She remembered bits and pieces of her past but she found herself unable to conjure up proper images or memories from before. It all came back blurred and out of focus.
She remembered little things like the way his thumb rubbed against her inner thigh, even when she begged him not to. She remembered how he taught her how to hold a gun with a broken wrist, after breaking it himself. She remembered his rough calloused hands against the back of her neck and her hairline, pushing her head backwards, his hands running across the line of her spine. She remembered feeling dirty and gross, the bruises on her neck that people always commented on. But she doesn't remember him. And for that she's thankful. Even if she doesn't know his face what he did still haunts her. Sometimes she can still feel the hot sting of the whip cracking against her back or his teeth grazing across her jawline. Natasha remembers the pain but not the faces and that scares her more than anything.