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I can’t be sick. I hate being sick.
But I can’t control it. I move my head to the side and throw up everything in my stomach.
Definitely a concussion.
I’ve had enough of those at my high school lacrosse games to know what it feels like.
Another wave of nausea and I’m throwing up some more.
A whimper escapes me. Horrible memories. Trauma I had buried.
All the times I was sick on Bianco’s desk from being hit repeatedly after dinner.
I shift away from where I was sick and fall back on the floor, exhausted. I can’t let him win, but I can’t fight right now, either. I just want to sleep.
My eyes are shutting when I hear the door. I inhale sharply as they shoot back open.
“Rose,” Bianco’s voice rises in the dark.
His tone sends me back into a nightmare I had barely escaped. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl into myself.
I can’t do this. I can’t survive him twice.
“Oh no,” his fake sweetness makes bile rise at the back of my throat. “Aw…” he squats next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Were you sick, my princess?”
Disgust rolls over me. Not this nickname. He can’t steal it back from Lik.
He rolls me on my back.
And I scream with all my might. I call for help as I thrash around.
“Stai zitto,” he barks for me to shut up in Italian. “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.”
He slaps me once. Twice. The ringing and heaviness in my head are too much to take another one, so I stop screaming.
“Let me go,” I whimper. “I…” He grabs me and sits me upright until I can rest against the wall. “Mateo, you’re going to go straight back to prison. Just let me go and this can be over.”
He shakes his head as he pushes my dirty hair out of my face. “I don’t care about prison. We’ll be in Sicily by tomorrow evening. They could barely keep me in prison here. I’m untouchable there.”
My heart stops as my eyes widen.
“No, no, no…Please don’t do this.”
“It will be so much easier to get married there. No one will be looking for you.”
“Don’t do this to me,” I pant, pain radiating through my head and making me clench my jaw before I try to talk again. “Don’t do this, Mateo.Per favore.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” he soothes me as he puts my heavy head against his chest. “It’s okay. It’s almost over,mia rosa.” He opens a bottle of water and brings it to my lips. “Here, rinse your mouth and hydrate. You need to recover from the hit.”
I accept the water greedily. First rinsing my mouth and spitting on the floor, then drinking large gulps.
“Alright, that’s good. Very good girl.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, doing my best to shut the words out.
“Let me go,” I whisper in pain. “Where are we? I can go home and never breathe a word of this. Go to Sicily and no one will ever look for you. Mateo, you know we can’t get married.” I’m panicking. Word vomiting to find a solution. Any solution.
And he hates it.
