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But I know how healing it could be for her, how freeing to let go of one tiny bit of her own frustration.
“Get on the bed, Kai.”
She blinks and swallows slowly. “What if I can’t?”
“I’m not asking you to sleep. Just lie down on the bed.”
“I’m not sure—”
“You can. It’s not an option; it’s an order. Get on the bed.”
Kai slowly walks over. She takes her time climbing up, her legs moving awkwardly. And then she lies down flat on her back. Her breathing speeds as I walk over, her body trembling slightly.
I have an uphill battle if I’m going to have any success with my plan. I don’t even know if it can be done, but if anyone can do it, I can.
I smirk, I’m a cocky son of a bitch.
Kai must see something on my face. Something that makes her say, “I trust you.”
Those words crush me. Because I haven’t earned her trust. Not ever.
“Good, because I’m going to give you back something that never should have been taken.”
29
Kai
I trust you.
I don’t know why I said those words.
Trust.
I don’t trust Enzo.
But it seemed those were the words he needed to hear to carry out his plan. And it seemed I would be rewarded if I let him get his way.
So despite every bone in my body begging me to run, I stay. I lay on the cool bedsheets face up. I expected to hate and curse the bed the second I laid down on it—but I don’t hate it.
The bed is firm. The sheets feel brisk, my skin adapting to the temperature easily. And the pillow is supportive under my head and neck, not soft and mushy.
I’m not sure what Enzo has planned as I lay face up on the bed, but I’m tired of living in fear. Today, I will claim something back. Something bigger than wearing clothes or stepping out into the sunlight. But what?
“Turn off that brain of yours,” Enzo says.
“I can’t.”
He sighs. “What was the last good memory you have?”
That’s too invasive of a question. My last good memory should be the time Mason and I played hooky from school and spent the whole day at the beach getting sunburned and drinking vodka. That day should have been the day I got my first kiss.
Or maybe it should have been a memory with my father. Sharing a simple meal I cooked, and not worrying about bills and payments, before watching Jeopardy together on the TV.
Neither were my best memories.
“Kai? It doesn’t matter what it is; I just need you to think of a positive memory. Something that will help you relax.”
My one good memory bubbles up; it’s the one I’ve played in my head every day for years. The memory that saved me from death. The one I could use to escape when my body couldn’t.
