Staring into his eyes, the weight of his agony shined back at me like a smoldering ember. His breathless, desperate words clawed their way out from the depths of his chest. Calling to me like a final breath summons the grim reaper. I wanted to give in, to let my mouth say everything that I wanted to say, but those eyes held me back.
The voice that talked to me in my dreams floated to the forefront.He doesn't want to do this.
I stopped fighting for a second and took a catalog of our bodies. Running my leg against him, I realized he wasn’t hard. With our bodies smashed together like this, his insistence on doing this, he should be hard, but he wasn't.Why is he putting himself through this?
“Why?” My voice croaked out, and his eyes widened. “Why are you doing this?” This time, my voice came out stronger and louder. “Any secrets that I had, you already know. I killed a man when I was ten. My mom was a Romani woman from Armenia and fled for some reason I don’t know. You know where I live, took me from my home, and are keeping me prisoner.” This time, my words came out in a broken plea, “What more do you want from me?!”
His eyes widened at that last part; shaking his head, he shot up, sitting on his legs as horror crossed his face. The heels of his hands went to his eyes as he whispered, “I can't. I can’t. Not on this day. Not today. I can't. I can't.”
Scooting back immediately, I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at him as his body shook violently, repeating those words to himself over and over again. It was… heartbreaking. Watching this beautiful, damaged man fall apart in front of me. I could feel the ocean of his sorrow crashing into me, and my stupid, bleeding heart wanted to help him.
Calling on all the courage I had left in my soul, I moved closer to him, inch by inch. Once he registered that I was near, he lifted his head. Terror twisted his face; every feature stretched taut by the weight of his fear. His fear gave me strength, lifting my hand slowly; his eyes tracked every movement as I ran shaky fingers through his hair.
He flinched initially, but I shhhh’d him, trying to comfort him. “I-It’s o-okay.”
Shaking his head, he mumbled, “I can’t get it out of my head.” His frantic eyes shifted around like he was seeing something in the shadows. “She hated me, hated what he did to her to have me, but I loved her. All I wanted was her love. She couldn't give me that. She hated me so much. She left me alone. She left me to the wolves.”
His shaky hands came out, palms up, “And now I’m a wolf…but I’m broken. Useless. Just like her.”
It now made sense why he wanted me to call him names that hurt him, but that was not the problem right now. It’s whatever he keeps seeing or hearing that is the issue. I know it has something to do with today's date, but I need to figure it out more.
Pulling his hands away from his face, keeping a firm grasp on them with my own, I asked him carefully. “Who was she?”
He looked away, eyes downcast, “My mother.” Keeping my hand in his, I moved closer, our bodies touching so he knew I was there.
After a few minutes like that, he broke the silence. “I was the one who found her. I was only seven years old.” I kept quiet, letting him say whatever he wanted, even when I had questions. I was just holding him tightly like it was my only job.
“The first thing I heard was the creaking of each sway.” His eyes got lost as he whispered, “The smell of her perfume choking me.” He clawed at his neck like he was reliving it now. Closing my eyes, I tried not to cry or let myself get consumed with this story. I needed to sit here, listen to him, and be clinical and professional. This wasn't about me and my feelings.
Opening my eyes, I saw his hands go up to his ears, scratching at them like he was trying to get the sound away. Seeing red dribbling down his neck, I yanked his hands down, fighting against him, wanting to bring them up again.
“Ion. Ion. Listen to my voice. Listen to me.” His eyes focused on my mouth, watching me talk, and I was fine with it as long as he stopped hurting himself. “You don’t have to tell me anymore. You can cry on my shoulder if you want, and I won't ask any questions.”
He threw his head back, and an empty laugh filled the room before he looked back down at me. “Cry? That is not a word allowed in our house. I don't remember the last time I shed an actual tear.... maybe two years old?”What?! Who the fuck was telling him that he couldn't cry?It’s one of the best ways to let out emotions.
My mouth fell open a few times, not wanting to offend him by telling him whoever told him that was a fucking loser. Like he knew what I would say, he leaned in and whispered in my ear with a shaky voice. “No crying…but can I rest on your shoulder?”
I shouldn't let him. I should keep as much distance from him as possible. He was dangerous, someone suffering from severe trauma. Looking at his glassy eyes and shaking hands, I bet he was also an addict, maybe an alcoholic. I didn't have time for that. I needed to let this man go and stick with the crazy one that treated me like a princess.
“Yes,”Oh fuck me, Kezia!Why do you let your bleeding heart do all the thinking?Really. This was becoming a bigger problem because I wasn’t here to fix or help anyone. I needed to help myself to survive these men…so why would I bend? “But! You better not try anything.” It was the only thing I could think of to try to be smart about this.
He nodded, laying his head on my shoulder with an audible sigh. His mind ran all day, and he could finally rest. He kept to his word, not touching me anywhere else but with his forehead.
Glancing at the nightstand at my glass of sleep-drugged water, I had an idea. “Do you want to sleep with no dreams?”
Ion nodded like a bobblehead, his glazed eyes looking so tired, and I asked him to grab the water on the nightstand. He passed it to me, and I sniffed it, ensuring it had no odor before passing it back to him. “Here. This will help you sleep.” His brows furrowed, and I followed him with, “Cezar made it for me. It's perfectly fine, promise.”
Nodding like that was a normal explanation; he drank it in one swoop so fast that I was impressed. It didn't take long for his eyes to grow heavy; his body swayed as the drugs kicked in.
His words were slurred as he grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I couldn't do it. I'm sorry.” His nose ran along my bruised wrist, and he signed out. “She hated my father and me. He raped her until she got pregnant, forcing her to have me. Then he left her alone, giving her jewels and pretty clothes like a locked-up doll in a doll house.” He mumbled something under his breath before his eyes rolled up into his head as he began to fall.
Moving out of the way, he crashed onto the bed face up. I leaned forward, putting my ear to his chest to check his heart. The steady beat was strong, and relief filled me. I couldn't have a dead brother on my hands. Who knew what Nicu would do to me?
One thing was for sure: this family had so many psychological problems wrapped up in traumatic events it made my head spin. And it all seemed to start with the father. That man seemed pure evil, and I hoped I’d never have to meet him because I didn’t know if I could keep the anger and disgust off my face. I might even punch him.
Running a hand through Ion’s chocolate locks, his face looked almost angelic. I took the time to tell myself that damaged men were not for me repeatedly. I could not find them attractive or help them with their problems. I was just trying to survive.
Snatching the bottle of vodka off the floor and twisting the cap off, I wrapped my lips around the lip and took a swig. The burning liquid warmed my belly and cleared my mind, and a buzzed clarity came through. I knew I wasn't going to follow my advice. It was a shame.
