When the pain I was expecting didn't come, and instead, I felt something long and hard grow against my thigh that threw my mind in a loop. That couldn’t be right. I just insulted him badly. His bewildered face told me that he wasn't expecting that either.
“Scorpions shouldn't play with mice… or was it a fly?” I snapped my head around to see Cezar leaning against the doorway. “No, that's crazy!” He furiously shook his head, stepping inside the room and letting the door shut. “Scorpions can't play with flies! They can't catch them. God, you're dumb, Cal!”
Ion popped up off me so fast it was almost like he was never there. Facing his brother with a brow lift, he spat out, “Don’t start your shit. I was just doing my job.”
As Cezar got closer, I saw blood dripping from the side of his head, and my first thought was to ask if he was okay… that was until a second later when I saw his pants splattered with it. “I was too, dear brother.” He waved at himself, “We’re the chess pieces for the others to play with.” He stopped before Ion, laughing one minute and growling in his face the next, “But I also warned you. Scorpions don't have good listening skills.”
The threat was apparent as he pulled out a bloody knife from the back of his pants and pointed it at his eye, Ion going still as Cezar continued. “And now I need to de-fang the scorpion.”
Instead of being scared or telling him off, Ion stood taller, stepping closer. Both brothers were toe to toe, and neither was willing to back down.
Maybe it was because I was tired of the blood, threats, and knives. Maybe I was just glad to see Cezar, the psycho who won’t let anyone hurt me. Maybe Stockholm syndrome was peeking its ugly head. I have no idea, but the words fell from my mouth before I could catch them.
“I’m fine Cezar. He didn’t harm me.”
His eyes finally slid over to me. His whole attention was intimidating as he scoured my body without a word. I doubled down. “I’m happy to see you're okay. I was worried about you.”
A giant jackal of a smile crept up his face before he arched the knife, Ion still not moving an inch when he stabbed it into the wall. He whispered something to Ion and then did a full turn before bouncing over to me. “Did you really, my wild Roma? That gives me spiders in my belly!”
“Do you mean butterflies?”
I noticed a pattern of his for mixing up well-known sayings. He probably didn't remember them.
“Nope.” He popped the P, motioning to his belly with both hands. “It's spiders because this slow crawl of excitement roams around in my belly when I'm around you.” He added his touch of psycho by spreading and curling his fingers over his belly, walking them around like spiders. “Then, every once in a while, you talk to me, and the spiders bite me.” His fingers dig into his abdomen to emphasize the bite. “Then I feel a euphoria as the poison surges through my veins.” His head lifted to the ceiling as he closed his eyes and swayed.
It was the most erotic, disturbing, cutesy, and psychotic definition of feelings I’ve ever heard. My heart was pumping harder as my mind was tipping to the side, saying, huh?
Studying in class, I never understood how psychotic killers had women who would gush about them and fantasize about them, even as they were in jail for their crimes. If they were anything like this, I think I now understand.
“Fucking hell. Don't tell me you like that insane babble?”
Ion's perfect face morphed into an ugly snarl, looking at me like I betrayed him. Did he forget that seconds ago, he was threatening me? That I said he couldn't please a woman?
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked away in a huff, not allowing me to answer, when Cezar got to his knees and rubbed his head in my lap like a puppy seeking attention. Good riddance, I thought as the door slammed shut.
A soft sigh came from below, and I looked down, seeing Cezar in utter bliss as my hands ran through his amber-golden locks. I didn't even know I was doing that. Even as it felt like my hand betrayed me, I kept going because it pleased the beast in my lap, and every inch I could get him on my side was worth it.
“They quiet when you touch me.”
“What?” I asked, not understanding what he meant.
“The voices. They stop talking when you touch me.” His hands slid up my thighs, cupping my ass, but it felt more like he was trying to hold on to me than it being sexual like Ion's touch. “They’re always yay yay yapping. Cal's the worst,” his nose scrunched up like a child being forced to eat broccoli.
The ‘voices’ made me curious, so I combed his hair, asking, “How many voices do you hear?”
He turned to the side; his eyes went far off, devoid of life, as he whispered, “Three. It's always the same three. Forever and ever.”
I kept silent, not knowing if I should push for more or take what I was given and wait for another opportunity. The more I learned about these men, the better my chances of getting away were.
His voice cracked, causing me to look down as he buried his face in my lap. “It's my fault. It always will be. Even if they say it's not, I know they're lying.” His fingers dug into me painfully; anger filled his voice in a split second. “I was weak! Pathetic!”
Before I could say a word, his hands moved, carving down the comforter like he had claws and was trying to rip it to shreds. “I won't let myself be like that ever again.” His hand rose, and I flinched, but it never came. Instead, I heard several smacks in a row, his hand slamming into his head repeatedly as he chanted, “Never again. Weak. Never again. Weak. Never again. Weak.”
With my heart pounding, I watched in horror for a few seconds. I’ve watched recorded episodes before and read articles from the point of view of the patient… but seeing it with my own eyes was another reality.
The fear I've been constantly hiding melted away with each hitting sound. Something about his deep anguish and pain called not to the woman who wanted to analyze him but to the soul inside of me. The echoes of pain in his eyes transported me to a time I tried to forget, to a little girl who was weak against those who wished her harm. My chest burned as those old scars on my soul ripped open, bleeding alongside the man who was punishing himself over and over for the same sin—the sin of being innocent and weak in a cruel world.
Thud. Thud. Thud. I jerked at each pounding of his fists like he was striking me. Something inside of me rose, telling me that this was wrong. We were not the problem; it was the world we lived in. Circumstances that were out of our control.
