That Which Binds Us

by Amanda Richardson

  To my shock and horror, Ben starts to wade in, too. Since the pushups, he’s taken his shirt off and he slowly submerges.

  “What are you doing?” I shriek. I hold the clothes against my body underwater. I try not to stare at his chest. The color of his chest hair is the same as his beard. Interesting.

  “I’m swimming,” he says, his voice terse. “It’s not my fault you decided to prance around in the nude. Besides, I already saw everything from up there.”

  I open my mouth. “What? How?” I ditch the clothes. They just continue to float up anyway. I cross my arms.

  “The water is clear, and I had a good vantage point from the stairs. Nice tattoo,” he adds, coming up beside me. I grunt and narrow my eyes before falling underwater again. It’s really fucking hard to tread water and keep yourself covered at the same time.

  “You’re a pervert,” I manage to spit out. I’m breathing heavily from the workout.

  “Of all the tattoos you could’ve gotten, you decided on a tramp stamp?”

  I splash an armful of water at him and laugh. “I was eighteen and stupid. Also, I didn’t have a best friend to persuade me otherwise.” The moment the words leave my lips, I regret them. Ben’s face darkens. He scrunches his eyebrows together, a haunted look passing through his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, reaching out for his arm. “That was uncalled for.”

  Was I actually apologizing to him?

  “Don’t,” he says, shaking my hand off. He begins to swim back to shore, slowly, like regret is weighing him down in the water.

  I watch him as he grabs his t-shirt and jogs up the staircase to the lighthouse. Sighing, I immerse myself under the water and let another sigh out in the form of bubbles. In the beginning of this whole mess, I vowed to find his weakness. I vowed to break him so that I could get away. Every man has a point of contention—something that can splinter their resolve. And while I no longer wish to find out what Ben’s weakness is in order to leave, I know what it is now. I know what will shatter him.

  Me. Even after seventeen years, it’s still me.

  S E V E N T E E N

  Nina—Present

  Isla Culebrita, Puerto Rico

  THE NEXT TWO days pass in a similar fashion. Wake up, swim, shower, eat, avoid Ben… he’s been in an incredibly sour mood ever since the joke about my tattoo. He only talks to me in order to convey important information and, even then, he doesn’t make eye contact. He spends his days God knows where—the island is bigger than I previously thought, and he stays far away except to eat and sleep.

  Nine days after our arrival, he comes into my bedroom as I’m rereading the one book he packed with him—The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The beginning is incredibly slow, but the pace picks up after the first couple of chapters. It’s a haunting story, wildly romantic and tragic. I wonder if Ben identifies with Quasimodo, and that’s why he chose to take this book with him. The Disney version of the book used to be our favorite movie. Not that we ever admitted to any of the other seventh graders that we still watched Disney movies.

  “Hi,” I say, surprised.

  “I brought you something.” His voice is husky, and I can see he’s hiding something behind his back. A twinge of fear passes over me. I suppose my situation hasn’t quite sunk in. He reveals the bag in his hands.

  My eyes widen. “My purse?” I drop the book and reach out for it. He lowers it down into my lap. I stroke the green leather bag. I see he’s stuffed my black flats inside. Instinctively, I pull my cell phone out. “Of course it’s dead,” I say, looking up and smiling. “Thank you for saving this. I love this purse. I saved up a lot of money for this purse.” I clutch it to my chest.

  “You’re welcome.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth on his heels. Is he nervous?

  “So, what’s on the agenda today?” I ask, half-joking. It’s not like we have a lot of options.

  He watches me for a beat. Veiled hesitation passes over his face. “We should talk about how to get you back.”

  I open and close my mouth. “I know.”

  He walks over to the desk chair and drags it over, plopping down right in front of me. His legs are spread, and he bends down onto his elbows, clasping his hands. It makes him look oddly casual, even though we’re discussing the fact that he kidnapped me and now has to figure out a way to let me go.

  “It’s the easiest way. Vacation’s over, Nina. It’s time to go back to real life.” He laughs lightheartedly, but I glare at him. How can he be so apathetic about the fact that my leaving would mean he stays here and withers away? At least while I’m here, I have some sort of say over his situation. And yeah, while a part of me does think he’s somewhat psychotic, I don’t want Ben to die. “It’s better this way. I don’t know what’s in store for my future. I don’t know how Sandler is going to react to nine days of me being missing in action. I don’t want you to get caught up in my hell. You must miss your friends. This way, you can go back to your life in San Juan, to your roommate, Rachel, and your boyfriend. Gareth.”

  “Garrett,” I say quietly. My cheeks begin to tingle, and my eyes start to water. I look up at him and I see that same masked indecisiveness. “I’m not leaving you. If you could promise me that you’d be okay, only then would I leave you.”

  “Nina,” he says through gritted teeth. I see him clench and unclench his hands as he rolls his tongue on the inside of his cheek. “You should go back to your life. Trust me when I say leaving everything behind is harder than it seems. Jesus Christ, I kidnapped you and you’re practically begging to stay.”

  I let his words sink in. The truth is, life here with Ben is natural; easy, even. There is no stressful job. There are no on-again, off-again boyfriends. There is no fancy, pink underwear. I don’t need makeup or nice clothes. It’s astonishing to realize that ninety-percent of my beauty regime is unnecessary. If I had a paint set, I’d be perfectly happy here for years. A part of me wishes my grandmother were still alive. I miss her, and I’d want her to know I was okay. But, as awful as it sounds, at least I’m not causing her grief by staying here because she’s already passed on.

  “Look,” I say, pulling my knees into my chest. “I forgive you. For taking me. Had you been anyone else, you’d be lying dead on that floor with your throat slit,” I add, giving him a wry smile. “I… like it here. I know that makes me sound crazy. Trust me, I’ve spent the better part of the last few days overanalyzing why I’m not running for the hills. It’s you, Ben. I intrinsically trust you, for some crazy, screwed-up reason. And I like being here with you. I’m not saying we should just fuck off and forget about the real world, but can you please humor me and give me a few days to take everything in? I’ve missed you. It’s nice to see you.”

  My word vomit seems to cause him anger, because he stands quickly. “You’re ridiculous, Nina. Soon—just watch—you’ll be begging me to send you back,” he spits, rubbing his lips with his hand. I notice he tends to do that when he’s angry.

  I don’t know where the sudden crossness comes from, but I feel the heat coursing through my body at his visceral reaction. “You have no idea how much your death affected me, do you? You think you saved me from the grief by pretending to die? That I would forget you? Fuck you for thinking that. I want to stay because I’ve missed my friend so much, so hard, for seventeen years. And yeah, he may be a murdering, deranged spy now, but you’re still my friend all the same. I long for those days with you. I would give anything to go back, to save you. I would’ve run away with you.” I sigh, pausing for a few seconds before continuing. “What’s one more week of pretending we’re kids again? Who gets a chance like this?”

  Ben chuckles incredulously. “Fucking hell, Nina. I kidnap and almost murder you, and you’re acting like we’re on a goddamn vacation.”

  “Stockholm Syndrome,” I say casually.

  He groans and looks at me. I know my sarcasm irritates him. “You’re ridiculous,” he repeats. This time though, he’s smiling.

&
nbsp; “I’m serious.” I look down at my nails. The light pink polish is gone now, but I don’t miss it. I can’t remember the last time I left my nails bare. “In a roundabout way, this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

  “You can’t be serious.” He watches me, a playful gleam in his eyes. “I assume you went to college. Now you’re living in the Caribbean. What am I missing? It’s not exactly a boring place to live.”

  His words sheath my chest, uncovering the truth I’ve long since kept contained. I feel like I’m sitting in a therapist’s chair. I’ve never admitted any of this to myself, and the words begin to spill out, much to my surprise.

  “After you died… after my dad died… I was unhappy for a long time.” I look down at my toes, stalling for time. That polish, on the other hand, looks just as perfect as the day I got the pedicure, almost two weeks ago. Funny how that happens. I can feel his eyes on me, urging me to continue. “I had to grow up, and quickly. My Bobba was an amazing grandmother, but she didn’t provide the same kind of nurturing that I think I required. And I didn’t make friends very easily. I still don’t, to this day. Maybe it’s a trust thing, I’m not sure… Anyway, I lived in darkness for a year following your and my dad’s death. For weeks, I refused to get out of bed. And when I did—when I finally started to socialize again—I ended up hanging out with the wrong crowd. I smoked my first cigarette at thirteen. Lost my virginity the year after. Everything sped up for me… I never really digested what happened. It ate away at me. I went to college and partied. I did a lot of drugs. I slept around. I lost my childhood, Ben. I think it disappeared the night you died. It’s nice to have a reminder of the before times, even for a short while. It’s nice to not have to think about bills, and death, and relationships. It’s nice to give up my adult responsibilities, even if it’s temporary. So, yes, even though this is completely fucked up, I’m having a great time, and I don’t want to go back just yet.”

  Ben chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls over my words. He’s been pacing the bedroom this whole time, and this latest information dump slowed his pace, as if he was really invested in what I was saying.

  “I hate to break it to you, but bills and responsibilities will find you everywhere. And if they’re so burdensome that you’re actually considering staying with your captor, I think you need to reevaluate your life.”

  I smile. “Perhaps.” I look down. Even though this whole ordeal is sticky, I feel light; content. “Maybe it’s the captor that’s making everything so interesting.”

  He shakes his head and grins. “You’re a fucking masochist.”

  I shrug. “I know.”

  When I look up, he’s watching me with careful concern. “You really don’t want to go back?”

  “Eventually. But for now, this is nice.” I can see the indecisiveness swirling across his face, as if he’s not sure whether he should be happy or sad that I actually want to stay.

  His jaw ticks, and then he lets out a defeated laugh and drops his hands to his sides. “I remind you of the good times. Before I died, before your father died. That’s all. You’ve used me as a symbolic blast-from-the-past, but soon that’ll fade. We cling to the things we associate with happiness. You’re mixing me up with what you thought made you happy. I was a part of that time. You had a rough life after that. I get it. But it’s not as idyllic as you seem to remember.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. “Don’t tell me how I felt.”

  He sighs and goes to sit back down on the chair in front of me. When he starts speaking again, his voice is quiet; gentle. “I constantly had bruises on my arms. Do you remember that, or did your unspoiled memories gloss over that fact?”

  I feel my eyes well with tears. “Of course I remember.”

  Rubbing my hands together, I blow warm air into them as I use the brass knocker to knock on Benny’s door. Silence greets me, and a knot of nervousness wraps around my stomach. I wait, holding my breath, listening for any movement behind the door.

  “Ben!” I knock again, fearful that Mr. Adler might open the door and do to me what he does to Benny on a daily basis. I don’t know that many curse words yet, but whenever I learn a new one, I always think of Mr. Adler.

  Footsteps.

  One, two, three…

  Benny swings the door open, and I gasp.

  “Let’s go,” he growls, taking my hand and pulling me along after him. I look back at the wide-open door, and then back at him. He has a large cut right underneath his eye. Anger begins to boil inside of me, and I pull my hand away violently.

  “What happened to you?” I already know the answer, but he never voices it directly to me. A part of me wonders why he’s ashamed of telling me. It hurts, knowing he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me. “Benny?”

  He ignores me, and instead raises his eyebrows and scowls. “I’m fine.”

  I stop walking. We’re almost thirteen, and if we’re going to continue to be friends, I need him to be honest with me. “I’m not moving until you tell me what happened.” I cross my arms and sigh loudly.

  I think I see the twitch of a smile forming on his lips. “Not now, Nina. I don’t want to talk about it.” His voice is low—it’s gotten lower in the recent months—and he sounds… older. He continues to walk forward.

  I feel tears sting my eyes. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it because you don’t trust me?”

  Benny falters, quickly turning around with an angry scowl on his face. I’ve only ever seen him angry on a couple of occasions—and we’ve only fought once or twice. But those were stupid things, like who got to pick which movie, or how we were going to cross the river last summer. We never fought about real things. Not until now.

  He stalks over to me, and I’m reminded of the inches he’s gained on me recently. “You really think I don’t trust you?” he asks, his voice surprisingly quiet. I expected him to yell.

  I shrug. “You tell my dad, so why can’t you tell me?”

  He’s breathing heavily, and he bites the inside of his cheek while he ponders my question. “I tell your dad because he asks—because he helps me. And because you already know, so why should I bother bringing it up again?” His voice breaks on that last sentence, and my stomach drops.

  “Because I’m your friend,” I whisper, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Because… I want to hear it from you.”

  “Best friend,” he replies, giving me a small smile. “Best friend, always.”

  I smile back. Something clicks as he watches me, his eyes roving across my face. “You don’t have to tell me,” I concede, beginning the walk forward. And I mean it. He’s right—we’re best friends. Besides, I already know how much of a cocksucker Mr. Adler is.

  That’s my favorite curse word so far.

  “Nina,” he says, tugging me back and taking my hands. “I don’t tell you because you already know. You knew before anyone else. And that dark, wicked place… I don’t want to waste any time with you talking about it. I just want to be happy when I’m with you. And I am. So for the time being, can we please just talk about good things?”

  I nod, giving him a teasing smile. “Sure thing, Benny.”

  We walk to school holding hands, ignoring the classmates who joke about us being boyfriend and girlfriend. I haven’t ever thought of him like that—not yet, anyways. To me, he’s just Benny.

  My best friend.

  Ben continues. “Anyway, you moved on. That night on the bench, you looked so happy. I could see your smile from hundreds of feet away. You moved on, Nina. And so have I. Stop clinging to the past. Having me back isn’t going to bring your father back. It isn’t going to magically transport us back to your old basement, with the Disney credits rolling. Yes, I remember that. But life happened. We’re different people now. You should go back for yourself. Don’t stay because of me. I have nothing to offer you anymore.”

  Tears drip down my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, my mind is reeling from his statement. I could see your smile from h
undreds of feet away. I look down and steady my breathing. “That night? You’re saying you saw me before I saw you?” His face goes white. “I mean, I know you said you saw me walk by the café a few times, but I had no idea you saw me that night, before…” I trail off.

  He runs his fingers through his hair. His arm twitches, like he wants to reach out and touch me, but he stops himself. “Yeah. I saw you that night. I was saving your life, Nina.”

  E I G H T E E N

  Ben—Nine Days Ago

  San Juan, Puerto Rico

  I TAKE A cab to the St. Regis. Sandler had Bernstein watching Nina, at my insistence, but he’s not taking this as seriously as I am, and it pisses me the hell off. So, I have to take the matter into my own hands tonight. It’s late, and I’m really fucking nervous about leaving Nina alone. Her schedule says she gets off at seven, and it’s six fifty-three. He could apprehend her anywhere. Somehow he’s in the country. This I know. Sandler let me know four days ago. It gives me chills knowing he’s probably watching her, too.

  How the fuck did he get the money to get out of America?

  How did he have access to a passport?

  Aren’t there limitations to where someone can go straight out of jail?

  I pay the driver and hop out a minute before seven. Rushing through the golden revolving doors, I’m relieved when I see her behind the counter. She’s talking to a guest. Her hair is tied back into a loose, casual ponytail. Her lips are peach-colored, and her makeup is starting to melt. It’s damn hot out.

  I watch as she does something on the computer. She turns and smiles at a co-worker— a tall, Hispanic man. He winks and touches her hand intimately. A slow simmer of jealous rage begins to boil over in my stomach.