“He’s dead,” she mutters as she looks down the trail of crimson making its way to us. “Harry…” Priscilla lets out a strangled sound that she muffles with her hand. “Harry…”
“Yeah. He’s dead,” I add, pity taking hold of my heart, and I hate the kindness that I was raised to carry. My voice softens along with my features. I need to get out of these chains and help Ronnie, who’s still working on Harry. Locked in her mind, all she sees now is despair and rage. Not that I blame her, but she needs grounding. Sheneedsme. I can’tfailher now.
“Get the keys,” I plead with the woman beside me, noticing how she palms her womb. Something twists in my stomach, settling heavy in my chest. Something is not right. My body screams like a warning. A prophecy. She doesn’t acknowledge me as she moves in slow motion towards Harry, careful not to disturb my queen. The blood is everywhere. All over her face. The ground, and it is seeping through the cracks.
The sight leaves me breathless... It might be wrong to feel this way. To be this in love, this proud and scared. Dare I say, my girl isn’t a sunflower. She has bloomed into a lotus. Even in the harshest environment, my girl grew, covered in red instead of soil. All she needs now is someone to bring her back to herself. To ground her. Love her through the changes. I swallow hard and fast, trying to reach her and bring her back to me. Back to her.
“Ronnie,” I say, trying to reel her back in. “Mi amor, look at me,” I plead, but she’s lost in her anger… her pain. Priscilla shakes as she pulls off Harry’s left boot and retrieves a silver key.
Squelch. Squelch.
The knife keeps going down, overkill even for the situation. The sight is truly something out of a horror movie, his face unrecognizable, and then it dawns on me. She’s not unaware... She’s erasing him. Destroying the features that will always haunt her. “Ronnie…” I need to snap her out of it. Priscilla crawls back towards me.
“Call 9-1-1,” I order her as she hands me the key, her hands trembling. Before she can leave, I grab her hand and squeeze it, giving her a reassuring smile. Again, she doesn’t speak, only nods. Sneaking behind me, she leaves the basement. Quickly, I begin to release myself, removing the chains, not bothering to rub out the ache rooted deep within my bones. Once I get them all off, I don’t waste any time before sneaking behind Ronnie and wrapping my hand over hers. Holding the knife with my hand, she screams in protest as the blade slices through, cutting me in the process. I bite back the pain… blinking away the sight, allowing once more for the world to blur, leaving her to be my only focus.
“Let me go!” she sneers, her body uncontrollably trembling against mine.
“No, not doing that.” My other hand bands around her waist, both of us now straddling a very dead Harry. My girl wails and thrashes, going absolutely feral in my arms. The smell of iron and sweat saturates the air. There’s no getting through to her right now. Doesn’t mean I don’t keep trying, I fill her with my love… my silence. Holding her in place, taking all she has to give. Loving her through the ugly, through the pain.Unyielding. My love is an impenetrable wall of steel, hard and ready to cover her within it.
“Give it all to me, baby. I can take it. Let me carry some for you. Break me if you want,” I whisper as she continues to thrash, tugging at the knife. “I got you,” I whisper. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You saved us. You.”
Her body sags into me, her erratic breathing slowing down to long, purposeful breaths that match my own. The knife falls from her hand, landing on Harry’s gutted stomach. I keep my eye on it as I wrap my fingers around her neck and pull her into me.
“You’re safe. We’re free. I got you,” I whisper as sobs wrack through her body, and I weather it all. Silencing my own screams of agony and just cradling her closer, swaying gently in an effort to calm the wildness within her. We rock side to side, envisioning the way the pirate ship swayed when we would play at the park. The metallic tang of blood is heavy in the air, coating the back of my throat. Thepool of crimson puddled beneath us continues to widen, soaking us. “I got you…. my pretty sunflower… Come back to me… Stay with me.”
Ronnie’s body trembles like a leaf in a storm, yet slowly, it starts to subside under the rhythm of my swaying. Her hair, matted with blood and perspiration, sticks to her forehead as she turns her face into my chest. Her breaths hiccup through the silent basement, each one echoing off the bare concrete walls and back into the space between us. I tighten my grip, feeling her broken sobs starting to ease, starting to soften. Once she’s calm enough, I pull us away from Harry, blocking his body with my own and bringing my girl back to me.
“Look at me,” I plead again, but her eyes don’t lift. “Ronnie, it’s okay,” I whisper as I pepper kisses on her bloody face and the corners of her trembling mouth. She doesn’t respond. She’s so cold. So fucking cold against my heated skin. My hands shake, barely containing my fear and anxiety.Holy shit, she did it. My girl got us out, not me, but her. And to think I had felt as if I couldn’t love and admire her more—I was wrong. Right here, in this moment, I felt like the Grinch; my heart only grew in size with respect and admiration for her bravery and strength. I gently lift her chin with my bloodied hand, trying to make her meet my eyes, needing to see her beautiful, stormy grey orbs.
“Look at me… You did it... Look at me.” When she finally does, I crash my lips into hers, drowning out the sob that tries to escape her lips. She tastes like fear and courage, like relief and trauma all in one. But underneath it all is the flavor of Ronnie, the wild sunflower who’d dared to defy the odds. There’s a faint taste of blood on her lips, but I don’t care. This is survival. This is love.
We cling to each other as the sirens pierce through the air and footsteps begin pounding above us. The rapid thump-thump-thump reverberates through the concrete. We weresafe. I cry, holding onto her as her body shakes with relief, her sobs finally dying down. Her breaths even out against my chest, the caged bird inside her finally able to breathe a sigh of reprieve. I’m sure it’s the same for me; the adrenaline, the terror, the uncertainty—it all starts to dissipate, leaving rawrelief in its wake. The door opens, and men in uniform surround us. Guns drawn, as they inspect the room.
“We made it,” I whisper again and again into her ear, stroking her dirty hair with a gentleness that surprises even me. My sunflower is wilting, but she’s alive, and that’s all I can ask for. She finally surrenders to the exhaustion, to the relief. Her body slumps against mine in a manner that speaks of absolute trust and utter vulnerability. The room fills up with bustling bodies and shouted orders, yet all I can hear is the soft, rhythmic breathing of my girl.
“No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.”
Carl Jung
Chapter Twenty Seven
Isaac
Istare out the window. There’s a stillness in the room as if the universe held its breath for what comes next. The only light that spills into the sterile space is the golden hue from the streetlamps. It hasn’t been long since the police finally left the hospital. The day consisted of questions, poking, and prodding. It went on for hours, and all I can do is think about my girl. Question after question, and all I could picture was the look on Ronnie’s face as they took her away from me. Those light grey eyes darkened like storm clouds. From what I was told, she isn’t too far down the hall, but I haven’t been able to see her. The distance between us feels foreign now; there’s no way I could get used to this. Ronnie should be asleep, according to what the cops told me, because she was almost in a catatonic state while they attempted to interview her. That’s when her mother stepped in, practically telling everyone to fuck off and let Ronnie breathe.Sleep. I let out a long sigh, my lungs deflating, and still it didn’t feel less heavy. My girl needs me, and I’m not there for her. No matter how much I tried to argue with the nurses, they said I need to be here for now. If only they could see that we didn't want to be separated, we needed to be together. I open and close my hand, the wound stretching, pain spreading through it.
The door opens, and behind it, my father emerges. His eyes soften as he brings his trembling hand to his mouth and presses it down on his lips. Pop's eyes shimmer with unshed tears, highlighting the golden hue of his iris illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. “It’s dark in here,” he utters, with a slow smile as he steps inside, closing the door behind him.
“You can turn on the lights.”
My father shakes his head, struggling to speak, taking small and hesitant steps towards me. I straighten out in the hospital bed, my muscles weak from the lack of nutrition. It feels like I’m holding my breath waiting for his embrace, all the tension in my body seems to evaporate with his presence. Right now, I’m just a boy waiting to be held by his father. I open my arms, inviting Pops in for an embrace. The sigh undoes him, my father's hands dart out, anchoring himself to the end of the bed. Trying hard to maintain his composure, even though his shoulder sag and he’s unsteady even as he stands upright.
For the second time in my life, I see my father cry. “It’s so…” he choked. “So good to see you,mijo.” Using his right hand, he wipes away the tears as he moves towards me, crashing into me with a solid force. “I prayed for you… prayed for her.Oh God.” My father sobs into my arms, and I melt into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his tears seep into my skin. It feels good to be loved. To be hugged. That basement not only stripped away parts of me, including the most important to me of human contact. Tears well behind my eyelids, my body trembles as he rocks us.
“I love you, Pops…” I mutter through the tears. His hand cups the back of my head, pressing me deeper into him as he shields me from the horrors. If only he understood that the worst is over. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. We stay like that for what seems like a long time, neither of us pulling away from the desperate comfort of the other. All I do is weather the storm as my father’s sobs subside, his grip relaxes, and he pulls back, keeping his hands on my shoulders. His eyes meet mine, and I see the echo of my own fear mirrored there. “I love you so much more, mijo,” he says before he presses our foreheads together. “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to tell you that again. Soscared.” His voice breaks, and with it, my restraint that holds back more unshed tears building in my eyes.
“I’m right here, old man,” I say with a smirk, trying to act like I just got back from a long trip and not from that basement. I slump against the bed when Father plops down on the sofa seat beside me. His gaze lingers on me, a vigilant fatherinspecting his child, looking for any visible wounds, not knowing mine are all internal. I’m bleeding right in front of him, and he can’t even see it. Clearing my throat, I ask the only question that’s burning in my mind. And he is the only one who would tell me the truth without diluting it to make me feel better
“We should talk.” My father takes hesitant steps forward, while I take the same amount in the opposite direction. My body quakes, anger oozing from every part of my being. Then there’s a deep ache that settles right in the middle of my chest, making it hardfor me to breathe. To reconcile the fact that my father is marrying the mother of the girl I love. “You can’t do this to me…” I sob, pointing an accusatory finger at his wave. “You can’t. What about Mom? Don’t you love her?”
