“I haven’t heard anything about them.”
There was a tension that seemed to rise in the room the moment we both considered what might have happened to them. I tried not to think of it most days, but it seemed impossible. Now that we were together, with our thoughts toward them, it made me feel sick in my stomach. There was the fear that was always looming over my shoulder, and being there with Alessandra only solidified it. If they’d killed our parents, there was the chance they’d killed our brothers, too. In fact, it was likely that they had.
I felt a shiver sweep over my entire body, causing my hairs to stand on end. Alessandra’s tears continued to stream down her face. I could tell just how upset she was, too. Her face was flushed and I could feel her hands shaking in mine. For all we knew, we were alone in the world. Just the two of us.
I peered back towards the door, nervous that he would be there, ready to interrupt us. I was glad that Marcello had kept his promise each time he took me to see my sister and had finally started giving us privacy.
“You just stay alive, too. Okay?” she said. It was the first time since it had all started that I saw her smile. I felt a warmth in my chest the moment it formed on her lips. It was a small action, but it was reassuring. If we could smile while under such circumstances, then there was still hope.
The door opened behind me and I took her into my arms once more. I held her tightly as she did the same, her arms nearly squeezing the breath from my lungs. His footsteps neared us and I let go slowly, knowing not to prolong the situation or cause him any grief. He’d already let me know that he wouldn’t deal with any more emotional situations like the first time.
I pushed myself off the old bed and wiped away the tears that were forming in my eyes. There was always a sense of emptiness that filled the void of not being able to be near her. I could tell that she felt the same way whenever we were separated. I followed Marcello out of her room and didn’t look back, even though I could hear her crying from where I stood. It hurt more each time, and there was always a certain helplessness that came with it. I had no idea what Savio was doing to her, but I prayed that it was nothing like what Marcello was doing to me.
* * *
I wasn’tsure how to react to him not watching me eat. It was the first time since our agreement had started that there hadn’t been a new twist or turn. That evening, I got to eat in silence and was relieved when I saw that the slit in the door was closed. I could feel his presence looming behind the door, but wasn’t sure how to react to him suddenly being aloof.
I finished the meal, which was a hamburger and fries. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I devoured each part of the meal as quickly as I could. It was hard to even know what it tasted like. I wished I could have left the room and gone to choose the condiments that they’d added to my burger myself. I wanted to leave, even if it was only for a couple of hours, just to do normal things.
I brushed my hair back behind my ear and lifted myself off the cold concrete floor. My knees were shaking from the strain, after almost two weeks of no exercise. The most movement I had was when Marcello walked me down the hall to see my sister, and it wasn’t enough. I bit my lip as I made my way to the old bed, which was still backed into the corner of the room, as though it was an afterthought.
I jumped at the sound of the metal door screeching along the ground. Marcello was silent as he lowered himself to the plate and picked it up from the floor. There wasn’t so much as a crumb left over on the plate. I wiped my lips with shaking hands, unsure of what he’d do the moment he was in the room with me. After everything that had happened, I couldn’t trust him to just leave me alone.
His dark hair fell in front of his eyes as he stood upright. I could feel his eyes hovering over me, as though inspecting me. It reminded me of the first time we met. His white t-shirt seemed to expose every muscle along his wide body, as though it was painted along his chest and arms. I couldn’t help but stare, realizing just how powerful he was. His brothers were small in comparison, and that was saying something.
“Are you finished?”
I brought my eyes to his and nodded slowly. I didn’t speak much when he was around, and I was sure that it was out of embarrassment. The things he made me do were humiliating in so many ways, and I always went along with it. It didn’t help that I could never tell what he was thinking. He always held that same stoic expression on his strong, defined face, as though it was a mask that he never allowed to fall. Even when we’d experienced certain things together, I rarely saw it falter.
I began to draw that expression along the old blanket on top of the bed around me. I traced his eyes, as I had that first evening. I wondered whatever became of all of my drawings. Were they still in the house, and was it left untouched? I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d burned my family’s home down to the ground, along with everything we’d cherished. It would make sense for them to have burned my parents' bodies alongside it. The thought caused my stomach to knot and my finger to stop mid-trace. I let my hand go limp as I felt the tears returning to my eyes.
“What’re you doing?”
I drew a quick breath and tried to stop my lips from quivering. “What do you mean?”
He pointed to my hand, which had just stopped tracing across the blanket. “With your hand on the blanket. What’re you doing?”
We had never discussed anything beyond our arrangement. It was unlike him to even ask such a question and I wasn’t sure how to respond. I always figured he was just toying with me, so why ask a prisoner about what they’re doing? I waited for a moment, allowing the silence to seep into the space between us, just in case he wanted to walk away without hearing the answer. I figured he would, but he stayed.
“I draw,” I said finally, lifting my finger up from the blanket. “It’s something I’ve always done. I guess I miss it. I’ve started tracing along things to make up for not being able to practice.”
I didn’t tell him that I was tracing his face against the blanket, or the fact that I’d drawn him before. The indent of my finger having drawn his eyes was still prevalent in the navy blanket as I swept my hand across the surface, as though erasing what I’d traced.
“Do you draw often?”
I stared at him, my eyes narrowing into fine slits. “Not here, but when I was home, I did.”
He fidgeted with the plate in his hands. “Were you good?”
“I don’t know,” I said and shrugged it off. “I didn’t really show anyone when I was finished drawing something, except for Alessandra. She never really told me whether it was good or not. I think it would’ve been weird if I asked.”
“How long have you been drawing?”
“Since I was little.”
He glanced back down to my fingers, which made me want to hide them behind my back. “I’ll see if I can get you some paper or something,” he said and paused. “Why do you always look so uncomfortable?”
Having a full conversation with him was jarring and strange. What was even worse was the fact that he’d asked me point-blank why I was uncomfortable when, in all reality, it should have been obvious. I wanted to say something that would cause him to realize the severity of the situation.Oh nothing, just the fact that your family murdered my parents, no doubt my brothers as well before kidnapping me and my sister, and incarcerating us in this prison!I knew that it could cause him to become angry, and I had no idea what he was like when angered, but I didn’t want to find out.
