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“C’mon.” He presses me backward. “Usa le tue gambe. Inizia a camminare. Tu vieni con me.”
I go with him. Trying to breathe. Trying to make my limbs do what my brain asks. He takes me into a yellow bedroom.
“Get on your knees,” he orders. He pulls out a handgun.
I look at it, at him. And then I laugh. I don’t mean to. It’s only one soft laugh that slips out.
“Do I seem like I’ll do that?” my voice says.
“You won’t get down on your knees for me?”
“Never.”
A hot tear slides from my eye and down my cheek. I love you, Elise.
He looks at me for a long time with his hard eyes. They seem hard and then they don’t. They seem curious and maybe worried. They seem surprised.
“Sei pieno di sorprese.”
“Yeah.”
My brain picks that moment to short out. Black spots dance in my eyes, and he urges me toward the bed’s side. I lean against it.
“Stay there,” he says in raspy English.
I hold my head as time passes like long, slow waves around me.
“Here.”
I look up. My blinks feel a few beats too slow. He’s holding a glass out to me.
I drink all of it, and then I look down at the rug and his shoes on it.
“Am I going to jail?” I can barely breathe, but somehow I look up at him to read the answer from his face.
“What you’re going to do,” he says slowly, his fingers clasping my shoulder, “is come with me.”
