her breast again and resumed her drinking. I'm standing in front of them. Rage is rushing through my veins, but at the same time, I feel utterly useless.

Fuck. I want to kill those men that did this to her. I do. I really do. But at the same time, I'm trying to calm down because Jo won't get better if I do. I want to help her, but right now I have no idea what to do. I don't know how to handle this side of her, and I hate to admit it, but right now she's part of the reason I'm so mad. A small part, but a part still.

She has every right to react this way, but I still can't handle it. She's not the Jo I've got to know over the last few days, and it scares me equally as much as it breaks my heart. But she can't lose herself like this and especially not while she's holding Daisy.

In front of me, Jo takes a deep breath through her nose. She then stands as well, her eyes glued to Daisy. "I'll be in our room."

She doesn't look at me as she turns and walks out of the living room. And I don't stop her. At this very moment, I don't want to stop her. I'm too mad. I am mad that she speaks about herself like this. I'm mad that she is convinced that I find her disgusting. It feels as if she's doubting or even mocking me the fact that I've told her I love her.

But most of my furry is aimed at the fucking asshole that's in custody, along with the five men that she keeps talking about as well. I'm fucking fuming, and it makes me realize that spending a few hours apart is what Jo and I might need right now.

For a short moment, I don't move while I debate on what to do. Do I stay here and just get myself rilled up and even more angry about everything? Should I take a few minutes and then go talk to her? Christ, I don't fucking know.

I've never been this angry. I need some space.

I move my hands over my face and then walk to my room. I open my closet and pull out a hoodie, and then walk to my nightstand to grab my air pods out of the drawer. I then walk back to my closet and grab a beanie, putting it on my head while I walk to the front door.

I pull the hoodie over my head and put on my trapped Nike running shoes that are standing next to the door, and fish my phone out of my pocket to connect my air pods. I put them in my ears and pull the beanie a little lower so my ears are covered, and then take a deep breath and open the door. Do I tell her I go for a run to blow off steam? Or do I just leave and give her the silence that she clearly needs?

After thinking about it carefully, I open Spotify on my phone, and when the first tunes of my friend's new track Fathom fills my ears, I step out and pull the door shut behind me.

We both need space.

A good thirty minutes and a little over twenty-one miles later, I'm opening the door of my apartment again. My lungs are burning and I'm sweat-soaked, but my run has cleared my head and subsided my anger. I've missed this.

Normally I'd run four times a week, but the past thirteen days I've been lacking. I was either working or at the hospital with Jo, and now that they live here I've stayed home as well. It's something that goes against who I am completely. I love nature and I love to be outside, whether it's with my friends, during a football game with the M-Boys, or just running miles like I did now. It's the reason I don't have to hit the gym and still stay up my game for work.

It feels liberating every time, and I needed it desperately.

I kick off my shoes and yank off my beanie after I've closed the door. My apartment is quiet, but I see that the Christmas tree is on from where I stand which tells me that Jo's been in the living room since I'd turned it off before I picked her up.

I walk straight to my bedroom so I can lose my hoodie and air pods, and then head to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. I'm desperate to talk to Jo, but I need to get clean first since I can smell myself. It's disturbing but understandable since I've beaten my record of twenty miles in thirty.

I close the door behind me and turn on the shower before stripping. I meet my reflection in the mirror and see my red cheeks and nose, as well as my heavy eyes. My hair is soaked, but overall I look just as I feel; healthy, calm, and productive.

I step underneath the shower and close my eyes at the feel of the warm water. It's cold outside, and while it's the perfect temperature to run, a shower afterward tells you how cold you actually are. It almost hurts at first, feeling the hot water on my cold cheeks, but it's welcoming too.

I grab my shampoo from the shelf and soap my hair, smiling at the smell. It reminds me of Jo's hair and Daisy's shower this morning. They both smell like me now.

After soaping my body as well, I rinse and just enjoy the warm water for a few minutes more. I hope being alone for that half-hour helped Jo just as much as it did me. I hope she's gotten some time to figure out her thoughts as well, and I hope we can have a normal conversation in a few.

I'm desperate to know what happened during therapy. I want to continue the way we talked yesterday; how she told me about what happened to her. I love how she feels comfortable enough to be honest with me, and I pray that therapy didn't change that comfort level.

After I'm clean and all warmed up, I turn off the shower and grab a towel off the shelf. I towel dry and wrap it around my hips before whipping the mirror so I get another glimpse of my reflection. I move my hair -that's actually in need of a cut- back by using my hands, and then do my face care business.

After I'm done, I slip out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, noting that my apartment is still silent. I think Daisy's asleep, and given how tired Jo looked, there is a good possibility that she's taking a nap as well.

With the intention go look for them as soon as I'm dressed, I open my closet and grab myself a clean boxer while I drop my towel to the floor. And then -completely out of nowhere- the door to my room flies open.

"The fuck," I curse under my breath at the same time an unsure Jo says,"Hero, I think we need-"

Her sentence is cut off and her eyes widen the moment she realizes I'm naked. I'm still standing on the same spot, unable to move except for my arm which I move down so my hand is covering my package.

"Oh, Gosh. S...sorry. I'm s..so s...sorry," she stutters, but she isn't turning around. She's not walking away. I think she's frozen to her spot too, just like me. Before I have time to reassure her I'm not mad, she grabs the door handle. "I'm sorry," she repeats more determined, her cheeks bright red. She then walks over the threshold and closes the door behind her with force. Her steps on the floor in the hall disappear soon after that.

What the fuck just happened?

Jesus Christ. As if the talk that we were about to have wasn't fucking difficult enough.

I dress in record time, my heart suddenly beating like a maniac in my chest. Within a minute I'm done, and after I've slapped a head on my still wet hair, I make my way to the living room where I find Jo sitting on the couch. She's sitting in the corner, her legs pulled up and bend. Daisy's not here, so I assume she's asleep in her bed.

"Jo?" I tentatively ask while approaching the couch. She looks up at the sound of my voice, seemingly nervous. "Hero, I'm sorry," she starts immediately. "I heard you in the shower and I assumed you'd dressed there. I really didn't mean to burst in like that and disrespect your privacy. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I promise," she rambles, not even taking proper breaths in between. She sounds scared and full of regret, and for a moment I think back to reflect if I reacted that horrible to her when she walked in but I don't recall it.

I sit on the couch as well, in the middle so we still have some distance but she's not completely out of reach. "It's okay. I shouldn't just walk around like that. It's a habit of mine and I have to get used to not being alone here."

She nods her head once, the discomfort clear on her face. I feel awkward as fuck, and I fucking hate that this had to happen now. "Do you want to tell me about therapy?" I ask her. It can't get any more tensed between us than this, so I might as well continue this torture.

She hates my question; her whole demeanor tells me she does. She folds over more so she is just a small bundle that desperately wants to hide in the cushions of the couch. But, against all my expectations, she does force herself to give me an answer. "I left with more questions than I went in."

Her answer is cryptic, but I see it as an opening. "What kind of questions?"

"About everything. About what happened to me. About how I have to move on. If I'm even able to move on. About what will happen to him; will he get punishment or will he just lie and get away with it?" She lists them while looking at her hands, and after she's braced herself, she looks up. "About you. And about myself."

She's confused. Of course, she is confused. After everything she's been through, I'm surprised that confusion takes the upper hand, to be honest. Because underneath all the layers, there must be so much pain and fear.

"What about me?" I carefully ask. I want to answer questions for her, and the questions I know the answer to, without doubt, have to be ones about me.

She shrugs. "Everything. Daisy and I stay here with you but I hardly know you. I realized today that I don't know who you are except for the person that saved me that night."

"You want to know who I am?" I sound eager, fucking excited even and I don't know why. All I know is that I want to take away the uncertainty she's feeling.

Unlike my excitement, Jo seems guarded. She looks so uncomfortable; it's a sharp contrast to how she was this morning. "Jo, come here?" I ask- almost beg, desperate to get back that fucking blissful feeling we shared this morning.

Her eyes meet mine, and I see tears well. I know she doesn't want that. Fuck, I don't want to make her cry. "Jo, Please," I full-on beg. I need her close to me and I swear to God it would make her feel better too.

And finally, after what feels like hours of silence in which she battles with herself so greatly it hurts to see, she tentatively slides her bum over the couch until she's sitting next to me.

First I wrap an arm around her shoulder, carefully testing the waters, and when she finally gives in and leans her whole body into me, I pull her against me even tighter by using my other arm as well.