The Tourist (Sold #1)

20. Diego

CHAPTER 20

Diego

I t’s been three weeks since I sent Chloe away, and every day without her has been a struggle.

I’m currently sitting at my desk, staring at blurred and meaningless numbers on the computer screen in front of me. Today has been long and fruitless, filled with endless dead ends and unhelpful leads. Serena’s trail has gone cold again.

I’m trying to spend some time focusing on my normal business activities. However, why I thought reviewing the organization’s financial analysis would stop me thinking about Chloe and wondering how she’s doing, I don’t know.

My phone buzzes on the desk, and I glance at the notification. It’s an alert, highlighting a newly published magazine article from London. Chloe’s name catches my eye, and my heart skips a beat. She’s finished her story.

I click on the link, and while the page loads, I lean back in my chair, preparing myself for whatever she’s written.

The headline reads: " Surviving the Shadows: One Woman’s Story of Captivity and the Aftermath ."

I take a deep breath and begin to read.

Surviving the Shadows: One Woman’s Story of Captivity and the Aftermath

By Chloe Benson

The horrors of being sold as a slave are something no one should ever have to endure. The pain, the fear, and the helplessness become your constant companions.

For months, I was held captive, drugged, beaten, and violated by men who saw me as nothing more than an object to be used and discarded.

I was injected with heroin to keep me docile and ensure I couldn’t fight back. At first, the drugs were a relief because they allowed me to escape the nightmare, if only for a little while. But the real horror began when the effects of the drugs wore off, and I was left to confront the full extent of my reality.

Every touch felt like a burn, every moment an eternity of suffering. They passed me between them, and each violation etched a permanent scar on my soul. I was trapped in my own body, screaming in a place no one could hear.

In those moments, the drugs became both my refuge and my prison. The numbness they provided was a small mercy, allowing me to detach from the pain, the humiliation, and sense of worthlessness. But the price of that detachment was high. Each injection chipped away at my sense of self, and each dose made it harder to remember who I was before the nightmare began.

When I was finally rescued, I thought the worst was over. But the truth is, the aftermath can be just as harrowing. Detoxing from drugs is an incredibly painful experience. Then, when your mind is clear, come the memories, the nightmares, and the constant feeling of dirtiness. They all linger, making it hard to move on.

The world I returned to was overwhelming, particularly at first. It was filled with people who could never understand the depths of my despair or the weight of the trauma I was carrying with me. I even found it hard to speak to my parents.

The road to my recovery has been long and fraught with challenges. Simple tasks that once seemed mundane now trigger memories of my captivity. A sound, a smell, or a touch can bring the past rushing back with a force that leaves me breathless and trembling.

The journey to reclaim my body, my mind, and my life is a daily battle, and even though it’s getting easier, I know I will be fighting it forever.

Sadly, I am not alone. There are countless others out there waiting to be saved, still hoping for a miracle. They continue to suffer, not only from the kind of trauma I went through, but also from the torment of war, domestic violence, and poor mental health. Their relatives and friends are caught in a limbo of uncertainty, wondering if their loved one will survive. The pain of not knowing is a unique form of torture, one that gnaws at the soul and leaves a gaping wound that can never fully heal.

To those of you still waiting, still hoping, please don’t give up. Keep fighting, keep searching, and keep believing. Together, we can overcome the shadows that seek to consume us. You are not alone.

For those of you who are lost, who feel like the darkness will never end, there is help. Reach out, talk to someone, and take the first step towards healing. You are not alone.

I’ve written this article not just for me, but for all those who are struggling to find their way. By shedding light on the realities of my captivity and long road to recovery, I want to remind everyone that the fight doesn’t end when the chains are broken. It continues, every day, as we strive to reclaim our lives and our sense of self.

I hope my story can serve as a beacon of hope and a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. Healing is possible, but it requires time, support, and an unyielding determination to confront the darkness head-on. Each step forward is a victory over the demons that seek to pull us back into the abyss.

To the families and friends of survivors, your support is crucial. The road to recovery is not linear. There will be good days and bad, and there will be moments of progress and moments of regression. Your patience, love, and understanding can make all the difference.

In sharing my story, I hope to provide a sense of solidarity as well as a reminder that no one has to face this journey alone. Together, we can create a community of support. We can build a network of strength that will help each of us find our way back to the light.

By the time I finish reading, my vision is blurred with tears. Crying is not something I ever do, but Chloe’s words are powerful, raw, and painfully honest. I feel a surge of guilt for sending her away. She’s been through hell, and instead of supporting her, I’ve distanced myself, thinking it was for the best. I was thinking of myself, not her.

I pick up the phone and dial Eaton’s number. It rings twice before he answers.

“Diego, what’s up?”

“I need to bring Chloe back,” I tell him, not bothering with pleasantries. “She shouldn’t be away from me. She needs my support.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Are you sure? She’s settling in here.”

“I’m sure,” I reply firmly. “I’ve read the article she’s written. It’s made me realize how much she needs someone who understands what she’s been through. And I need her too.”

Eaton sighs. “All right. I’ll let her know. By the way, when I said she was settling in, I was lying. She’s miserable. I told you that catching feelings hits you hard! When can you come to get her?”

“Immediately,” I say without hesitation, and standing up, I grab my car keys and head for the door. “I’m leaving now.”

The drive to Eaton’s house feels longer than it should. My mind races with thoughts of Chloe, of how I can make things right. When I finally arrive, Shelby greets me at the door.

“She’s in her room, packing,” Shelby informs me. “She’s missed you, you know.”

“I’ve missed her too,” I admit. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

Shelby nods. “Of course. Go to her. She’s waiting for you.”

I find Chloe in her room, packing a small suitcase that’s on the bed. She looks up as I enter.

“Diego,” she whispers and begins nervously biting the corner of her lip.

“I read your article,” I tell her. “It was… powerful. I’m sorry I sent you away. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I realize now that we need each other.”

Chloe takes a step toward me. “Diego, I… I didn’t write it so you’d feel obliged to come here to get me.”

“No,” I interrupt her. “Let me finish. I want to be there for you. And I want you to be there for me, too. We can help each other heal. The article made me realize I was being an idiot, sending you away. I need your support while I’m searching for Serena, and as Eaton keeps telling me, I’m catching feelings for you.”

Tears fill her eyes, and she nods. “I feel the same way about you. But as a journalist, I’m not sure ‘catching feelings’ are the words I’d choose to describe it.”

I hold my hand out toward her, and as she takes it, I pull her to me and press a soft kiss to her lips. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

She looks up at me with a big smile on her face. “Yes, let’s go home.”