The room Nora and I share is state-of-the-art, equipped with everything from video games to a private shower. There are two adjustable beds—one for me and one for Nora—with Egyptian cotton sheets and memory foam mattresses on each. Even the heart-rate monitors and IV drips positioned around the beds look sleek, more decorative than medical. The whole setup is so luxurious, I can almost forget I’m in yet another hospital.

Almost, but not quite.

If I never set foot inside a hospital again, I will die a happy man.

To my tremendous relief, all of Nora’s injuries turned out to be minor. The wound on her arm needed a few stitches, but the blow to her face left only a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The doctors also confirmed that she hadn’t been sexually assaulted, despite her state of undress. Within a few hours of our arrival here, Nora was pronounced healthy and ready to go home.

I, on the other hand, am a bit worse off, though not nearly as fucked up as I could’ve been.

They’ve already performed two operations on me—one to minimize the scarring on my face, and the second one to put a prosthetic eye into the vacant eye socket, so I don’t resemble a cyclops. I will never be able to see out of my left eye again—at least not until bionic eye technology advances further—but the surgeons have assured me that I’m going to look nearly normal once everything is healed.

My other injuries aren’t too bad either. They had to reset my broken arm and wrap it in a new cast, but the gunshot wound in my left shoulder is healing nicely, as are my cracked ribs. I still have some crusted blood under my fingernails and toenails from the needle torture, but it’s gradually getting better. The beating Majid’s men gave me at the end bruised my kidneys a bit. However, thanks to Peter’s prompt arrival, I escaped other internal injuries and more broken bones. When all is said and done, I will have a few more scars—and potentially some weakness in my left arm—but my appearance won’t scare little children.

I’m grateful for that. I’ve never been particularly vain about my looks, but I want to make sure that Nora still finds me attractive, that I don’t disgust her with my touch. She’s assured me that my scars and bruises don’t bother her, but I don’t know if she really means it. Because of my injuries, we haven’t had sex since our rescue, and I won’t know how she truly feels until I have her in my bed again.

In general, I’m not sure how Nora has been feeling for the past five days. With all the surgeries and doctors in the way, we haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened. Whenever I bring it up, she changes the topic, as though she wants to forget the whole thing. I would let her—except she’s also been unusually quiet. Withdrawn in some way. It’s as if the trauma she’s gone through has caused her to retreat within herself… to shut down her emotions in some manner.