Something's definitely not right.
I immediately hold the mattress tightly. Something dangerous is about to happen. The machine translates into a sound the pounding sensation that runs through my whole body.
Run! I hear in my mind, but I don't even flinch, I'm petrified. With his back still turned to me, he begins removing his helmet, then the scarf and the goggles. He takes a deep breath, then slowly starts turning around.
…
No way.
It can't be.
This must be a nightmare.
A sick and twisted fucking nightmare. Oh, God.
I hear giggles turn into laughter, hysterical laughter. It's Life; she's rolling on the floor, and she can hardly breathe because of it.
Suffering light green eyes are watching me.
It's him, in here, with me, in this very room.
My stomach twists in fear, my eyes burst in tears. Just when hope was slowly growing within me, I find myself submitted to his watch, again.
I squirm on the bed, trying to figure out where to run. This can't be! God is laughing at me once more. I yank the cables out of my body, I want to get to the window and cry for help.
"Help! Help!" I yell with my withering voice towards the parking lot, filled with cars waiting for their respective owners. Nobody seems to have heard, no one is coming. There's no help on the way. I turn around, he's on top of me.
"Cassandra, wait! Stay still! I'm not here to take you back! You're safe here. Jesus! Stay still, dammit!" He grabs my waist while yelling at me. He puts me back in bed. There's no way I can fight those big arms of his, which he used to pick me up as if I was made of air. My eyes are burning, and my vision is blurred by the tears. "Please, hear me out," he covers my mouth with his hand; I try to remove it by burying my fingernails. It's no use, I only get to hear my breath hitting the leather glove. "Let me explain, then I'll walk away, and you don't have to see me again. You've got to calm down. Can you do that for me?" I nod, but he still doesn't trust my answer and keeps pressing on my mouth. "You promise not to scream?" I nod again and slowly steady my breath. He finds that reassuring and starts to remove his hand slowly.
Life stands up, goes to her armchair and sits, waiting to see this unfold.
"I don't know how to explain this and not sound crazy. In all fairness, this should come from a professional, but I just can't… I won't let you find out from others. I need you to hear it from me. This is my last selfish act, I swear it." I'm paying attention, but I have absolutely no clue as to what's going on. This is another man; it can't be the same. And yet his voice is the same, but his tone used to be… different. "I know I can't make you forgive me; I've earned your hatred for life. There are no words that can heal or comfort you, after all, we've been through… together. But at least I want you to know that every time I had to work on you, every bit of pain I inflicted on you felt like a dagger going through my heart. I made sure I felt it even deeper than you did."
He feels like shit about this, you can almost feel it in his eyes. This is the absolute opposite of what I'm used to feel from him. Each and every encounter we had in that cell, he expressed nothing —no words, no body language—, and yet right now his face is filled with torment, shame, anguish, fear. He's overwhelming me, he's no longer the prideful king who came with a trampling attitude for me. This is a completely different man, maybe even human.
"Cassandra, everything has an explanation, everything has a purpose. You see, to hunt wolves, you need wolves. And I had to become one, or at the very least, I had to act like one so that they believed I was one of them. I'm a double agent. I did things I can't take back, and I will regret them forever. One of them is having worked on you…" He walks around me, looking for the right words to continue his story. What he doesn't know is that there are no right words to talk about this. "I had to tape it all, the motherfuckers wanted video footage of every session!" His tone rises with each word, the sole memory outrages him. "Cassandra, I had to, they gave me no choice. We needed to complete the op and end their rule on American soil once and for all." He circles back to my right.
He's waiting for an answer, staring at me like a madman. Nothing comes out of my mouth. I feel like I have a snake around my throat, blocking it. I'm dumbstruck, unable to process what he just told me.
"Talk to me, please. Just say something, anything… Yell at me, spit on me, but do something!" He desperately begs for a reaction. I thought I was suppressing the words, but then I hear myself speak.
"You tortured me. You tortured me! All that pain and suffering!" I don't really know if I'm saying this to him or myself. I'm trying to understand, to figure something out. "How could you!? I'm hollow, empty. Can't you see that?" I'm using my hands to show him my damaged body. "Because of you! I don't feel anything anymore! This is all your fault!" I exclaim again and again until I notice no air is reaching my lungs. I can't breathe, I need air. I gasp hopelessly for it but can't seem to get any. Is this how I die, after all, I've endured?
He immediately comes to my help. I push him back just as fast, he's breathing the air around me. He understands what's happening to me and starts giving me instructions.
"You're having a panic attack. Focus on your breathing, breathe slowly, that's all that matters right now. In and out. Come on, follow my lead." He inhales deeply and exhales slowly. I try to follow his rhythm. "That's it, nice and easy." I'm slowly getting back to my body, almost not hyperventilating anymore. I can feel the air inside my lungs; my mind doesn't want to explode. I don't think he blinked once; his beautiful and yet horrendous look studies me just to make sure I'm… ok? When he's certain I'm doing better, he resumes his side of the story.
"I'm your worst nightmare, I know that now. But it was all for the greater good. If I hadn't been there, maybe we would have never pulled that rescue off. We saved hundreds of people, many of them in a much worse condition than yours. Believe me when I tell you THIS was not easy, not by a long shot. Every day I thought about quitting, but the very thought of leaving you with those monsters made me feel sick to my stomach. I've seen a lot of people die for different reasons —torture, starvation, rape injuries. I tried to take care of you as much as I could. You have no idea what these people are capable of. I don't ever want you to see that again, Cassandra. I want you to be happy. I don't care if you have to hate me to get there. Just be free." His familiar hands are on my shoulders, his body is bent on me, trying to catch my undivided attention. How do I move on? What should I say?
The repulsion is way too strong, but I can understand what he's telling me. I just can't —or won't— process it right now. I need to get out of this place… I need to see the sun.
"How long until sunrise?" I'm still shaking a bit. He looks shocked as he analyzes and observes my brows, eyes, mouth, and jaw. He doesn't get why I ask about the sun instead of what he just told me. He zones out for a second. When he comes back, he glances at his watch.
"It's ten p.m. We're eight hours away from sunrise…"
"Ten p.m.?" I cut in. "But everything happened just moments ago…"
"Cassandra, you've slept an entire day. The rescue was yesterday before sunrise..."
