Humiliation.
I grab the sheets with my hands and squeeze my eyes shut—only to be hit with another memory like a bolt of lightning.
A barn.
A kiss.
Leo.
Mr Morgan.
The fear.
Pain.
Complete abandonment.
Self hate.
The pain of then, mixed with the pain of now, makes it impossible to distinguish which hurts more. I want to run, to disappear. To go home, whatever the hell that means now. But I can’t do any of those things because my broken and useless body won’t allow it.
Lucas shifts in his chair in the corner and opens his eyes, red rimmed and tired. He blinks quickly and stands, walking over to me on the bed.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You’re up.”
I say nothing, because what is there to say anymore?
“You’re safe,” Lucas says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean—safe as it gets around here. You’re in your room. The doctor had you moved up here last night when you were asleep. He said the wounds are healing nicely. One of the wounds is not as deep as he thought, but you will scar. He recommends you move around today, and he’ll be back later to change the dressings.”
I can hear what he says but I’m too focused on the window. Lucas clears his throat like he wants to say more, but then the bedroom door creaks open and I know immediately it’s Carlos. I can sense him. Without any of my defensive walls that I built to keep him at bay, I’m receptive to him.
Lucas leaves quietly, closing the door behind him.
Footsteps approach the head of the bed and I can see from the corner of my eye that he is right next to me, but I can’t look at him.
“I didn’t think you’d be awake yet,” he says gently, which is so weird. I’m used to us sparring and his brashness. I hate that he’s soft with me. Thinking I’m weak. But I remain quiet, saying nothing and just staring at the window.
“How’s the pain?” he asks, and that makes me fully turn my face in his direction. I’m not sure what he sees, but it's enough for him to move back a little. It isn’t anger I feel, it’s a gaping emptiness.
“Does it matter?” I say, voice brittle. “It happened, so why does it matter if it hurts?”
A long silence stretches like a wire between us. Moving us further away from one another.
Carlos clears his throat and I brace myself for whatever he has to say.
“Tomorrow, it ends. Dima and the guys are already here in Brazil. They will take you home tomorrow, but you’re not to share this. But they will protect you and make sure you leave safely.”
They’re here. My god, I get to go home.
“And you?” I ask, and I can’t help asking the question. Carlos hesitates before answering.
“I will stay. For now. I have to clean up the mess, tie off the loose ends.”
“You mean bury the bodies?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Make sure their screams reach the other side of the ocean,” I say, relieved knowing that justice will be served.
