“Dead,” I replied. My voice hollowed as my mind tried to drift back to that night, the last night I ever saw him. I don't know if it was because I didn't want to relive those memories, or because I knew the man in front of me had done worse in his life, or if I had such a mental breakdown that I was spilling the only secret I promised to take to the grave. Still, I found myself looking at the floor as the words formed. “I killed him.”
The silence in the room felt like a heavy fog, dense with lingering tension. Silent tears fell from my face, something I couldn't help even if I wanted to. Now that the memories had broken free, I couldn't stop myself from remembering that night when I’d had enough when he searched for me and paused at the stairs, yelling at my mom to get off the floor and cook dinner.
I don't know how I even thought of the idea in the first place. Someone else was whispering in my ear, telling me how to survive. That we needed to survive. Then I got out of the shadows I was hiding in, tiptoed up behind him, and shoved him down the stairs with all my might.
The crack of his neck rang so loud I knew that once he hit the bottom, he was dead, and we were free. I didn't even feel bad about what I did, and I knew that for a ten-year-old to feel that way, something was wrong with me. Maybe I wasn't any better than these men. Maybe I deserve this.
“The wounds disappear, but the scars on the inside are always felt. Making you weak, powerless.”
He wasn't looking at me as he said those words, instead looking at his own hands. A tortured look flashed across his face so fast I thought I had to have made it up, but his words rang so true I knew he had suffered something similar.
His eyes went distant, lost somewhere I couldn’t follow. “At least you got rid of your monster.”
Shaking his head, he held a towel out. “Take a hot shower. Cry, rage, do whatever you must in the next fifteen minutes, then Cezar will take you back to your room.”
I willed my body to move and take his hand, but my limbs wouldn’t listen. Not a single finger moved.Get the fuck up! He will yank you out from under here, and you’ll be in more trouble than you already are!
Yelling at myself did nothing to help. His head bloomed across my face as his waiting hand stood before me. His face was the epitome of calm patience like he knew it would be hard for me, and for some reason, this pissed me off.
That anger warmed up my veins. I wasn't about to be pitied by a stone-cold killer. Nope. Not me. I was going to get past this like he said. I was going to take a shower, rage, and then go back to my prison. Maybe I should drink some of that drugged water from Cezar and get myself a nice long sleep before I go back to my regular self.
Survival. It has always been about survival.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shaky breath, moving my trembling hand at a glacier place into his. As soon as our skin touched, the warmth from his hand flowed to mine like a quiet current, sinking deeper with each second we were connected.
His other hand gently scooped me up, careful not to tug or move too fast until my feet were firmly planted on the ground. One hand was in my hand with his other practically wrapped around me, and our bodies were only a few inches apart, so I made the mistake of looking up at him. Those eyes that spoke of our shared darkness grabbed me and kept me entranced as they searched mine. I don't know what he was looking for, but once he found it, he let go of my hand like it was on fire. Taking a few steps away from me and pointing to the shower that I just realized was still running.
“You have fifteen minutes.” His tone was rough and demanding before stomping out of the room like he couldn't get out any faster.
I stood there for a second, looking down at my hand and the lingering warmth he left there, a subtle echo of the connection we had imprinted on my skin. What the fuck was that? I never pictured Nicu as someone who could comfort another person. He was frigid and ruthless. He wouldn't hesitate to kill me the second my use ran out.
So why did I feel a kinship when I looked into those unyielding, lifeless eyes? That he was the only one who understood. Why did it have to be him?
13
KAZIA
Taking a shower helped clear my mind. Something about the hot rhythmic streams drumming softly against my skin scalded away the fear, soothing the tension in my muscles. The rapid drum of my pulse grows less violent, the weight of my memories easing each minute.
Everyone told me it was an accident. An unfortunate event. Something that wasn’t my fault. Counselors had me say the words aloud and swallow them like medicine until I almost believed them. Almost.
Learning that I wasn't to blame for his abuse, for wishing day and night that he would disappear from our lives. That I wasn't at fault for him falling down the stairs. It was a natural reaction.
Now that the truth my mind had hidden from me awakened, unpacking those memories, those feelings which shook me to my core. Running my fingers through my hair, I realized I was at fault for his death. He was no longer on this earth by my ten-year-old hands.
It opened old wounds; feelings I hadn't felt bubbled up and exploded in my face. My body and mind just couldn't take it, and I fell back into survival mode. Now that I had time to breathe and take it all in, something called me to examine it earlier.
That night, something old and foreign called to me and forced me into that mindset. It told me to get rid of the problem before it worsens. The overwhelming need to survive, which wasn't an option, filled my limbs and caused me to step soundlessly behind him. It gave me the courage and push to lift my hands and shove him with all my might.
He was a wall of muscle, solid as stone. This is also why it took so much alcohol to get him drunk. He should’ve been immovable. How did a scrawny ten-year-old girl have enough power to shove a man like that?
The words my mom always said to me popped into my head. The words she would recite whenever I asked her how she did everything by herself.Survival, Kazia. Some people can do amazing, impossible things while trying to survive.
I didn't have all the answers, nor did I have the time to figure it out. Letting go of the past momentarily, I focused on the present. A swift reminder of that was a set of men's clothes waiting for me on the bed. Cezar. He kept his word and got me clean clothes.
Not able to resist, I lifted his shirt and sniffed it. The citrus, woodsy smell permeated my nostrils, taking me in deep and making it a memory. I shouldn’t be memorizing this. I shouldn’t be taking in my captor's scent like a lifeline, but I do. It was so light and fresh, something so opposite of Cezar, yet it smelled so like him—like how his soul would have smelled before the bloodstains, before the voices.
He is a killer, Kazia. Just use him for now and let go later. Don’t get attached. Saying that to myself was my only lifeline when a dark, disturbed corner of my heart was wickedly whispering it was too late.
