Chapter 8 Violet #2
I don't hear the rest. Matt's heart slams against my ear, too fast and uneven, a trapped bird. Whatever the order, they haul us both upright.
Matt still clings to me as they kick us out onto the corridor.
My clothes hit my face, balled up and thrown from behind, and I get my shirt over my head while moving because I will not walk through this compound with my skin showing one more second than I have to.
My underwear is gone. But in that bundle is a loose skirt, which I pull as fast as I can.
One of the guards has Matt by the collar, another has me by the arm.
I focus on the concrete under my bare feet because it's the only thing I can make sense of right now.
They throw us into a cell. My cell. Door clangs. Bolt slides. Then it's just us, the fluorescent buzz, and Matt's breathing, wet and labored.
Matt's on the floor, on his side, knees up, arms wrapped around his middle. But as he looks up at me through the blood, he's wearing the same steady here-I-am expression he had the first night when he split his bread.
I kneel, unable to stop the shaking in my hands. I don't fight it, just grab my sleeve hem and wipe blood from his face. Rough cotton. Useless. It's what I have left.
"You're an idiot."
"Yeah." He winces as I dab the split. "But I wasn't gonna let him touch you. Not while I'm breathing."
My throat closes. I keep cleaning, gentle around the swelling. Neither of us speaks for a while. His injuries are survivable. Bruised ribs, maybe cracked. Split eyebrow. Contusions on his back that'll darken by morning. Survivable is the new gold standard.
We sit in the quiet. Him on concrete, me beside him, hand still on his shoulder because letting go feels wrong. The light hums its single note.
"His name is Elio," I say.
Matt waits. Doesn't turn. Just listens.
"The man I told you about. I didn't think I relied on anyone until just now. Until I wished he's come for me by now."
Matt's eyes close as his breathing evens. Still listening.
"I really thought I was going to be able to escape this," I huff a laugh.
"But my track record isn't great, you know?
Would you belive this isn't my first rodeo?
I was kidnapped by Elio first, it was just a different cage.
Different circumstances. He'd keep me in his fortress and talk to me about Sicily's history.
About art and music. At first, I hated him.
And wanted him. Both at once. Nothing canceled the other out.
That's the part that makes me think I'm broken.
How do you want someone who stole your freedom?
How does your body decide this is the one, the murderer in the tailored suit who locks the doors at night? "
I'm shaking again. Not cold.
"He was gentle. That's the worst of it. If he'd been cruel, like them," I nod at the walls, the compound, everything, I could have hated him clean.
But he was patient. Looked at me as if I were the rarest thing he'd ever found.
I don't know if it was love or how a collector looks at something he owns. "
Matt opens his eyes. Turns his head on the concrete to meet mine.
"What did you do?"
"I fell for him. Not right away. I fought him at first. Hard.
Almost starved myself to death. He was there waiting to catch me every time I stumbled.
Patient, never threatening. A stark contrast to how he was with everyone else.
At first, I told myself it was survival.
Strategy. Biding time. But then I got to know him, his demons, the things he cherished.
And by the end I'd look at him and feel.
" I press my palms to my eyes. "I fell for him, Matt.
He was my kidnapper and I fell for him. Am I broken?
" My voice cracks. I press harder, refusing the tears. This place devours anyone who cries.
Matt's hand finds my wrist. Fingers pull my hands down. He doesn't sit up. Just holds on. Looks at me with those steady brown eyes that shouldn't still be kind in a place like this.
"You're not broken."
"You don't know that."
"I know wanting to be loved doesn't make you sick. I know your body telling the difference between someone who sees you, and someone who sees furniture isn't a malfunction. That's being human."
"Objectively he's not a good man, Matt."
"You had no choice. You did what you had to survive."
Did I though?
I lie down beside him on the concrete, scooting closer until my head ends up on his shoulder. His heartbeat steadies, regular now, the trapped bird quiet. My shirt smells of sweat and blood, ours mixed. His chest rises and falls. I match my breathing to it.
"When we get out, you decide what you want. Not what you should want. Not what makes sense. What you actually want. Because whatever comes next has to be yours." Matt murmurs.
The light flickers. Dies. Buzzes back on with a high whine that drills behind my eyes.
"What if what I want is fucked up?"
"Then it's fucked up. Doesn't make it less yours."
I close my eyes. His hand starts moving through my hair, slow and steady.
"Matt."
"Yeah?"
"When they dragged you past, how did you know he was in there with me? How did you know to fight right then?"
A pause. Two seconds. Three. Longer than the question needs.
"I heard you. Through the walls."
I made no sound. I know I made no sound. Silence is my entire survival strategy here. But his answer comes easy. His hand doesn't stop in my hair. Heartbeat stays level under my cheek.
It makes little sense. Maybe he heard he guard? Tomorrow I'll think about it.
Right now I just need the next hour.