32. SIMON
SIMON
I t's late. So late. I’m moving around, slowly, like the doctor recommended, and thankfully the painkillers have made it easier.
He said there is no sign of infection and I should be more mobile in the next couple of weeks.
He said it could’ve been worse. If I had full range of mobility I would've knocked his head off his shoulders. Unless you’ve had your back torn to shreds, there is no ‘could’ve been worse’ about it.
I slowly hobble over to the balcony, being very careful not to overstretch my torso.
The tightness of my back is horrific. The psychological effects are brutal.
Every time I sleep, I have nightmares about the sound of the whip and the pain that coursed through me.
When I move, I'm terrified the skin on my back will come away, flaying me.
There is an underlying feeling, too, that I’m trying to ignore.
I know Carlos and Lucas have gone somewhere and haven’t returned yet.
Mark has been coming in and out of my room checking on me, but hasn’t spoken.
Whether Carlos told him not to speak, I don’t know.
But the curiosity is killing me, wanting to know what Carlos is up to.
Most of the afternoon I’ve been running over in my head how he’s going to pull off tomorrow. What if it goes wrong?
“You’re still up,” a voice says from the door behind me, but I don’t need to turn to know it's Mark.
“Very perceptive of you,” I say. Looking over the grounds. Waiting for what I don’t know.
“Nice to see your sarcasm is returning. Do you want anything?” he asks.
“No, I'm good. Just moving around a little before heading to bed.”
“I’ve charged your phone and left it on your bedside table. If you need me, text or call. I’ve saved my number.”
I’m sick of this. You’d think I was some innocent princess who has never killed or said a swear word before.
This is what I hate the most. That people will look at me differently.
That I’m perceived as this timid, needy and defenseless flower, rather than the guard to the Kozlovs who has killed more people than I can remember.
“Thanks, but I don’t need a carer. I’m a grown man.”
“Don’t be sensitive, Simon. You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, and I’m thrown by the catty tone. Mark is normally mute, I didn’t realize he was as bitchy as me.
“Sensitive? When I’m healed, I’ll show you fucking sensitive,” I say, wincing when I move too harshly.
“Fine. I’m gone.”
“Wait…before you go. Where are they?”
“Who?”
I tilt my head to the side. He’s not this dumb.
“My dead parents. Who the fuck do you think I mean? Carlos and his twin Lucas.”
“A meeting.”
“With who?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worrying, I’m asking who they’re meeting.”
“A colleague.”
“Wow. Informative. I assume you’ve been told not to say?”
“Yep. Only a need to know basis. All I can say is that you will be out of here tomorrow. Any other questions?”
“No.”
He nods and leaves the room. That was a pitiful amount of information to go off. A colleague. Could it be that guy, Pedro? Oh my god, is he meeting that fucking flirty bastard? Ugh, who cares if he is. Not my business.
The door to my room opens again, but I don’t have the energy to turn around.
“Mark, can you just go to bed?” I start to say, but the reply is not from Mark.
“I think he has. Can I come in?”
Carlos.
I slowly move around to face him, and shuffle across to the edge of the bed. Carlos lets his eyes run down my naked torso. Lingering on the ‘v’ at my abdomen.
“What do you want, Carlos?”
“Just checking you are okay. I’m about to go to bed.”
“I’m fine. Where have you been?” I ask like a possessive boyfriend. I didn’t mean to say anything, but the mouth was ahead of my brain.
“Just business, Simon. The less you know, the safer it is for you.
“Would you have told me if I wasn't injured?”
“Probably not because we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Smug asshole,” I mutter as I gently take a seat on the bed. I groan at the ache in my back as my upper body curves, trying to get comfortable.
“Do you need a hand?”
“No. Stop coddling me. Where were you?”
“Simon, I really think it's best we just focus on tomorrow. Dima and the boys will take you home and it’ll be all settled.”
“Unlike you, I’ll be taking the scars and bad dreams with me. So not settled for us all.”
“I’ll help you through it.”
“No, we won’t see each other again after we leave here. It's done, Carlos.”
He walks over to me, standing close to my legs, towering over me. I can’t look up too much because of my back, but it causes butterflies to fly in my stomach anyway, because I’m a hopeless freak.
Carlos runs the back of his hand down my face and I close my eyes without thinking. Letting myself feel the touch.
“We’re never done, Simon.”
My eyes pop open just as he walks away, closing the door behind him before I can respond.