Chapter 12 #4
“I don’t know…” I press my fingers hard into my palm.
“I would rather take the risk than be this half-functioning person. If I manage to play a part in his capture, then…I could fix myself, Doctor. I really could.” Tears well in my eyes, and I catch a slight tremble in her hand before she stills it again.
The sun peeks shyly, trying too hard to break through the clouds.
There are difficulties in life. Hardships.
Trauma. Struggle. I guess that is the point.
Learning to live with it. I am not there yet. I’m still learning, trying.
In two days, I will stare at Cole Vodianov and watch him be put behind bars for the rest of his life. Forever caged. An eye for an eye. I will find a way to take back everything he took from me.
* * *
Absolutely not.
“We already had this discussion, Ella.”
“No. You decided it was over, and I wasn’t done.” He paces the gym, bare-chested, wearing only black shorts, and arguing with him this way is an internal battle I am not that proud of.
“What if he hurts you?” he asks. “What if things don’t go according to plan and the police can’t capture him?”
“They will. You won’t let anything happen to me.”
“Only if you’re out of his way, sweetheart.
If you run into the lion’s den, how am I supposed to protect you from him?
How am I supposed to plan this capture if I’m constantly eaten alive by worry?
” Eaten alive? He drags a palm over his face, the muscles in his arms flexing, and I swallow. Dear Lord.
“But isn’t it what the police wanted at first?
For me to lure him in?” In two strides, he is almost lunging at me, cornering me against the wall, palms planted on either side of my head.
Behind him stands a row of stainless-steel gym equipment, maybe ten machines in total, and I wonder if I might like to try one someday, when I feel well enough to do more than walk in the garden.
“You still want to…learn chess?” he asks, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
I blush. Why the sudden change? Are we really talking about… chess?
“Don’t distract me,” I sign as the tip of my nose nudges his, all the air leaving my lungs.
“You’re using your…” I wave vaguely at his abs.
“It’s not fair. Don’t do that, please.” I look away, toward a pile of freshly washed white towels on a shelf.
With two fingers, he angles my chin until I meet his eyes again.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to. I’m learning too.
” His voice softens into something I would qualify as young Tristan, one with half the confidence and twice the vulnerability.
Outside these walls, he can use power to overcome any obstacle.
But here, with me, power is useless, we have to communicate as equals.
“You really want to be there?” he asks, but it sounds like a fact sinking in with difficulty. “It’s a masquerade ball. You’ll have to disguise yourself, sweetheart. I’m not taking any chances on anyone recognizing you.”
“It’ll be fine, really,” I lie, wanting the sweet relief of closure perhaps more than I fear the sheer brutality of my stubbornness.
“If we do this, if something happens to you…” His eyes turn glossy, and I reach for him, both hands around his neck, nudging my nose against his and letting a featherlight kiss take his worries away.
His pupils dilate, the other side of him coming alive, afraid and primal, leaking through as he crushes his lips to mine, deepening the kiss until we are nothing but chaos made of breath and the sound of fabric being tugged.
And one more time, like the other night, without expecting anything in return, or perhaps because he finds satisfaction in leading me to heaven, he sets me on a bench that still has round, heavy weights near it on the floor, the surface just wide enough for my back to lie down.
He kneels before me as I close my eyes. Metal clinks.
“Wait,” he mutters. I hear a weight or a metal bar meet the ground. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he blurts out, like he forgot something was in the way and only nudged it aside. Metal. metal. That sound. So similar to the door opening in my cell.
Hose, moldy food, floor, cold so cold, beg, cry, sleep, repeat.
I snap my fingers several times to catch his attention as I push back, slipping off the bench, and rushing to the opposite corner of the room, behind the weights and the treadmill.
Sliding down the wall, I curl my knees under my chin and press the side of my body to the wall.
Hiding my head, I roll into a fetal position, or perhaps the shape of an animal trying desperately to protect itself from inevitable danger.
Eyes close. If I cannot see it, then it cannot see me.
Danger. This half-alive, half-human thing, shadowing me everywhere I go, into the hidden rooms of my subconscious, into the most intimate parts of my life, where I should be free from it.
Light footsteps come toward me, unrushed, stopping a meter away.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, but I hear in his voice the pain he wishes he could carry on his own. “I’m sorry, I rushed you. I didn’t mean to…” I shake my head, lifting my face from the makeshift hiding place between my chest and knees.
“Metal,” I sign, hoping he will catch on to the crumbs of explanation.
“Shit. I should’ve…” He exhales sharply, running his fingers in his perfect dark hair.
“I should’ve known.” He curses, angry at himself for something he did not do.
“Ella, I… No matter what’s going on in your head right now, I hope you know.
I hope you know how much I…” His voice catches.
“I love you. And we’ll find a way for you to get better.
With time, sweetheart. With time, it’ll get better.
” I tug at his hand, and he falls back on his heels as I nestle into his chest, clinging to his neck, hiding in the safety of his skin, daring a small, teary brush of my lips against his shoulder.
“I love you too,” I say against his skin.
But he does not see it. He does not hear it.
And still, I hope he knows that with every day that passes, I am trying my best. That this hell that has been my life is slowly, slowly becoming my past. I guess time is all I have now.
To learn that I can become someone else, and that I do not have to remain this version of myself forever.
In two days, I will get closure.
In two days, my life will forever change.