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“I need you to open your eyes,” he begs again.
What he needs is to get far away from me, but I’m shaking too badly and the darkness around me is too thick, and I can’t tell him to get lost. Like I should.
/Marco/
[audio transcript]
I tried to lose her.
I tried to lose her so many times.
I wanted her to run away. I wanted her to get mad at me, to pick a fight with me. But she didn’t. She just sat there, shivering, barely alive, unable to move.
So I did.
two
I climb out of the bathtub and everything hurts, every bone, every muscle in my body. Marco helps me stay upright, his arm hovering around my shoulders, but I push him away. Darkness keeps flickering at the back of my eyelids, and Marco quickly moves to grab me before I fall. The feel of his arm around me burns my skin, and not in a good way. He’s this stranger suddenly, this…person hired by the palace. By my dad.
He’s not my friend, I need to keep reminding myself that. He’s not. He’s staff. And I also need to start thinking of him as I think of all of the palace staff: people who need to be respected, listened to, but kept at a distance. The palace is their job, it’s not part of their personal life. They are paid to take care of things, of us. They are paid tocare.
He.Heis paid to care.
And then, they are paid to leave, and go home, to their real lives.
Marco slips an arm around my waist as I walk to the bed, and he helps me get into dry clothes, because I can’t feel my fingers. Like at all. He turns me over, so I can expel the rest of the water I have inhaled—he’s really good at this first aid stuff. Too bad I can’t stand his touch.
I keep trying to push him away, but my arms won’t work. But finally, once I’m warm enough and dry enough and breathing enough, I have enough strength to shove him away from me. His hands are on my back, and I duck away from him, nearly falling flat on my face as I try to stand on my own. He yelps and reaches for me, but I push his hands away.
He freezes.
Finally, he gets it. His lips go thin with realization, and he visibly draws himself up. And, somehow, inwards. Away from me. He too looks pale, his lips blue, his clothes plastered all over his chest and pecs. He hasn’t taken one second to take care of himself, and let us not forget here, he died today, before I pulled him out of that water. He was dead. Almost completely.
“I do all this for you,” he says in a whisper, as if he can’t believe this is happening, “I run away with you, risking my job, my life, my… I risked my neck, and is this all you have to say? Pushing me away? That’s it? I don’t even get a thank you? I took you to the lake, to the movie set, I took you out to eat, I spent all this money…”
Wait a second.
‘I don’t even get a thank you?’
Who is this guy? Are these words really coming out of his mouth? The mouth I was kissing minutes ago, the mouth I was…
“I’m sure I can give the money you spent back to you, relax,” I say, but I’m shaking. I never thought he would say such things to me. Not him. His blue eyes are hard with hatred.
Cold. Made of steel. I don’t recognize those eyes.
“This is not about money, ok?” His head goes down, and thank God, because I could not stand another second of those eyes staring at me with no soul in them. He runs a hand over his buzz cut and water sprinkles all around him. “I’m sorry I said that—I was… I was happy to do all that, to do those things with you, Olivia, but after all of it, instead of being a little thankful, you turn around and accuse me of lying.”
I look at him, aghast.
Oh, he was happy to do all that, was he? Like rendering a service. Happy? Should I rate him now on an app or something?
“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” I ask, my teeth beginning to chatter again. The cold settles back into my stomach.
He grabs his head, and his arm muscles bulge, roped with veins.
“I’ve had enough of this, ok?” he says in this quiet, resigned voice. “I thought we… I thought… But fine. Whatever. But if you don’t want a bodyguard, then congratulations, you no longer have one.”
He walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.
