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I still feel like a captive. I’m attached to this man whether I like it or not because I’m not capable of providing for myself right now. I have no friends, no money, no knowledge on how to get across the border by myself. I’m a female which makes people think I’m easier to victimize, which may be true, no matter how much I fucking hate the thought of it.
I don’t even know why I want to get back so badly. Texas doesn’t offer any more protection than I have here. If anything, I have even less. Once we get across the river, I don’t doubt that Nash will cut ties with me.
Hell, I don’t know why he’s so fucking willing to help now. Is it guilt?
I should tell him it’s misplaced. I’ve done just as horrific things to him as he’s done to me. It should be a wash. My gender shouldn’t matter. It makes him no less a victim.
I shake my head, hating to even think that damn word. I hate it as much as I hate the word orphan, but my dislike for both doesn’t make either any less true.
Anxiety makes my chin quiver. No money. No family other than Alani, and she’s at college. It’s not like I can knock on her door and bum a spot in her fucking room.
My apartment was emptied. Hell, they took my car when they took me, no doubt having it chopped to pieces and sold on the black market. Not that a beat-up old Corolla would bring much. If anything, the effort was put forth to keep suspicions being raised about my disappearance.
I have a bank account, and Slick mentioned that deposits were made, but I have no ID, no debit card to use to pull money from that account.
All I ever wanted was normal. It seemed impossible after losing both parents in a tragic accident, and now, it’ll never be possible.
I know my eye is still bruised from rolling off that table to get away from the gunfire, and that means I can’t go to my sister until it’s healed. I have two more days until I can make my scheduled call, and that seems like a lifetime from now. I know any change to the status quo will only bring questions from my little sister that I never want to answer. The call coming from a different number after months of consistency is problematic enough as it is.
My eyes don’t grow heavy until after the sun starts to rise, and I know staying awake has more to do with training than nerves. Now that it would be considered okay back at the compound to go to sleep, I find it increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open.
Nash shifting on the bed, a groan escaping his parted lips, makes falling asleep impossible. I know what the man was forced to do, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion on his own. He seems more the type to not have connections to anyone rather than the type to protect someone he cares for, despite Pirro having something to threaten him with.
I feel locked in place when his eyes open. He doesn’t blink or look away as he sits on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t gotten but a couple of hours of sleep, but I’m envious of what he did manage while I stayed awake and watched him.
As he continues to stare, I can’t seem to do anything other than stare right back. Under his scrutiny, I have this urge bubbling inside of me to apologize for everything that’s ever happened to him, hating that I’m one more part of his life that he may need to overcome.
I try to look away but find myself unable.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for everything they made me do to you. I’m disgusted with myself for all of it.”
He blinks but remains silent for the longest time before finally speaking. “What do you expect me to say? Should I apologize too? Should I simply ignore the fact that you came so hard when I was hurting you? Should we ignore what our bodies liked while it happened? Do we accept that we’re deranged? What do you want me to say?”
I don’t know why I expected him to keep all of that to himself, as if it were the family secret no one spoke about. Although I have no right, I still feel a little betrayed at his willingness to bring it up.
I shake my head, unable to answer any of those questions.
“Who is Alani?”
I freeze, wanting to have a long conversation about his questions rather than talk about my sister.
He’s got more patience than I ever gave him credit for, because the man just watches me, his eyes traveling a path between my mouth and my eyes.
