“No, I couldn’t do that.”
He sees my arms crossed and mirrors them. “If you’re not here to do that, then… Why are you here?” Before I can reply, he fires a comment. “Let me guess and correct me if I’m wrong. You’re here because you think I have the answers to all your questions…” I want to reply, but he doesn’t let me. “You might be right, I may have them, but it isyouwho must answer those questions, not me. I know how you feel. I know it because I forged you, you were molded by my actions. I’m the reason you feel broken, hopeless, without emotions. Nothing matters to you anymore, you don’t have anything or anyone to live for.” He sighs. “You hate that feeling and have already found a way to hide it for the rest of your life, hoping one day it will fade away. But there’s something deep, deep inside that tells you that ain’t happening. That thinks you’ll have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your days; that no place on earth will make you feel safe again; there are no cops, guards, or anything that can give you peace of mind. That future upsets you. Right… Sarah?”
I’m gathering every word he just said, taking my time to arrange and digest them before I say anything, only to find that almost everything he said was real— yes, I said ‘almost.’ “That’s not true.”
“Which part?” He didn’t like my answer at all.
“I feel safe here…” The answer makes him lose his poker face and silence takes over the room once again.
I won this one.
“Here? At your torturer’s house?” I can clearly see his hesitant demeanor. He doesn’t get it, and neither can I.
“Yes. The minute I walked through that door, I felt it in my skin, I heard it in every word I spoke. And even before that, when you answered the door.”
“Are you fucking with my mind, Sarah!?” He yells at me, stands up and stomps around the room like a shark surrounding his prey— nervous, confused, stunned… He lost it.
“I’d like to say yes, but to be honest, I still have to figure out what’s going on in my own mind. So no, I’m not fucking with you.” He’s still walking around; my eyes follow him.
He stops in front of me but doesn’t sit down. He sighs loudly. “I’ll ask again. Why are you here?” He’s now expecting an honest answer. “Talk to me.”
Not only have I forgotten all the questions I prepared while walking under the rain through the dark streets of this city on my way here, but even worse— I am now the one being interrogated. When did the roles change? “I needed to see you. I wanted some answers and had prepared a lot of questions, which I don’t remember now.” So many things are happening at the same time, my mind can’t keep up with all of them.
“I see.” He sits right next to me, but leaves a gap between us, and starts thinking about our current situation. I stare at him waiting for an answer. He looks tired; he rubs his eyes and sits back for a few moments, which feel like five hours to me. I can’t tell if time stopped. The wait feels worse than the anticipation before when he used to open the cell door. “I… think I can help you.” Even though I didn’t come here looking for help, somehow his answer catches my attention.
“Help me, how?” He turns his head to me; the gap between us narrows. His eyes are fixed on me so intensely, I can feel my cheeks burning.
“I know you’re under the witness protection program; I also know that they make you talk to a stupid shrink who never in her life experienced anything remotely similar to what you went through. She claims that everything has a solution, that she can fix you, but she doesn’t get it and never will. The truth is, there’s nothing to fix. This is the new… you.” He points at me with his entire hand. “You just have to figure out how to live as… Sarah.” And for the first time in a long time, I like what I hear. Dr. Gonzales wanted me to become Cassandra once again, to go back in time like nothing ever happened, but, how can I become someone who doesn’t exist anymore? How can I erase from my mind everything I went through, what I’ve learned, what I’ve lived? It’s simply impossible.
My train of thought is derailed with another question from him. “You like what I’m saying, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I confirm, ashamed of myself. Agreeing with this man feels wrong; however, his words are exactly what I wanted to hear. But I didn’t know that until now.
“Don’t do that.” He straightens his back and neck. The closeness between us vibrates like a ball of energy being compressed. I am now able to look at him in detail. The fire paints him orange and sheds enough light for me to find some wrinkles under his eyes, notice his full lips and a five-day beard.
“Don’t do what, exactly?” Our faces are way too close now, more than I can handle right now.
“Feel ashamed of yourself. Look, Sarah, there’s nothing better than accepting who you really are and embracing the feeling of doing what you want and need, instead of just trying to fit in. There’s so much social pressure in the world, which makes men and women unhappy, live repressed, ignore how they actually feel, worry about doing whatever it takes to be just another sheep waiting to be devoured by the wolf, which is a total waste of time if you ask me. If you feel the need to be mad, then do it! You don’t have to be someone else, you sure as hell are no longer Cassandra… You are Sarah now, and she has the right to take a shot at life. So, don’t be frightened of what I’m telling you right now, don’t believe even for a second that because our relationship is shit you can’t agree with me; ‘let it be,’ unshackle your inner self, release all that contained energy. If you need to punch someone in the face to feel better, well, here I am willing to take that punch. After all, I did promise to give you what you wanted from me. If help is what you need, I will give it a go. I’m a man of my word.”
I thought I was free the minute they rescued me from that hell hole a month ago. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What really freed me were the words he just spoke.
It was that simple— freedom lived at 7011 St. Thomas Street. Alamo Hills.
“How can I trust you, after all you did to me?” Those words slip through. He feels ashamed for a split second and then goes back to his formal and cold demeanor.
“Youwantto trust me. That is why you’re here. If I wanted to hurt you, I could’ve done that a hundred times by now. I could have even kill you. The minute you walked through that door you had no chance against me. But that was never my intention —ever.” He doesn’t get an answer from me. I’m just staring at him; I can almost see the scalp through his short hair. I gaze upon the nose that separates his green eyes, at which I can’t look straight. They make me look down. I can’t stand to look at them for long; it doesn’t matter how beautiful they are, they still represent the past horrors. I look at him once more; my senses betray me, they trust him. I’m fighting with everything I have and I wonder how good it would feel to let myself go, just once.
I’m about to ask a question and I don’t know if I’m ready for the answer. But it finds a way from my brain into my mouth before I know it. “Am I ever going to feel again?”
That one throws him off balance. I can almost see the cogs moving inside his brain. He sits back again, head against the couch, and after a big sigh, he replies. “Not the way you used to.”
Chapter Twelve
A beautiful broken piece.
Bruno
Of all the scenarios I’ve played in my head, I didnotsee coming what’s going on right now. It’s unbelievable— she’s sitting on my couch, a few inches away from my body, asking for my help. Me, of all people, the one who tortured her for three fucking years. Not even a month went by.
