“I’m not a show,” he grumbled. “Fuck off.”
I tensed, gripping the broom. “Who…” Frustration flared through me. I hated how miserable I was at talking. I wanted to speak so badly. I gestured toward him, hoping to convey that I wanted to know who had hurt him like that.
He finished his stitch and set the needle into a tiny case of bandages and threads. Then he slipped it into what I thought was a mouse hole, hiding it in the wall. He struggled to his feet, and I moved forward, offering my arm. He groaned in pain as he stood, his hand clamping down on my shoulder before he bent to pull his pants back into place with an exhausted look.
“You’re Rafe, right?” he asked. “I’ve seen you around.”
I nodded, studying where his bloody hand left a stain on my sleeve. I straightened when he limped forward, the conversation seemingly done. But then he stopped abruptly and turned back, leaning a shoulder into the wall as he frowned.
“Have you seen a girl around here?” he asked. “Blond. Kind of looks like me but a little younger?”
I matched his frown. “No.”
His shoulders slumped. “Alright. Thanks, anyway.” He moved to leave again, but something yanked from the center of myself.
“You…speak.” I cleared my throat. “Good.”
He looked me over. “And you don’t.” His eyes brightened a little. “You want me to help you? It’s not too hard.”
I blew out a relieved breath. “Please.”
“Cool.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. “My room’s this way. Viktor won’t be back for another few hours. He’s grabbing kids from pretty far north.”
“You know where…what…?” I asked.
“You know where he goes? What he does?” he repeated for clarification. When I nodded, he limped toward his room and pushed open the door. It was just like mine minus the rope. There was rope on his bed. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I would within the next month.
“You know how people buy things?” he said. “Viktor will let people come here and buy us. That’s why he needs more kids. More to sell, more money to make.” He shrugged and settled on the floor, far away from the bed. He patted the floor next to him. “It’s okay, Rafe. You can put the broom down. I’m not like Viktor.”
I hadn’t realized I was clutching the broom still. I gently propped it against the wall and settled next to him, my shoulders a good foot below where his sat on the wall. He was much taller than me, at least back then with our age gap he was. I hadn’t gone through much of a growth spurt yet.
“I know,” he said simply, “because Viktor likes to talk about his plans when he…hangs out.” He rubbed the back of his neck with a wince. “Does he, uh, hang out with you?”
I rested my chin on my knees. “Not really. Just baths.”
I felt him stiffen next to me. “Yeah,” he said and his voice cracked. “That’s how it started.” He forced a slim smile though and looked at me. “How old are you?”
“Seven.” But I frowned. “Eight?”
“You don’t know your birthday?”
“No.”
“Me either, but I’ve counted the years since I’ve been here. I’m pretty sure I’m thirteen.”
Years. “Long time?”
His smile faded. “Long time.” He blew out a breath. “I’m Alex, by the way.” He lifted a hand, and I shook it carefully. He grinned a little. “It would be kind of nice to have a friend.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Maybe I could make it better for you.” It seemed like he was saying it more to himself than to me. He exhaled again, longer and heavier. “Rafe, you can’t trust Viktor.”
I hugged my shins.
“Lesson number one is not to scream.” He swallowed thickly, his eyes glassy as he looked across the room at his tattered bed and the hanging ropes. “Viktor likes it too much. You need to try and remain calm.”
“Shouldn’t I…” I scratched my face. “Do? What he likes?”
