Broken Princess

by Skye MacKinnon

  “Those are great,” Quentin says, his mouth still full. Someone should tell him that it’s not polite to speak while eating. “You should change your job.”

  Leek chuckles. “No thanks. That would make my name even more awkward. A baker called Leek, imagine if I started to make vegetable pies.”

  Even I have to smile at that. “I quite liked you being Noran,” I tell him. “It suited you.”

  He shrugs. “I have no idea what that name even meant. I’d hate having to spell it whenever someone needed to write my name down.”

  “You have to spell your current name,” Andrew points out with a grin. “Leek? Like the vegetable or leak like the hole in the pipe?” He says it in a voice which is probably supposed to resemble a call centre agent.

  “Shut it and eat your scone,” Leek mutters but he’s still smiling. This is the first time I see them interact like that. When they took me from the hospital, they were all business and there was no time for banter. Same yesterday when they explained why I had to be protected. Today, they’re relaxed. I like this side of them. They’re a bit like a family. I guess if they work together day and night, they have to be friends or at least like each other.

  “How long have you been a team?” I ask when I’ve finished the scone and licked the last crumbs from my fingers.

  The men look at each other. “Five years, I think?” Quentin asks and the others nod. He laughs. “I can’t believe I’ve put up with you two for so long.”

  “Watch it or I’ll put some salt in your next scone,” Leek threatens with a playful frown.

  “We’re like brothers by now,” Andrew adds. “Sometimes we fight, sometimes we laugh, sometimes we don’t want to be together. But all in all, we’re a good team.”

  “The best,” Leek says with a wink.

  I smile at his enthusiasm. He does that winking thing in a way that makes it endearing rather than cheesy.

  “What did you work on before investigating us?” I ask, trying not to sound bitter about the second part.

  “We can’t tell you,” Quentin says at the same time as Andrew says, “drug cartel”. The psychologist shoots him a forceful look. “We don’t talk about our missions.”

  Andrew holds up his hands in defeat. “Okay, we don’t talk about how we’ve investigated drug cartels, and the pornography ring before that, and the pimp before that, and…”

  “Shut it,” Quentin growls but he’s smiling. They’re back to their banter. We never had conversations like that in the village. It was always about the Angel and how to be better people. We tried not to talk about personal things, and certainly not about our jobs and lives before we found the Angel. It was a life with a lot less laughter than the men here seem to be leading, despite the seriousness of their work. I kind of like it. Maybe I can learn to do the same. Maybe I can become their friend.

  * * *

  When we’re done with breakfast, Leek clears up and Andrew mutters something about taking a shower. They leave me with Quentin and I’m sure it’s on purpose.

  He’s the hardest of them to read. Leek is large and muscly, but is also caring and has a good sense of humour. Andrew can be serious, but he’s kind at heart, even though he likes to swear. Quentin though… I don’t know. He was interested and nice back in the community when he asked me questions about the Prophet’s words, but then he was so serious and cold yesterday. His light blue eyes are piercing enough to reach into my soul, break the barriers around my secrets and pull them all into the light.

  “I’m sorry we’re having to do this,” he says as soon as the others are gone and he’s taken a seat again. “Curtailing your freedom like that really isn’t something I want to do.”

  I frown at him. Is he trying to lull me into a false sense of security around him?

  “I just want to make sure you’re safe. From others and from yourself. You’ve been caged and mistreated for years in that place, and I want you to have the chance to live again. You don’t smile a lot, but when you do, it’s beautiful. Like sunshine on a cloudy day. I want to help you push away the clouds and leave only the sun behind.”

  He shrugs. “Sorry for that awful metaphor. There’s a reason I’m not a poet.”

  “But that’s exactly what ascension is,” I tell him excitedly. “All the burdens of humanity gone and all that’s left is the bright light of the Angel. Don’t you see? We want the same thing. I’m going to smile when I’m there, under his warming care.”

  His left eye twitches, but he’s got it under control immediately. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that. Maybe it’s his weak spot, the place where he reveals his emotions.

  “Why can’t you smile here on Earth, Laya? Why can’t you be happy here and then, at the end of a long and fulfilled life, ascend to the Angel? Both could be possible, if you only want it.”

  I shake my head decisively. “There is no happiness on this world. Just look at everything that’s happening. The greed, the violence, the suffering. The Angel is the only way to escape it.”

  “I’m happy,” he says, looking straight into my eyes as if to drive the point home. “And the other two. We’re happy together. And all the things you mentioned? Well, we’re fighting them. We’re working hard to help prevent violence and suffering. Don’t you think the Angel would want you to do that? Helping others so they can have a better life? Not by telling them to ascend and have a new life in Paradise, but to make their current life better?”

  “Andros always said that the trials we go through on Earth prepare us for ascension,” I explain. “Suffering is the road to peace. It’s the only way.”

  “That’s what Andros said?”

  I nod. “It’s in the Prophet’s words that he wrote down.”

  Quentin gets up from his chair. There’s something stormy about his expression, as if there’s emotion curling underneath the surface, waiting to explode into the light. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  He leaves me confused, not just because he left so suddenly. Some of what he said made sense, and I feel like I don’t have the right words to explain why it doesn’t.

  He’s back after only a minute or so, carrying a large stack of folders.

  “The originals are with the investigation team, but I got some copies.” He drops them on the camping bed and picks up the top folder. “They’re his diaries. Andros’s diaries. We only have the ones from the last two years, but they’re combing the compound to see if they can find any others. They’re a fascinating read, believe me. Terrifying, actually.”

  I knew that Andros wrote a diary, but I never read any of them. He kept them locked away and I would never have dreamed of trying to get access to them. He shared all the visions and dreams the Angel sent him, but he kept diaries for his personal thoughts.

  Quentin opens the first page and points at it. “Andros split his daily entry into three different sections: how the community was doing, his own experiences and thoughts, and finally, you.”

  “Me?” My heart is beginning to beat faster.

  “Yes, you. I don’t want you to read them, not yet, anyway. They’re pretty harrowing, and I’ve read my fair share of stuff written by psychopaths, believe me. He recounts every single beating he gave you. He describes how you looked before and after, and how you reacted. He even rates them on a scale from one to ten. Then he’s got a tick box to note whether he…” He takes a deep breath. “Whether he raped you. But the worst bit is that he has a second scale that shows how close you’ve come to his ultimate goal.”

  Shivers are running over my skin and I can’t stop my breathing grow faster. “What?”

  “It just says one word. Broken. He wanted to break you completely, Laya. That’s why he was doing it all. His aim was to take you as a young, confident woman and turn you into a broken slave.”

  “What?” It’s a whisper this time. No. Can’t. Too much. Something erupts within me, shattering me into a million pieces, and all I can do is scream and howl and fight against the arms that are embr
acing me. Pain is flashing over my skin, the pain of a thousand whip lashes, the pain Andros gave me. I see his face, his cruel eyes, his laugh, his lips whispering how I’m his little bird. He’s everywhere, I can feel his touch, he’s in me, on me, he is me.

  My scream turns into a whimper, a sound that barely seems human. There are voices now, other voices, lots of voices, but I don’t know if they’re real or memories. I’m floating inside the images and sounds of the past, unable to escape them. People, places, emotions. Then, again, always, Andros. His eyes that drew me in at first, and then spit me out again later. So much pain. I clutch whoever is holding me, grateful that I’m not alone.

  * * *

  I stay in his embrace for hours. At some point, I throw up, but he keeps me close, anchoring me to the present. The others come in and leave again, make me drink some water, whisper soothing words. When the pain finally lessens and the images stop flashing in front of my eyes, I fall into deep sleep, a strange feeling of being safe helping keep the nightmares away.

  21

  "Do you think that was wise? It broke her."

  Whispered voices in the distance.

  "Trust me, I've thought long and hard about it, but better to tell her now and then help her get back to her feet. Doing it in small doses may work for other people, but with her still thinking of suicide, I needed to do something drastic. She's going to need some time to recover, but she's strong."

  "That she is. I don't think I would have lasted half as long as she did, and that's with all the training we got. She's special."

  "What are we going to do about her request? The Angel statue?"

  "I managed to organise us one. We only want her to stop believing that she's inferior and needs to follow Andros's deluded rules, but we don't want to take away her entire belief system. That would be counterproductive at this stage. As long as it's a positive and not self-destructive belief, let's support it."

  "Fine by me. I don't think believing in the Angel is necessarily a bad thing. It might give her strength to continue fighting."

  The voices disappear and I fall back into my slumber, already starting to forget what I heard.

  When I wake up again, I'm wide awake. And thirsty, oh so thirsty. I'm halfway out of bed when I remember that I was ill and don't have my full strength back. I don't want to risk falling again. With a sigh, I ring the little bell on my bedside table.

  My head feels strange. Clearer, somehow, as if some kind of fog has been lifted from around my thoughts. I barely remember what happened before I went to sleep. Well, I do remember, but the memories are behind a milky screen which I know I can wipe clean whenever I want. Right now, I don't want to take a closer look. I know that it was bad, very bad, but I feel happier now than I have in ages. Whatever happened is over now. What I do remember is being held, looked after, cared for. I liked that feeling. It wasn't a sexual touch and embrace, but something much deeper.

  "You called, milady?"

  I didn't even notice Leek entering the room. The door must have been open, or at least not properly shut.

  I smile at his choice of words. "I feel quite thirsty. Would it be possible to get a drink, dear sir?" I say it in a posh English accent that would give the Queen a run for her money. "Wait, is the Queen still alive?" I ask as an afterthought.

  "Oh yes, alive and ticking. Prince Philip died last year though, but she's soldiering on."

  "That's sad."

  He shrugs. "He was over ninety. I think that's a pretty good age. Now, tea without milk and sugar?"

  I nod. "And do you still have some scones left?"

  He smiles. "Tea and scones coming up."

  Leek disappears and I'm left grinning to myself. Why am I suddenly so happy? I can't stop smiling. Is it a side effect of the poison, perhaps? Is it affecting my brain?

  * * *

  One scone and a mug of tea later, I'm brimming with energy. I want to do something, anything. First problem though, I don't have any clothes save the pyjamas I'm in.

  "Ehm, Leek," I ask, a little embarrassed.

  "Yes? Another scone?"

  "No, but... I don't have any clothes. As comfortable as these pyjamas are, they're not very... appropriate." Angel, this is embarrassing. Right now, I wish there was a woman here rather than three men.

  "I'll find you something," Leek promises. "Does that mean you're ready to leave the bed?"

  His eyes lighten up a little.

  "I think I'm feeling up to it," I say, surprised by his reaction. "I kind of want to know where I am."

  He nods. "I can give you a tour in the wheelchair for now?"

  As much as I hate that thing, it's probably for the best. Better than being carried. Don't let them touch you, a voice in my head calls, but I push it away, behind the milky glass that's keeping me sane.

  "Let me just check with Andrew, he's the doctor. I don't want to break you or anything." His smile disappears for a fraction of a second, then it's back.

  He leaves and returns a minute later with Andrew in tow. His hair is wet; he must have just taken a shower. I wonder how often I'll be allowed to shower here. Is there a schedule? I make a mental note to ask later. Being in bed for so long has made me sweaty and dirty, but that's not a new feeling.

  "I hear you want to get up?" the doctor asks and sits on the edge of my bed. "That's good, I wanted to encourage you to do that anyway. We need to get your body used to moving again. I'll just measure your blood pressure and then we're good to go."

  While he does that, I try not to focus on the feel of his cold fingers on my skin. It makes me want to flinch and push him away, but at the same time my brain is telling me that there's nothing to fear.

  "Your pulse is a little high," Andrew mutters. I look away, pretty sure it's because I'm reacting badly to his touch. My body is telling me to run.

  "I think she doesn't like you touching her," Leek says from the other side of the room. He's leaning against the wall, watching us closely. "She looks like she's about to jump out of bed."

  "I can hear you," I tell him, but he's right.

  Andrew slides the blood pressure cuff down my arm and as soon as his fingers leave my skin, the tension in me eases.

  "Okay then," he says softly. "Sorry."

  I shake my head, feeling bad for him. "It's not your fault. I know you're just doing your job, but it's wrong, men and women touching, and we're not..." I break off, my voice echoing through my head. "I'm aware it's normal for you, but it isn't for me."

  "Don't feel bad about it." Andrew smiles but his eyes are sad. "I promise I'm not going to touch you unless it's necessary for medical purposes. Is that alright?"

  I nod, grateful but also slightly annoyed at myself. I'm giving them so much trouble. I should try better to fit in. As much as they're imprisoning me, I think they also genuinely want to help me.

  “Just because I don’t like being touched, doesn’t mean that we can’t be…” I take a deep breath before saying the next word. Am I making a mistake here? “… friends.”

  “Friends sounds good,” Andrew says, his eyes lighting up. “Very good.”

  "Your chariot awaits." Leek rolls the wheelchair close enough to the bed so I can get onto it myself. Andrew instructs me to first sit on the bed for a bit to get my circulation used to it, then he lets me stand and walk the two steps to the chair. Surprisingly, my head only spins a little, not enough to make me feel like I'm about to faint. Things are improving. The positive mood I'm in is both unfamiliar and infectious. I'm not sure what to make of it. In a way, I want to run around screaming and hugging everyone, on the other hand I'm terribly scared of it. That's not me. Not calm, demure Laya. It threatens to make me break the rules. Already I'm talking to them as if they're not strangers, and men at that. I even want to be friends with them. If I continue in this direction, I might abandon all my principles and become like the people Andros always warned us about. Sinners and fornicators.

  "Let's start with the kitchen," Leek chuckles and begins to w
heel me out of the room. "It's the most important place in this flat."

  "At least this location has one," Andrew mutters behind me. "The last safe house we stayed in only had a kitchenette with a microwave. Four weeks of eating nothing but microwave meals and the occasional takeaway. We're not allowed to get deliveries, so one of us had to drive ten miles to the nearest pizza place. Dreadful."

  I smile at the horror in his voice. "How far is the nearest takeaway from here?"

  "Nice try," Leek says with a laugh. "But we can't tell you where you are, not yet. But here you go, the kitchen."

  We enter a large, bright room full of marble sideboards and chrome armatures. Whoever chose this kitchen had a lot of money. There's two ovens even, and a table large enough to seat at least eight people. Everything is spotless, but a plate of biscuits in the centre of the table helps make it look like a home that's lived in rather than a kitchen out of a furniture brochure.

  "Welcome to Leek's Paradise," Andrew chuckles and walks around the wheelchair so I can see him. "It's come as quite a shock to see him enjoy baking so much, but I won't complain. That chocolate cake last week was delicious. We wanted to bring some to the hospital, but they didn't let us visit at the beginning."

  "Why not?" I ask, remembering how he was my first visitor and the only one who got me to wake up from my stupor.

  "Procedure." He sighs. "After an undercover mission, they don't like us interacting with the people we investigated, even if they're the victims rather than the perpetrators. It took a lot of persuasion to get them to agree to a visit, and a bit of blackmail to let us be your protectors."

  "Having a detailed knowledge of cult victim case studies helped," Quentin chimes in from behind me. "Good to see you up and about, Laya."