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“Do you think it was wise to mention Roth to her?” Tim’s voice seems far away.
A ticking sound makes my stomach turn. I know he’s here; his damn boots give him away.
“Are you questioning my motives?” His voice makes my blood freeze in place. “She needs to know that her life is over, that she can be reborn again with me. I never gave his name, never said how close he’s getting to—”
I can’t hold on. I feel myself slipping back into a place that makes me feel no pain, only love.
Three hours later, I am in agony. I cry out as the American slaps me and then punches me in the stomach for the second time. My mouth is getting me in trouble again. I know it would be better for me if I kept quiet, but I’d rather make him angry and be hit than be forced to sleep with this man.
“You will bend to my ways, Savannah,” he barks down at me as his stupid cobra boots tap along the wooden floor. For the last hour, he has been questioning me, trying to gain some information on where Tim went. He had heard from one of the girls that Tim had spent some time in my room when I arrived. I wasn’t about to out the one person who may be helping me.
“Did you sleep with him, Savannah? I should have known you were a little slut. You probably spread your legs for the whole damn Army.”
I smirk at him, thinking that if he suspects I slept with his muscle that maybe he won’t touch me.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.” I slowly shake my head, feeling lightheaded with pain. “I think it’s hysterical. You wanted me so badly that you hunted me down for so long, and five minutes with Tim, and he’s got me against the wall doing the one thing you’ve been fantasizing about for all that time?” Well, that was it. I found The American’s weak spot. His eyes widen as red-hot anger flickers across them. I see him lose all sense of control. Oh, shit.
I curl up in a ball, my knees protecting my stomach and my arms covering my head, and hold on. This beating takes me to the edge, and I know it could be the end. I force my thoughts to turn inward, ignoring the punishment my body is taking.
I’m twelve, sitting on my bed and clipping pictures from a magazine. My mother comes into my room holding two cups of lemonade. She’s so weak she can barely hold their weight, so I hop up and take them from her, then clear a spot on my bed for her to sit. She leans over to see what I’m doing. I return to gluing the pictures on the Bristol board, telling her it’s my art project for family studies. We have to show what our perfect apartment would look like.
“I love the colors.” She smiles, pointing at the red couch and matching red appliances. I try not to stare at her for too long. She gets uncomfortable with how much weight she has lost. She has commented on her own reflection and how old she looks. She has taken to wearing silk scarves around her neck in pretty colors. I think she still looks beautiful, even when she’s just wearing her headscarf and not her wig. My mother could walk around bald and still be the most gorgeous woman in the room. “You know, when I was eighteen, my best friend Jessi and I got a place together. It wasn’t much, but we had been saving for two summers, and we went out and bought everything new. I remember I bought a red Mixmaster. It cost me a lot, but it was the absolute favorite of all that I got that day. I loved that mixer. I had so much fun experimenting with recipes. It’s how I started making those chocolate chip cookies you love so much.”
“Oh, so that’s the story of how your famous cookies came about. Well, in that case…” I reach behind me and hold up a red Mixmaster picture and glue it on my counter. “Now my apartment is perfect.”
She reaches out and runs her soft hand along my cheek. “Promise me someday when you get your own place, you’ll live for both of us.”
I want to burst into tears. I hate when my mom talks like this, but it’s the truth, it’s our reality, and my mother who I love more than anything is dying a slow, painful death. And every day she is here trying to be strong for me and my father, a father who is rarely home anymore.
“All I ask from you, Savi, is to live it to the fullest and be happy. Do it for me, if not for yourself.”
“I promise,” I whisper, fighting the tears.
“You can cry, honey. I cry too.” She lets go and starts to tear up along with me. “It’s okay not to be strong. Part of living is feeling, and part of feeling is hurting.” I move to crawl up next to her. “As long as you don’t let the hurt consume you. Sometimes we all just need time to work it out.”
“I don’t want you to leave me, Mom.” I sob into her t-shirt. “I don’t know what to do without you.”
She holds me as tight as she can. “Just because you can’t see me, doesn’t mean I’m not here, Savannah, and you’re half of me, so, therefore, I’m never really gone.”
A sharp kick to my battered ribs jolts me back to reality. I’m flooded with incredible pain and everything goes black as I pass out again. This time my mom is nowhere to be found, only darkness and pain and loss. Once again, I am alone.
“Up.” His voice breaks my lovely dream.
My mother starts to fade, and the last thing I hear her say is,“Fight, my sweet Savannah, fight for your life.”Sunlight burns through the holes in the roof, making me squint. I see The American is wearing nothing but a pair of satin PJ pants.
Oh, no.
He reaches down and undoes my handcuffs, scooping me in his arms and holding me close to his chest. His lips make contact with my hair, and I force my tongue back. “How badly did I hurt you?”
Are you fucking kidding me? Is this a joke?
He walks me out of the attic, down the stairs, and through a hallway I don’t recognize. The lights are dim, the smell of flowers fills my nose, and faint music can be heard as we approach an open door. I catch the blonde girl from dinner peek out the door at me. Her eyes fill with tears as she steps back in the darkness.
“I want to make you feel better, Savannah.” His voice is low and in control, not like earlier. “This is my room,” he says as he steps across the threshold.
Oh, my hell.
