Healed by Doc Novel

Chapter 1 The world is filled with monsters that seem to take different shapes with time. One minute, they're simply a figment of your imagination, and the next, they're materializing into solid figures that haunt you. Hurt you. Seventeen years ago, I believed that the shapeless pile of clothes under my bed, crumpled together into a scary shape, was a monster waiting for me to fall asleep so it could come out and bite me. At four, I was terrified to even look under the bed after lights out or peek into the dark corner of the closet in case the monster jumped out and attacked me.

A year later, the monster that haunted me no longer dwelled under my bed or in my closet. No, it took the shape of the person who was supposed to love me most. This time, the monster was a pretty brunette with emerald green eyes, not unlike my own. Gorgeous eyes that watched me with both hate and regret. I was five when my mother packed her things and left, not once looking back at the little girl she was abandoning. She left me under the care of yet another monster, one far worse because he wasn't alone.

My most vicious monsters came in the form of my short-tempered stepbrother, whose life goal was to make mine a living hell, and a stepfather who hated the sight of me. They were aided by neighbors who pretended not to notice the yelling or the bruises and social workers who were too busy to do more than take my stepfather at his word. Other monsters came and went, morphing my life into a living nightmare. I got out, but the cost of survival was high. A life was lost. Another ruined. And I'm still paying the debt with grief and guilt.

ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ Fɪnd-Novel.net I left that part of my life behind, bearing wounds that still haven't healed and regrets that still haunt me, but...I escaped. I managed to survive the streets, got into college in an attempt to become a better version of the very people who failed me, and made my life what it is. Now I spend my days helping others escape their monsters. Haven House. A few months ago, this very building was a gentleman's club, one that auctioned women to cruel wealthy men.

It was once a place of horror before the infamous Steel Rebels MC took over and turned it into a women's shelter, where women and their children can find safety under their protection. I've stayed at plenty of the city's shelters and know firsthand they weren't always safe. Between the crowding of desperate women and the shady workers, sometimes it was safer on the streets. Haven House is different. My eyes drift over the women walking into the common room.

The air is filled with the gentle scent of freshly baked bread and something floral, a carefully curated blend meant to feel both comforting and hopeful. The walls are painted a creamy hue, and the furniture is a mix of vintage and modern pieces. Everything about this women's shelter is intentional. From the sheer linen curtains that allow sunlight to create patterns on the polished floors to the art pieces on the walls. It's a home for women seeking a refuge from monsters.

My mouth stretches in a smile when I spot a woman gently stroking the soft fur of a therapy dog curled at her feet, her face reflecting a moment of peace. It's a welcome contrast to the pain and trauma etched on her face when she arrived here a week ago, battered and bruised. Her expression may be clear for the moment of the horror she went through, but I know from experience that her soul is not. It never will be. My smile falters, and I push back my own memories as I start for her when a sudden crash shatters my attention.

My head snaps toward the disturbance, my heart leaping into my throat. I don't miss the way the women in the room tense up, always on edge at any sound, but this is a well-protected building. There are always a couple guards on watch around the building, and no one in their right mind would dare come after someone under the protection of the Steel Rebels. Even so, that doesn't quiet the panicked little voice at the back of my mind, reminding me of the monster I escaped, one that's still out there somewhere.

I push it down, force the thought away and paste on a smile for the women before pushing through the doorway, my eyes scanning the entry hall for the source of the commotion. "Cara!" I recognize the urgent voice as that of my boss, Samantha. She's the director of the shelter and has been somewhat of a maternal figure to me from the moment I showed up here four months ago. She offered me a job and lets me live at the shelter while I juggle college and work. I follow her voice to the front doors and stop, my heart racing at the scene in front of me.

Samantha is kneeling beside a woman, her face etched with concern and horror. My eyes shift from my boss to the woman with a swollen eye and split lip. Her injuries aren't an uncommon sight here, but something about the woman's face and the way she is clutching her side send my pulse racing. Her left eye is bruised purple with a thin trail of dried blood along her hairline. Perhaps it's the extent of her injuries or the innocent terror in her eyes, but it triggers my memories, and I'm suddenly transported back in time.

The memories paralyze me, and I find myself frozen to the floor as a cold wave of terror washes over me. Instead of the injured woman, I see a younger version of myself: the fear, the pain, the helplessness. My mind drifts to the events of that night years ago, reliving the violence...and the betrayal that followed. "Cara!" Samantha's voice, sharp and clear, cuts through the fog of my mind, and I'm snapped back to reality. "Sorry," I choke out, my voice coming out in a near whimper as I try to push down my past pain to help the hurt woman.

"I'm sorry." There is a questioning look in Samantha's eyes as she studies my face, but now isn't the time. "Trade places with me and get her inside. I need to call for help," she says, nodding for me to take her place. I shake off the lingering shadows and force myself to move, kneeling beside the injured woman and taking her arm to help her up. "Hi, my name is Cara," I tell her as Samantha gets up to make the phone call. "I work here, and I promise you that you're safe now." The woman looks up, and my heart clenches when I realize she is at most a year or two younger than me.

She's at least eighteen, but no more than twenty. "It's my fault," she whispers, her eyes crowding with tears. "This is all my fault." I thought so too once, but I was wrong, and she is too. I vehemently shake my head. "It's not your fault," I tell her, tugging her gently to her feet. "Come on now, let me help you inside. What's your name?" "Abby," she sniffs, taking tentative steps toward the door.

"My head hurts." "Let's get you inside so you can rest as we wait for the doctor." Some of the women rush to help when they spot us, taking most of Abby's weight as we guide her to our medical room and help her onto the exam bed. It's not the most comfortable place to rest, but it's the best to assess her injuries and get her patched up. With the number of battered women who come through our doors, a room like this is a necessity. I take Abby's hand to comfort her as the other women quietly file out of the room. "He was so mad at me. I've never seen him that angry before.

God, what if he comes after me?" She whimpers, a tremor racking her body. "No one can get to you here, Abby," I reassure her. "This place is safe. You are safe here, I promise you." She nods and is about to say something when Samantha walks in, informing us that Saint, the Steel Rebels MC president, is on his way with a doctor. We don't often call in doctors, as most of the staff are trained in first aid and Samantha herself is a retired nurse. If she called for a doctor, the injuries on Abby must have her very concerned.

Until we know more about her situation, we won't risk taking her to the hospital unless we have to. We learned the hard way how dangerous that can be. Sometimes the worst abusers have the best connections. "How long do you think they'll take to get here?" I ask Samantha, worried by the glazed look in the girl's eyes. "Not long," she assures me. "Why don't you go into the kitchen to get her some water?" "Okay." I pat Abby's hand before rushing out and to the kitchen. My hands are trembling as I grab a bottle of water for her.

It's not often that the demons of my past come out to play, but when they do, they're brutal. I'm okay...better than okay. I've molded myself into someone who can help others deal with their own monsters. I'm no longer that little girl who was startled by the smallest of noises. I'm stronger. For women like Abby, I have to be. With a deep sigh to rein in my nerves, I walk back to the exam room, drawing up short when I catch male voices coming from inside. I recognize the first as Saint's, who I've met a few times, and the other, much calmer voice must belong to the doctor.

Saint and Samantha are standing to the right, murmuring in low tones as the doctor, whose back is turned to me, speaks to Abby. I step into the room, ready to head to Abby's side and hold her hand for support, when the doctor suddenly turns around to retrieve something from his bag and...my heart stops. For a second, perhaps longer, my world tilts on its axis as I stare into the face of a ghost from a past I have longed to forget. He's here.

In a white shirt, crisp and clean, that strikingly contrasts with the ink peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeves, is the one man I thought I would never see again. His skin is just as I remember, the color of sun-soaked olives and glowing with a healthy warmth. He's more muscular and rugged than the last time I saw him. Now his body appears to be a sculpture come to life, all lean muscles that look like they've been carved from granite. His dark hair is longer and neatly slicked back, so different from the short military buzz cut he'd had when I saw him last.

And Christ, was that during his sentencing nine years ago? He's out of prison. I had no idea he had been released. Good lord, could he now be looking for those who put him there? I imagine he'd love nothing more than to avenge the life that was stolen from him, and I am, no doubt, at the top of the list. The thought brings a tremble to my hands, and I drop the bottle, attracting attention to me. He turns around, and I suck in a sharp breath when those dark eyes lock on mine. God, I remember those eyes the most. Pools of rich dark brown that betray little of the man's thoughts.

The same eyes that had watched me as I'd said the words that sealed his fate. I hold my breath as I wait for him to recognize me. For his eyes to cloud with rage and announce to everyone in the room the kind of heartless monster that I am, but his eyes simply drop to the bottled water on the floor before turning back to his patient. He doesn't recognize me. I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Sure, I was no more than a girl when I ruined his life, but how can he not recognize me? Is this it? The guilt I've held for years...

"Hey," Samantha's soothing voice is followed by a gentle hand on my arm, and then I'm being steered out of the room. "Come with me." With a last glance at the man's back, I let Samantha drag me away from the room, down the hall, and to the kitchen. "Sam..." "You're pale," she whispers, walking to the fridge and grabbing another bottle of water before uncapping it for me. "Drink this." "Thanks," I say, taking a few sips of the water before my trembling hands threaten to drop it, so I quickly place it on the counter. "What's wrong, Cara?" she asks, placing a gentle hand over my forehead.

"Do you need to see Doc too?" My brows wing up. "Doc?" "Yeah, the doctor Saint brought with him. He's been by a couple of times to attend to the women, but I suppose you've never seen him before," she says, leaning against the counter opposite and watching me. "What's gotten into you today, Cara?" Ghosts of my past. I consider not telling her the truth, but before I know it, the words are spilling out of my mouth. "I know him," I say, my voice shaky with nerves. "The doctor... Oh no. No, no, no." I cover my face with my hands and shake my head.

Samantha steps forward, her eyes bright with concern as she takes my hand. "Doc? Did he hurt you?" Her voice is hard and vengeful. "I don't care if the Steel Rebels own this place, I will kick him out if he hurt-" "No," I hurry to say, cutting her off. "James...I mean, Doc never hurt me. He's the only person from my past who's ever tried to help me, and I rewarded that by betraying him." The fire in her eyes wanes but doesn't completely disappear. "Tell me." I release her grip to grab the water, something to wet my dry mouth.

"I've told you about my stepfather and how I left home the second I turned eighteen, but I never told you about my stepbrother," I murmur, looking down at the water bottle. "He died nine years ago. He was older than me by a decade, and he was much crueler than my stepfather, if you can believe that." The sound that escapes my lips could be called a laugh, but there is nothing funny about my past. "Eric, my stepbrother, saw me as his little servant. By the time I was twelve, I was cooking, cleaning, and doing all the household chores.

As long as I kept the place clean and stayed out of his way, it was usually fine. But I messed up one night after Eric had his friends over for a party while his dad was gone." My mind drifts to that night, and I remember the pungent smell of stale cigarette smoke and the living room cluttered with beer bottles and empty food containers. Well, I'd thought they were all empty. "Cara." I look up at Samantha again. "I fell asleep before his friends left. Usually, I'd stay in my room with the door locked and listen for them to leave so I could clean up before bed.

But I was so tired that night, I fell asleep. Eric was passed out on the couch and my stepfather was still gone when I woke up in the morning. I rushed to get everything cleaned up before I had to leave for school, but I ran out of time. I should have stayed home from school to finish, but I had a test that day, so I gathered what I could of the trash and left. It was the wrong thing to do. Eric was waiting for me when I got home from school, and he was furious. Apparently, in my rush to collect as much of the mess as I could, I threw out his drug stash.

It was in some box or something that I'd grabbed. I thought everything I threw away was trash, but I guess one of the boxes held the coke he and his friends used to get high." I look down at the water bottle again and pick at the label, unable to meet Sam's eyes as memories of that night threaten to overwhelm me. "He attacked me." "Cara..." "It wasn't the first time he'd gotten physical with me, but it was the angriest I'd ever seen him. He'd left the front left the door open, and someone heard me scream and rushed in to help.

I'd never seen the man before, but the stranger punched Eric to get him away from me. He only hit him once, but Eric tripped on a beer can and hit his head on the table." I shudder at the memory, wanting to erase it from my mind, but it's something I have to live with. "There was so much blood... Eric died that night, and my savior..." "Doc?" I nod. "He was arrested," I whisper, ashamed that I had no control over that.

"My stepfather forced me to make a statement against him, so I told the cops that he had attacked my stepbrother without provocation." I wait for Sam's condemnation, and I realize that I prefer it to the pity I read in her eyes. "How old were you?" "Twelve." Samantha steps forward and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I sniff back the tears. God knows I don't deserve to cry. "He doesn't recognize me.

I...I don't know if I should tell him, apologize for it, or just hide until he leaves." "You don't have to talk to him if you're not ready," Samantha says, pulling back from the hug, but keeping her hands on my shoulders. "You were just a child, Cara. One who was traumatized and abused. Don't blame yourself for a past that was out of your control." I nod. A part of me wants to lean into this woman for the affection I was denied as a child, but I am reminded that mine is not the biggest problem at the moment. Samantha shouldn't be here with me when there's another woman who needs her more.

"You should go back to Abby," I say, taking a step back. "I'll...um, I guess I'll go do something else until they leave." She nods, and we both step into the hallway just as the two men exit the medical room. "There you are. I was wondering where you ran off to," Saint says when he spots us. "Miss Dupree, could you stay with Abby while I talk to Sam for a moment?" At the mention of my name, Doc looks up sharply, and when his eyes lock on mine, I see it this time. By the way, his eyes darken and his face goes carefully blank, there is no doubt that he remembers.