Chapter 7 Samira
Samira
Everything was sound and touch.
The dark wasn’t just around me—it was inside me. Heavy. Thick. Permanent. I kept blinking, expecting something to change, but nothing did. The world stayed black.
My throat burned when I tried to speak. Not even a whisper escaped. It felt like someone had reached in and stolen my voice, ripped it out by the roots.
I heard him move—a chair shifting, fabric brushing, footsteps measured and heavy. He hadn’t raised his voice once. He hadn’t touched me since helping me sit up. But I could feel him there, the weight of him in the room, like gravity picked sides and chose him every time.
When he spoke my name, it sounded like my name fit exactly where it belonged.
When he told me I was covered in blood, my fingers twitched at the word blood. Memories from a long time ago flooded the space in my brain where sight no longer lived.
I swallowed hard. My voice was gone. My sight was gone. But somehow, sitting in the dark with this stranger close by, I felt less lost than I should have.
He didn’t move after that. He just stayed there—solid, steady, breathing in the same space as me like he was holding the room together with sheer force.
For the first time since waking, I wasn’t terrified.
I was just… here.
Alive.
Waiting.
And hoping that whoever this man was, whatever he was capable of, he wouldn’t let the darkness swallow me completely.
Time moved strangely in the dark.
I didn’t know how long we sat there—me gripping the blanket like it was the only thing keeping me upright, and him sitting close enough that I could hear every controlled breath he took.
He didn’t talk much after telling me about his cousin. He just stayed. I could feel him sitting there, a silent guard dog in the room. I couldn’t see his expression, but the room felt safer with him in it, like danger knew not to come near.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway. Light ones. Quick. Confident.
He stood immediately. The air shifted with the loss of his weight.
“That’ll be her,” he informed me, and I think it was the most excited I’d heard him.
The door opened before I could brace myself, and a warm female voice filled the space like sunlight through a crack.
“Marcello, where is she? You sounded—Jesus!”
The footsteps hurried toward me. The sound alone told me she was smaller than him, but her presence was big, unafraid.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted me. “I’m Antonella. Tone. I’m here to help you, okay?”
Her tone was gentle without being pitying. It was the first thing that day that didn’t make me want to curl in on myself.
I nodded. It took effort. My whole body still felt heavy, like I was moving through wet sand.
Tone exhaled, her breath shaky, like she’d seen worse but it never got easier.
Behind her, Marcello stayed silent. I could feel him watching. Waiting. Making sure I wasn’t overwhelmed.
“Can she see?” Tone asked him in a low voice.
“No,” he answered. One word. Hard. Angry—with himself, I thought.
“And her voice?”
“Gone.”
There was sadness in Tone’s soft hum. “Fuck. Okay. Okay. That’s okay.”
She sounded a little nervous to me.
I heard the rustle of her jeans, the shift of fabric as she came closer to me. Her hand touched mine—light, checking for permission. I didn’t pull away.
“Can I help you sit up a little more? Are you hurt?”
She shot me two questions and I didn’t know whether to nod or shake my head. My throat tightened; it was the first time in years that I’d been handled so gently.
Tone eased me upright. Her hands were warm. Her touch was sure. She moved my hair back from my face, and I felt her breath catch.
“Poor thing,” she whispered under her breath. There was obvious anger threaded through her voice at what someone had done to me.
Marcello shifted, just enough that I felt the air move. He didn’t speak, but the tension rolling off him filled the room like static.
Tone cleared her throat, her voice slipping back into calm. “We’re going to get you cleaned up. A shower and fresh clothes. I brought you some things.”
Then, I imagined her turning toward the man as she addressed him in a lowered tone. She might have been trying to stay calm, but I still heard the anger and accusation in her voice.
“What did you do, Marcello?”
There was a long pause. I took his name and stored it in my mind. A man named Marcello. I had no idea who he was or what he did, but apparently I was in his home.
Then, calmly: “I fixed a problem.”
It wasn’t an answer, but it was the only one he was giving.
Tone didn’t push. She squeezed my hand instead. “You’re safe with me,” she said. “I promise you.”
Safe. The word hit someplace deep. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear it until then.
She helped me stand. My legs wobbled immediately, and before I could panic, a strong arm appeared at my side.
Marcello.
He didn’t grab me—he just steadied me, a solid line of heat beside my shoulder. His presence was overwhelming but grounding.
“I’ve got her, Tone,” I heard him say in a low voice.
“No.” She was firm. “She needs a woman right now. Not your looming-ass shadowing her like a storm cloud.”
He grunted. Actually grunted. I could almost picture the glare he was giving her.
But he stepped back. I didn’t think he went far. Just enough to let her lead.
Tone guided me a few steps toward what I assumed was a bathroom. Her hand stayed steady on my arm. She narrated each step so I didn’t stumble.
Marcello followed. I could hear him. He was trying to be soundless, but he was too big and too intense to actually disappear.
I reached in front of me to steady myself.
Tone mistook it for hesitation. “Do you want Marcello to wait outside?”
I froze.
Because the truth was—I didn’t want him gone. The dark felt emptier without him.
But admitting that felt dangerous.
Before I could decide, I sensed him move closer. Just one step.
“I’ll be right here,” he stated. “Waiting by the door.”
Tone squeezed my fingers. “He’s harmless,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Mostly.”
A breath escaped me—almost a laugh, if my throat had worked.
For the first time since waking in the dark, I wasn’t drowning.
I was just held between two people—one warm and gentle, one cold and steady—and somehow, between the two of them, I didn’t feel alone.