TWENTY-THREE
I couldn't sleep. I heard Nathan settle into his own bed and turn the lights off. I listened to his breathing gradually become even as he drifted off to sleep, but such things eluded me.
I turned on one side and then the other, pressing my face into the pillow or staring at the darkened ceiling. Nothing helped.
Tomorrow I could tell the police everything or nothing. I could be completely honest and describe my living hell in graphic detail, or I could plead my weakened state as an excuse to delay. After all, it would be normal for someone in my situation not to want to discuss the violence and a***e to which I'd fallen victim. Not everyone had my memory, nor would they have spent their captivity repeating all the facts I knew so I wouldn't forget anything.
And Nathan? What
