CHAPTER 35
Everything hurts.
My entire torso throbs, my throat is like sandpaper, and fatigue has settled deep within my weary bones. It takes effort just to shift on the bed as I try to find a somewhat comfortable position, but no matter how I turn or twist, a wound always presses against the mattress, and the simplest of movements stretches the cuts on my body.
Breathing shallow gulps of air, I try to distract myself from the pain by watching Janos. He’s asleep in the red chair, head resting against one of the wings and his chest moving up and down with his deep breaths. But watching him stirs up too many emotions that seem to shudder through my body, so I end up turning around and burying my head in the pillow as I try to stifle a cascade of whimpers.
Bandages cover my back, stomach, and chest, but I can’t feel whether it’s patches or roller gauze wound all the way around my torso, and I’m not about to cause myself more pain by lifting the comforter to investigate. Nor am I sure I want to see.
I have no recollection of getting the bandages. The last thing I remember is the sound of a fist hitting flesh and angry voices cutting through the void, but the memory is hazy, and I can’t make sense of it. The only thing it tells me is that it was still night when it all stopped, so I must have been out for hours since bright daylight is now filling the room. But not even that makes much sense because I feel like I’ve gone days without closing an eye. Exhaustion is a bone-deep ache in my body.
Something flickers in my mind, and I realize I haven’t slept much at all. A painful memory sends a shudder through my body, searing through my many wounds. My face tightens as I suppress the urge to cry out. The memory has nothing to do with Gabor or the knife, yet my entire system reels as it recalls the pain. I rack my brain to find an explanation, and it’s like adjusting the antenna on an old TV, hoping to tune in to a clear signal eventually.
Finally, I catch a few flickers: Janos sitting on the edge of the bed, my screams tearing through the night, and my skin burning like he was pouring acid into my wounds. My stomach roils at the memory—the same way it kept doing all night. The pain kept going on and on forever, yet the memory remains patchy, and I think I must have passed out several times.
Or maybe my head is making things up. Janos would never hurt me like that.
But then the pieces fall into place. Janos did cause me pain, but not to hurt me. I remember the scent of alcohol, his pained apologies, and swipes of fabric across my torso. He cleaned my wounds, one by one. I was so drained I could barely keep conscious, but every time I drifted away, the burn of the antiseptic pulled me right back.
He tried easing the pain by talking to me and making me focus on him, but I couldn’t hold his eyes for more than mere seconds, and nothing could abate my screams. Even so, just knowing he was there helped. If he hadn’t been, I would have stayed inside that black void and probably never have come out, but he made me want to keep fighting.
I whimper and wince as I turn back around, badly needing to see him. I want to scream when I finally settle on my other side, but I know it would only aggravate the pain, and I don’t want to wake Janos.
Once again, an intense mix of emotions rises. But there’s no hate or blame despite everything he’s done. Most of all, it’s gratitude, aching longing, and so many deep emotions that I feel for him.
I know he’s as trapped as I. His loyalty binds him in place, and I can’t blame him for that, and so I can’t find it in myself to hate him aiding Gabor’s sadistic games. His only option to avoid it was to not show up and all—make someone else do it—and that would be hurting me even worse than doing it himself.
The relief when he showed up at the kitchen door last night was unlike any other.
I want to crawl into his lap, rest my head against his chest, and listen to his heartbeat like I’ve done so many nights when sleep eluded me. Let his warmth soothe the trembling in my body.
I’m about to do it, but the moment I try to push up, pain flares like a spark in a puddle of gasoline. Once again, I spend forever trying to hold myself together, pressing my head into the pillow as I whimper and tensing my entire face as I try not to tense my body.
I end up just lying there, watching him through wet eyes, the aching need to feel him almost as painful as my burning wounds. But despite the distance, just watching him and sensing his powerful presence is a relief. And finally, I fall asleep again.
***
When I wake up, the chair is empty. I lie there for a while, listening for sounds in the apartment, hoping he’s still here. But all I hear is the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional noise from the street that slips past the soundproof windows.
Glancing at the teddy bear with the sparkling eyes, I badly want to reach for it and hug it close. But as with Janos, I end up just lying there, watching it as I dream of touching it—and the man who gave it to me.
Time ticks away on the clock next to the bed. On and on it goes while I lie frozen in place.
When the long hand has made a full rotation, I slowly push off the covers, and with a lot of wincing and whimpering, I manage to sit up in bed. Tears are leaking from my eyes, my legs trembling beneath me, when I finally stand on the floor. I have to support myself on walls and door frames as I painstakingly make my way across the hall to relieve myself.
Once I’m back on my feet, I press my hands into the counter surface and study my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me has deep lines under her eyes, her hair is a messy tangle, and her eyes are red and swollen.
But that’s not the worst part.
What is even more unsettling are the bandages covering her body. Large patches of gauze create a horrible pattern across my stomach, chest, and ribs. A mosaic of white gauze, pale skin, and red spots. The sight is nauseating, and when I turn to find the same sight on my back, bile rises at the back of my throat.
I can’t stand it. I’m a broken thing patched together.
Suddenly, the bandages seem to be tightening, constricting my chest and itching my skin. I can’t breathe. I need to get them off. Throwing my hands up, I scratch at the edges, ripping the patches off with feverish panic. I whimper and curse, and tears pool in my eyes as I pull at a bandage that sticks to a wound. But I don’t let it stop me. I keep going until exhaustion sweeps in as a tidal wave, knocking every last ounce of strength out of me.
I collapse against the counter and sink to the floor. There I lie for what seems like forever, quiet tears leaking from my eyes as I try not to let the panic fester in fitful bouts of sobs.
When I finally get off the floor, I cry out at the sight that meets me in the mirror. My body is one big, hideous collage of torn white patches and red stripes crisscrossing over my milky skin. Some cuts are thick and angry, while others are narrow and pale. Small drops of blood appear here and there, and in some places, it runs down my skin in small red stripes.
A hard sob racks my body, and I fall to the floor, giving in to hollow despair. The pain grows tenfold as grief tears through my body. I twist and turn on the bath mat, trying to find relief from the constant throbbing and burning, but nothing helps. I’m trapped in the hell of pain and despair. My screams become a nauseating cacophony as they bounce off the tiled walls, mixing with my sobs and whimpers.
At some point, I vaguely notice the sound of the front door, and then pounding steps blend into the mix of obtrusive sounds as someone comes running. The door flies open, and a jeans and leather jacket clad Janos freezes in the doorway, staring at me with the same horrified expression as when he found me on the kitchen floor with a bloody streak on my arm yesterday.
I feel so ugly and miserable that I can’t stand him looking at me. “Please go,” I manage through heaving sobs as I bury my face in my hands. “Just go.”
Breaking out of the initial shock, Janos rushes to my side and tries to push his arms under me gently. But the slightest touch aggravates the burn, and I lash out at him until he withdraws. “I have to get you back to bed,” he says.
I shake my head as I continue writhing on the mat.
For a moment, he’s quiet, and when my gaze flits to him, he looks utterly perplexed. But my mind has no space left to deal with it. All I can do is try my best to get air into my constricted lungs.
“Lie still!” he demands with a force that shoves me out of my self-pity. He presses his hands to my upper arm and hip to underline his words.
Suddenly, I’m still. I stare up at him, the hectic breaths swooshing past my lips the only sound in the room.
“Breathe,” he says in a deep, calm voice that resonates with a steadiness that seeps straight into me and soothes my frazzled soul.
I heave a staggered breath, the motion sending stabs of pins and needles through my skin. I’m about to drop straight back into the pit of despair, but Janos’s willful words refuse to let me go there.
“No! Stay here.” Grabbing my jaw, he locks my eyes to his furious ones, demanding that I stay with him. “I’ve got you,” he says with an urgency I have never heard in him before. “I’m here.”
I nod carefully, pushing air in and out through rounded lips as I try not to move my chest too much.
“Stay with me, Rebecca,” he says softly as he swipes his thumb across my cheek. “I’m here.”
Once I’m breathing somewhat normally, Janos releases my jaw and once again moves to push his hands under me. “I’m sorry, but I need to get you to bed,” he says when I whimper again. “Hold on to me and focus on my body. I’ve got you.”
Pain screeches through my body as he lifts me off the floor, but somehow, I manage not to sink back into despair. I focus on his body like he told me to, and the feeling of his strong arms steadies me enough to stay afloat.
“Good girl,” he says as he places me on the bed and presses a hand to my cheek. “Just keep breathing, okay?”
I nod again.
“I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room with hurried steps, and a few minutes later, he returns with a glass of orange juice, a first aid kit, and a wet cloth.
He pulls the red chair up and holds the straw to my lips as he dabs the cool cloth across my face. It’s only now that I realize I’m sweating, and the cloth and juice are a welcome relief that make me forget about the throbbing sensations for a moment.
But the reprieve is short. Soon, the glass is empty, and Janos removes the cloth to unpack the first aid kit. A regretful frown forms on his brow as he casts me a look. “I need to clean your wounds. I won’t risk them getting infected.”
Tears gather in my eyes anew as I watch him unpack the antiseptic, suddenly remembering the agony when he cleaned the wounds the first time.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping I can somehow disappear into myself and float out of my body.
“Hold this.” Janos pushes something fluffy into my hand.
I open my eyes and stare into the green sparkling eyes of the teddy, then up into Janos’s steel-gray ones. They’re focused on the task at hand, taut with the gravity of the pain he’s about to inflict on me. Actually, his entire face is taut. I’ve never seen him like this, and for a moment, it shoves back my own pain as I realize that I’m not the only one hurting.
Just as he’s about to put on the latex gloves, I reach out and take his hand. When his eyes lock on mine, I want to tell him that everything is going to be okay. But I can’t bring myself to lie, the same way he never does. So we just stare at each other for a long moment, holding tightly on to each other before we descend back into hell as he starts the cleaning process all over.