“Your real name will get you and me immediately killed.”
“Well, maybe I want to get us killed. Maybe that’s what we should do, die.”
“If you wanted to die, you would’ve drank the bleach, Magdalena. Cut the crap.”
“You can’t tell anyone who you were or any part of your past. Better yet, just say you don’t remember. They’ll like that.” While giving spilling this advice as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he nodded and pushed his lower lip out as if he’d just come up with the best plan ever. “Obviously, you can’t go around having psychotic breaks and mentioning names from the past, so I’ll have your meds brought to you tomorrow.”
“Meds?”
“Yes. I just read all your real medical records. I know you take those antipsychotic pills.” He sighed, looking as if the whole world had once again fallen on his shoulder. “I’ll try my best to make it seem like the meds are not a big deal when I sell you.” I stared at him—now my mental illness was a fucking inconvenience to him?One thing I’m not going forget is this fork.
“Are you done eating?”
“Where’s my family?”
His brow furrowed. “Your family? Do you have any idea how many favors I’ve had to pull? How much shit I’ve done to save your life? I haven’t had a minute’s rest since you arrived here. Why the fuck would I know anything about them?”
I gripped the fork with all my strength as my breath hitched. “Please don’t lie to me. I know you read everything in my file. You have to know?—”
“Enough!” His palm landed on the table, startling me and making me flinch. “I don’t know anything about your family. Your file is about you. That’s it.” Why was he so upset, and why was I flinching? I didn’t like that he could scare me so easily, it angered me.
“You’re lying!” I screeched.
He sat back with his chin up and his arms crossed, wearing the coldest glare I’d ever seen. A chill ran up my back. But the more I feared him, the more it pissed me off, so I lifted my chin too, and we stared at each other until a smile spread on his face. “Are you done eating?” The humor didn’t reach his eyes. It was actually a disturbing expression, as if I’d amused the devil himself.
“Yes.” I placed the fork down, but when his gaze moved to the screen as he closed the laptop, I picked it up and held it under the table. “May I go to bed?”
“Yes.”
My heart drummed while I lay in the bed, waiting for him so I could finally kill the motherfucking bastard. The anticipation for the sensation of the knife slicing through his skin, muscles, and tissues increased by the second. It had been too long since I last sliced skin and felt the blood of a bastard on mine—apparently, two months. That was unacceptable.
To feel that wet warmth again. I was starving for the high.
However, there was too big of a part of me that didn’t want to kill him.Why, Goddammit? Why did I care?I kept going back and forth with the idea.After what he’d done to me… Why couldn’t I remember being fucked every day for two months?There was a click when he turned off the light. The bedroom became as dark as the night outside, with only the moon lightingthe room. Frustration overtook me when instead of coming to bed, he turned on the shower; I was losing my will to kill him the longer he took. Was he taunting me?
Do you ever think long-term? the asshole had dared ask me. It reminded me of how when a survey was done on victims of rape they all said they would kill the bastard if they had a chance. Why was I not as brave as those girls? It’s so easy though to say you’d kill him after it has all finished, after he’s gone and the fear has calmed, isn’t it?You have to kill him, Magdalena. You have the opportunity. You must.
Despite my exhaustion, the adrenaline kept me awake. I swept my thumb against the fork’s handle, feeling the inscribed flower pattern. Every minute felt like an eternity. I wanted to get it over with. Even after the water stopped, he stayed in the bathroom for what seemed like a long time. I contemplated entering the bathroom and just stabbing him to death there. It would have been less of a mess anyway. But no, revenge was best served cold. I let him feel safe and in control, as if he had years to live, so it made sense for him to clean up and get all beautiful. I didn’t catch the many times I rolled my eyes and sighed. What kind of torture was this?
A new smell entered the room. I must have been half asleep because his voice startled me when he said, “I have to put medicine on your wounds. Lie on your belly, Little One.” The way he talked, the way he breathed, the smell of his aftershave. Even with the fork in my hand, I felt helpless against him. I despised, with an incomparable rage, the power he had over me.
My body was set ablaze, and my breathing trembled. One more reason I needed to annihilate him. Even if they assigned me to another trainer, I was sure they would not have such power over me.
In the end, even though it made me sick to do it, I obeyed him.
As he applied the cream to my wounds ever so gently, the heat from each cut quickly cooled. It relaxed me, and I sighed in relief. “Now, go back to sleep, Little One.”
I stared out at the forest. Three months in upstate New York, in a hell hole, losing my mind. I waited to hear him breathing deep and steady, then slowly turned to face him, sat up, and waited to make sure he really was asleep. Then I raised the fork in the air.
Within a second, there was a click and the barrel of a gun at my forehead. His brief chuckle disappeared, making me question its authenticity. “Drop it, Little One.”
I didn’t obey and instead gripped it harder. “Now!” His voice rang through the apartment, startling me.
I shook my head. “No…” It was a cry, grieving for my freedom from him.
“Shhh… Is my little one scared of the consequences of her actions? I gave you two hours to rethink it and you still chose this, only to end up weeping for your mercy.” There was no mocking in his tone.His observation had more of an undertone ofyou never learn.
Slowly, he took the fork without any resistance from me and threw it toward the bathroom at full force, as if he hated the thing. My breath hitched while my body erupted in goosebumps and quaked. How could I defend my actions? How could I convince him not to kill me? With our eyes locked, he sat up against the headboard. “Come sit on me.” The room became extremely chilly, and I couldn’t stop shaking.This was it, this was the hour I died. This was how it would be done.
