Metal shrieks across concrete. She still doesn’t react. She doesn’t say anything, her eyes meet mine as I pull her over. Her body sways when I get her close enough.
“Figure you need a closer look.”
The man groans.
She remains silent.
I hit him again. Harder. Blood arcs across the floor.
“You disgusted?” I ask.
I hit him again.
“Can you stomach it, Beda?”
Her brows pull together. “Wait are you interrogatingmeor him?”
I freeze. “What?”
“I thought you brought me here so I can’t leave while you…” She gestures lazily at the man. “…work. But am I supposed to react? Is this how you interrogate women?”
I stare at her.
No fear in her voice. No tremble.
She’s bored.
“This isn’t an interrogation for you,” I say finally.
She shrugs. “Then what is it?”
“A test.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Of what?”
I turn back to the man in the chair, whose breathing has grown more labored. Blood bubbles from his nose with each exhale.
“Of how much of me you can handle,” I answer without looking at her.
She scoffs. “I’ve seen worse.”
I still. Turn my head.
“Have you?”
She meets my gaze, steady. “Yes.”
Her calm isn’t ignorance. It’s experience. It bothers me more than it should.
“Who the fuck are you, Ayla?”
“Nobody.” She crosses her legs, leans back in the chair. “Just a girl in need of money to get the fuck out of dodge.”
“Bullshit.”
The man coughs. I ignore him.
“This doesn’t bother you,” I say, motioning to the blood, the body, the violence. “Not the way it should.”
