“Bene,” and he shoved me so hard that I went flying forward, just barely catching myself on the frame of the door before I catapulted headfirst into the rusty old sink and the mirror above it.
I barely escaped my fingers being crushed in the door before he shut it with a slam that sent the mirror to the floor.
Just my luck, the damn thing was made of plexiglass!
Even if the mirror had broken, there was no chance Cesare was letting me out of his sight, nor near sharpened glass. Besides, if I failed, he’d kill me, and I had a little time to spare.
Leaning over the sink, closing my eyes, I attempted to find my breath, which reminded me that I needed to rinse my mouth.
The water in the faucet refused to turn on. The knobs screeched but nothing came out, which was odd. I heard water running in the kitchenette. A minute or two later the stove was turned on. The tellingclick,click,before the heat catches and a satisfyingwhoosh!breathes out flames. Natural gas floated underneath the door.
I turned away from it, looking around the bathroom.
A metal bucket sat in the corner, and it smelled of urine. A new tin washtub was set where the bathtub should have been. A small amount of water sat in the bottom, already cold from the chill in the air. A few long black hairs, probably Cesare’s, swam against the silver, like parasites entering the water system. A new bar of soap had a line through the middle, like someone had rubbed it back and forth against something hard when it was soft, and it was wedged on the edge of the metal basin.
Only a single light bulb lit the dim space, above the sink, and it made the space seem even more depressing, the hairs floating around even more ominous. It was easy to imagine the hairs coming to life, creating a monster that would jump out at me.
Cesare had thoroughly unnerved me. The feel of his tongue against my skin made me want to unzip myself, leave my skin behind, and crouch in the corner until my husband came to rescue me.
I refused to think otherwise. Brando would come for me.
What was worse than the actual feel of Cesare was that he was shoving his feelingsatme, demanding I feel all that he did. The only thing I could imagine comparing it to was beating my head against the wooden panels, then turning around and hugging myself, while simultaneously being turned on.
Screwed up was the least of it.
I reached for the cross around my neck, a symbol of my faith, a link to the courage I felt I desperately needed. I found nothing. Groping madly, my mind denied the truth—it’s here, it’s here, it’s here—all the while my head shook back and forth, admitting the truth—no, no, no, he took it!
This, among all else, came close to breaking me. I cried silently, hard, gut-wrenching sobs. He must have sensed my despair, because I could hear his boots against the floor, pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom.
Swallowing down the sobs, wiping my eyes on my sleeves, I forced myself to get it together while I used the nasty bucket in the corner to pee in.
Keeping myself whole was why I’d been keeping thoughts of Brando and Mia in the darkness, even the new baby, too afraid to think of them—in fear he’d feel what I did and pit his hatred against my unyielding love.
Like the missing cross, I was also afraid the thoughts of my family would break me, but I had something to say.
After doing my business, I lifted my chin, touched my stomach, and whispered, “It’s you and me, kid, until your daddy comes and gets us. I promise I’ll do my best to keep us safe.” The thought of that animal coming close to my children, either one of them, made me feel almost feral.
The door blast open, the heat of the stove rushing in with Cesare, who eyed me narrowly.
“Time is up,” he said, snatching me by the arm and yanking me forward.
I had no strength to fight him, to even pull my arm out of his grasp. Even if I did, I knew he’d squeeze even harder, perhaps even dig his nails into my skin until I bled.
In the short time I’d been away from him in the dim bathroom, his mood had changed. He was more aggressive, his touch more urgent. He was closer to the edge.
The humming in my blood raged, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying something that might be the last words ever spoken from my mouth, from fighting him, when I realized what he wanted me to do.
He noticed the change on my face. Instead of offending him, he seemed more intrigued. “Will you fight me now, vixen?”
Oh God, he wanted me to.
“No,” I said, my voice even. “What’s the point?”
He stared at me for a second or two before nodding once and then gesturing toward a basin that had been brought into the cabin. It was big enough for one small person to sit in, only waist deep in water. Steam rose from it, fogging up the one window above the sink in the kitchenette.
He had been boiling water to fill it.
“No,” I said again underneath my breath. It was a weak protest. Words could never stop this monster.
