16. #2
The smile was still on my face when his hand moved.
The slap came so fast I didn't even see it.
One second I was standing there.
The next my head snapped sideways and the back of my skull slapped against the wall.
The room blurred for a second.
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
"You're fucking someone else aren't you?"
His voice sounded far away.
I tasted something metallic in my mouth.
"I'm not—"
My words cut off when his hand grabbed a fistful of my hair.
Pain shot across my scalp as he yanked me forward.
"You think I'm stupid?" he snapped.
My feet stumbled across the floor as he dragged me toward the center of the room.
I tried to steady myself but he let go suddenly.
My knees hit the floor hard.
The impact shot pain up my legs.
Tears blurred my vision almost immediately.
I hated that.
Hated that my body always reacted before I could stop it.
Rodney paced once in front of me, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to calm himself down.
"You've been distracted lately," he muttered.
I tried to push myself upright.
"I'm not—"
He turned back toward me sharply.
"Embarrassing me."
My chest tightened.
"I'm not doing anything."
He didn't answer.
Instead he reached into his pocket.
The second I saw what he pulled out, something cold slid down my spine.
Two large white zip ties.
My breath caught.
"Rodney—"
"Every time I turn around," he continued, almost conversationally, "you're doing something you're not supposed to be. Fucking up in ways that honestly surprise me."
He stepped closer. "I never imagined a grown woman to be so fucking incompetent."
I scooted backward instinctively.
"Rodney, please—"
"You say there's nothing distracting you but all of a sudden you can't give a speech clearly without fumbling over your words and sounding like a goddamn idiot."
My hands trembled as he grabbed my wrists.
"Rodney, please don't—"
He tried to pull my arms together.
Panic shot through my chest.
"No—no, please—"
I yanked my hands backward, trying to twist away before he could secure them.
His grip tightened instantly.
"Stop moving."
"Please," I gasped. "Rodney, please—"
His patience snapped.
The punch landed against the side of my face so hard my head slammed against the floor.
For a second everything went white.
My ears rang.
My vision blurred.
I could taste blood now.
Somewhere above me Rodney was still talking.
His voice kept spilling out in a sharp, angry stream, words tumbling over each other faster than my brain could keep up with. I caught pieces of it — something about loyalty, something about disrespect — but the meaning kept slipping away before I could hold onto it.
The room felt strange suddenly, like everything had shifted half an inch out of place.
My arms were heavy. My whole body was, like someone had quietly added weight to every bone while I wasn't paying attention.
I tried to lift my head off the floor.
It barely moved.
The carpet pressed rough against my cheek, the smell of detergent and dust filling my nose while the ringing in my ears grew louder. My vision kept blurring in and out, Rodney's shape moving somewhere above me, pacing, talking, breathing hard like he was the one who'd been hit.
I opened my mouth, trying to force my voice through the thickness in my throat.
"Help," I croaked.
The word barely made it past my lips.
Rodney let out a short laugh.
"Help," I croaked weakly.
Rodney let out a quiet laugh under his breath.
"You live in my country," he said.
His voice had gone strangely calm now, almost bored, like he'd already decided how the rest of this was going to end.
"Under my rule."
My wrists were yanked together again before I could pull them back. The plastic edge of the zip tie bit into my skin as he tightened it, the sharp click of it locking in place sounding far louder than it should have.
I tried to twist away, but my arms felt slow, like they belonged to someone else.
Rodney's hand moved down to my legs next.
For a second I felt his grip around my ankles, rough and impatient, and then the second zip tie tightened there too. The carpet scratched against my cheek as my head turned sideways on the floor, the fibers pressing into my skin while my vision swam in and out.
My stomach clenched suddenly when his foot connected with my core.
The air rushed out of my lungs in a violent gasp I couldn't control. Pain folded through my body so quickly it almost felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.
Somewhere above me Rodney was still saying something, but the words blurred together before they could reach me.
The room tilted.
The last thing I saw was the ceiling light smearing across my vision as everything slowly went dark.
Darkness came back slowly.
Not all at once.
First there was sound.
A soft, steady beeping somewhere near my ear, quiet enough that I almost thought I imagined it. Then the faint hum of an air conditioner, the kind that rattled softly every few seconds like it was working harder than it should.
For a moment I just lay there, floating somewhere between sleep and waking, trying to decide if my eyes were open or still closed.
Everything felt heavy.
My head.
My arms.
Even my eyelids.
When I finally forced my eyes open, the ceiling above me swam into view slowly, the light too bright and too white.
It took a few seconds for the shapes in the room to settle into something recognizable.
A couch.
A lamp.
The faint outline of a medical monitor beside the bed.
The quiet beeping again.
That's when I realized where I was.
The apartment in lower D.C.
Rodney's apartment.
The one they brought me to when things got... bad.
A slow breath left my chest, though it hurt more than I expected. The movement sent a dull ache through my ribs, sharp enough that my stomach tightened instinctively.
I shifted slightly against the pillow, testing the weight of my body.
Pain flared across my side immediately, sharp enough that my eyes squeezed shut before I could stop myself.
"Don't try to sit up yet."
The voice came from somewhere to my right.
Calm. Steady. The kind of tone that always made it clear someone else was already in control of the situation.
I turned my head carefully, the room tilting for a second before it settled again.
Vivian was sitting in the chair beside the bed, one leg crossed over the other, a tablet resting on her knee like she'd been there long enough to get comfortable.
When she noticed I was fully awake, she set the tablet down.
"Well," she said softly. "There you are."
My throat felt dry when I tried to speak.
"Hi," I croaked.
The word barely made it out.
Vivian reached for the glass of water on the table beside me and helped guide the straw to my lips.
"Small sips," she said.
The water helped immediately, even though my throat still burned.
I swallowed slowly before leaning my head back against the pillow again.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Vivian had always been good at that.
She didn't hover, didn't rush to fill the silence with questions. She just sat there watching quietly, like she understood my body needed a second to remember how to exist again before anything else happened.
"You've been out for a while," she said eventually.
My brow furrowed slightly. My head still felt thick, like my thoughts were moving through fog.
"How long?"
"About six hours."
That sounded about right.
The last clear thing I remembered was the carpet pressed against my cheek.
After that, everything had gone quiet.
My hand shifted slightly against the blanket, the movement slow and stiff.
That's when I noticed the tightness in my wrists.
I turned my hands carefully, the skin there tender where the plastic had dug in earlier. Faint marks circled both wrists, already beginning to fade.
My stomach twisted.
Vivian noticed the movement immediately.
"They're gone," she said gently. "You're okay."