“Welcome to day number seven.” Tearing me from my thoughts, Mateo adjusted his tattering, caked jeans around his waist to fasten the button, and my brows rose when he turned to me. “Happy week-a-versary, Lucy.”
“How do you know?” He pointed at the light peeking from under the door, and I pursed my lips thinly as I rested my chin on my knees. “The light changes or something?”
“Yeah. Keeping track of time is one of the easier ways to not go nuts.” The question balanced on the tip of my tongue— how did Mateo know all of this? Did he take a ‘How to Survive Being Tortured’ class or something in high school? Sauntering over to me, he sat down cross-legged just inches from me, and I flexed my toes in my ratty sneakers. “What about you, huh? What’s some of your favorite things to do?”
“Um . . . I like to garden. I live in Tennessee, in Jackson. My whole yard is a garden. My favorite part is digging up my yard and cleaning the soil. It’s fun.” He smiled tenderly, and I sucked in a sharp breath as I licked my lips heavily. “I also save a lot of money, which is nice.”
“So, you have your own house. Do you have any pets?” I knew that Mateo was distracting me, keeping me from thinking about the smell, the darkness, the hopelessness, and I nodded. My chest ached as I thought of my dog, and I sniffled and cleared my throat.
“A chocolate lab, Marshal.” Mateo chuckled at me, covering his mouth with the back of his palm, and I scrunched up my nose. “What? I like that name. Anyway, he’s a rescue. Just the best dog ever. Super sweet and not very pushy, and he’s a trash can. He’ll eat anything. I was thinking of getting another one.”
“Mmm, I never had pets when I was younger. My dad couldn’t stand them—hateddogs with a passion, in particular. I think, when we get out of here, I’m going to get a dog. Golden retrievers are great dogs, right? That’s what I’ve always heard, at least.” Nodding mutely, I could see it in his eyes that he really did think getting a dog was a good idea, but as Mateo spoke, his smile started to dull. “Maybe, I’ll get a rescue, too.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Mateo. Um . . . what about your hobbies?” Despite everything he made me say, I knew very little about Mateo, only the superficial stuff. He told me about his brother, his father, and how he grew up an unfathomably rich baby that thought the whole world owed him and was unfair. But, now, I couldn’t see him as anything less than what he’d showed me.
He was strong, calm under pressure, and smart- very smart. He was coldly calculating when it came to the people that held us captive, and he was very bighearted. Most of what he said about himself didn’t reflect that at all, but that’s because it was all in the past.
“I’ll tell you a secret, but you can’t tell anyone, Lucy, okay?” His eyes sparkled with conspiracy— or was it the mild infection and fever? I nodded anyway, and he reached to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I like to sing. When I was little, I always wanted to be a rock star. No one knows, though.”
“Really? What do you like to sing?” But the question never got an answer when the sliding bar lock on the door cut through our conversation, and anxiety gripped my body in a vise. Even though he didn’t show it, he inched closer to me, and Mateo’s nostrils flared like a bull readying to charge. His strong jaw ticked, and I ducked my head as light spilled into the room. The concrete box that threatened to close in on me was dirty and splattered everywhere in blood, and I squeezed my eyes shut before Mateo clamored to his feet.
“I hope y—" Whatever snarky comeback Mateo had never rolled off his tongue as he choked on it, and goosebumps prickled my arms and down my back. The smell of salt crusted my nose, but I didn’t dare open my eyes, just like Mateo told me. There was a scuffle, then athump, and I held my breath as the sound of water sloshing filled the room.
And then, Mateo’s bloodcurdling screams echoed off the concrete, and I balled myself up tighter as hot water seeped through the holes in my shoes. Water rushing down the drain gurgled loudly just under his furious pants, and the distinctthwackof him falling to his knees rattled my brain.
“It’ll only get worse from here.” Mateo had told me in the beginning that threats were empty, and if these people were actually going to do something, they wouldn’t warn us, first. I held onto that belief to keep me sane, to hope that we’d get out of here, but the sound of his whimpers and cries drowned out those words. Only when the door slammed shut again did I open my eyes, and I peered through the gloom for his silhouette.
“Oh, no, Mateo. Oh, God.” He was shivering, his face scraped up when I scrambled to take him in my palms, and he was soaking wet. Pain twisted his sharp features even in the dimness, and my heart slammed against my chest as I wiped water from his shoulders and arms. “What was that for?”
“Ob-obv-viously.” Panting hoarsely, Mateo’s voice cracked noticeably, and I winced as my chest flooded with a different kind of pain than he was in. “Someone kn-knows what an . . . infection l-looks . . . like. Man, that-t fucking h-hurt.”
“They poured hot water on you?” Jerking his head back, he sucked up a ragged breath through his nose, and Mateo’s bright, brown eyes met mine. Even now, he looked like he got rained on at the park, as if this was nothing. Sure, it hurt, but hey! Itonlyhurt! Amirite!
Tears welled in my eyes, and I sniffed as my own nose clogged with how horrific that notion was.
“Salt water . . . helps promote healing and forces bad shit out. That’s why they make you gargle it when you have a sore throat. There was a lot of fucking salt in that water.” His voice stabilized, wavering, but not stuttering, and I nodded dumbly as Mateo stood up. The water shimmering on his back turned black from the blood and pus that streamed down his skin, but I couldn’t even wipe it away. My palms itched, and I uselessly took his face in my hands as he propped himself on his arm on the wall. “Lucy, don’t cry.”
“I’ll cry if-f I wa-want to-oo!” Blubbering slightly, I clenched my jaw against the sobs that clogged my throat, and Mateo wiped my eyes and nose tenderly. His hands shook, his face trembled, his whole body was wracked with powerful tremors, but he still found the strength to helpme.
I considered myself lucky— if Seth had been snatched with me, he wouldn’t protect me the way Mateo has. Seth would try to split itexactlyfifty-fifty— for the bill at the restaurant when I got something much cheaper, for the movie tickets, when I got a small popcorn and he got a bucket, for groceries despite the fact he wanted to go for only himself.
We didn’t live together, Seth and I, and I blinked hard at the ring on my finger as disdain coated my tongue.
“I’m gonna break up with him.” My mumble earned me a soft huff, and I frowned as I gazed at the five-thousand-dollar rock. It honestly wasn’t even that pretty a ring. Seth didn’t get it because it was ‘perfect’— he bought it because his mother picked it out. “I am. Seth is . . . Seth is a great guy, but he’s not great for me.”
“Ach, you’re just saying that because I’m here.”How can you joke after what just happened?Sadness clung to my ribs like tar, and I shook my head slightly as Mateo waved me off. “It’ll be fine. It’s not as bad as it seems.”
“They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, Mateo . . . ” My protest trailed off, and I ran my hands through my hair roughly. The greasy, thin strands stayed that way, and disgust skittered under my skin. “All those stupid, little things I put up with, I’m not gonna do it anymore.”
Mateo didn’t reply, and I crossed my arms over my chest as I rocked back on my heels. If Seth was here, he’d probably try to preserve his own self over me. My fiancé would think twice about getting his back torn up to spare me when I wouldn’t for him.
At least . . . before Mateo. . .
4
Mateo
Lucy’s head began to bob from how exhausted she was, and I scanned her face as it smushed against her knee. She tried to stay awake as long as possible, but it was difficult for someone that wasn’t used to it. Thankfully, I’d put myself through this shit willingly when I went to New York City— the hunger, the hopelessness, the lack of physical movement.
