I force myself to stand, using the desk for support. My ribs protest violently. I make my way to the kitchen, flipping on the light and squinting against the sudden brightness.
I find scissors in the second drawer I check.
As I walk back to her room, I pass a mirror in the hallway. I stop.
My reflection stares back — nose crusted with dried blood, lip split and swollen, bruise already forming around my left eye.
They fucked me up. I wonder briefly if Theo enjoyed it. If there was satisfaction in those kicks beyond just selling the performance.
Probably.
When I return to Adela's room, she's still tied to the chair.
I kneel beside her again and fit the scissors between the zip tie and her wrist. I feel her pulse racing against my fingers as I position the blades.
"This might pinch," I warn.
I squeeze the scissors. The plastic gives with a sharp snap, and she gasps as her hands come free.
I move to her ankles next, cutting through the restraints.
The moment she's released, she falls into my arms.
The impact hurts, but I hold her anyway. I wrap my arms around her trembling body and let her sob into my chest.
"I'm sorry," she cries, the words muffled against my shirt. "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
Her coconut shampoo fills my senses. The warmth of her body against mine. The way she's clinging to me like I'm the only solid thing in her collapsing world.
I didn't expect to feel protective.
I didn't expect to feel anger when they tied her up — real anger, not performed anger.
I didn't expect to feel something genuine.
She pulls me toward the bathroom, and I follow. When she flips on the light, I see her face properly for the first time.
Red. Swollen. Terrified.
But there's something else there, too. Something harder forming beneath the fear.
"Let me see," she says, reaching for my shirt.
I want to refuse, but I need her to see the damage. Need her to understand how much I "sacrificed" for her tonight.
I lift my shirt carefully.
She gasps when she sees the bruise spreading across my stomach — dark purple and angry, the clear outline of boot treads visible in the swelling.
Theo really committed to the bit.
"I'm so sorry this happened to you." She covers her mouth, fresh tears spilling over.
I pull her against me despite the pain. "It's not your fault."
But it kind of is, isn't it? She's the one who moved here and won’t stop asking questions. She opened Cody's laptop and poked the bear.
I turn her around, checking her back, her shoulders. Then I grab her wrists, examining the cuts where the zip ties dug in. Red welts circle both wrists, some spots broken and bleeding.
