“Why did you come here?” she asks quietly. By way of answer, I ask, “Why is he here?” and nod my head toward the kitchen. I just know Noah is perched against the wall, listening in to our conversation. I really can’t fucking stand him, but given the circumstances, I should probably shut up about it. Playing with her hands, she says, “He’s here to check on me.” “He doesn’t need to check on you.” That’s why I’m here.
SHE'S ALLOWED TO HAVE MORE THAN ONE PERSON CHECK ON HER AFTER SHE WAS DRUGGED AND NEARLY RAPED HOPE THIS HELPS
