by K. A Knight
The men are silent as they follow behind me. I leave them to their thoughts. The bright green door of my once upon a time refuge has me taking in a deep breath. Using my spare key I let myself in.
The stale air hits me first, making me wrinkle my nose. At least I know that no one else has been in here. The grey carpet is still soft and I kick my boots off by the door so I don’t trek mud and dust through it. The room is large and runs all along the back wall of the building. There is an open-plan living room with a table and chairs and even a sofa. An old TV hangs on the wall, useless as it is now. There’s a mini fridge hidden in the corner as well. Two doors face each other at opposite sides of the expansive room, one to the bathroom and one to the bedroom.
“Make yourself at home. There’s a shower through there. It’s cold, but it works.” I say over my shoulder.
I head straight for the back of the room where two double doors sit propped open, leading onto the balcony. Stepping through them, the stone cool on my bare feet, I let my head fall back and breathe in the crisp air. The others talking breaks me out of my bubble so I wander to the edge of the balcony and lean over the wall looking at the world spread below me. The stone wall is the only thing stopping me from falling to my death. When I stayed here as a slave, I used to debate just stepping over the edge. It would be so easy, but every time I went to do it something held me back. I used to claim the excuse of revenge and the thought of one day being free but the truth? I was terrified. It made me realise I didn’t want to die. No matter how shitty my life was, I wanted to live.
Someone’s boots stomp onto the stone behind me but I stay facing the land. I was always alone here and that was fine by me, but now that I know what it feels like to have someone have your back, an intense wave of loneliness hits me. I was the one who ran away. Away from here, into my own little world, so used to it being alone. To bottling everything up and only relying on me. So now I don’t know how to let them in, to lean on them when I need them. When I feel him step behind me, my heart slows from its galloping pace and it’s easier to breathe, I almost gasp as the air hits my lungs. I used to be so good at hiding my emotions, the hard-won mask I wore only to be taken down when I was alone. Now, the familiar comfort of nothingness is gone, wiped away by a few comments and smiles from them. That place I escaped to during the hardest days of my life is cold and empty and no longer appealing. What have they done to me?
“You want to shower first?” I turn in shock. No one turns down a shower, but I figured I would go last. Jax stands waiting for my answer, somehow I knew it would be him. He gets me. The silent warrior understands me better than I seem to understand myself.
“Why?” There’s nothing I can do to hide my suspicion and desperation in my voice. I have an almost clawing need for him to tell me why he cares.
“You need to wash away the feel of him.” His voice holds no pity or judgement, just truth.
That’s all he says before he turns and leaves me to my thoughts. He’s right of course, my skin is almost crawling with the memory of him. I watch Jax’s retreating back, how did he know what I needed before I even did? Most of all, why does he care? Questions swirl in my head as I hesitantly step into the room. Even though they didn’t seem to care what I did, I feel like at any minute they will turn on me, calling me a monster like so many do. To see disgust and hatred in their eyes would break me. Sometime along the roads in this godforsaken place I’ve come to care and rely on these men, they’ve stripped me bare before them. My horrors, guilt, and loneliness clear to see. That scares me more than any Berserker ever could.
They’re spread around the room, busy unpacking. I don’t make eye contact with them, I keep my head down and my focus on the bathroom. My world narrows down to me and the steps leading to that door. If I don’t look, I’ll never know the feel of them rejecting me. Rushing through the door, I shut it behind me. Leaning my head against the cracked wood, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
One breath at a time Tazzy, you can do this. In and out, in and out. Good girl, you can do this, baby. You can do whatever you set your mind to.
I let my dad’s words soothe me as I follow his instructions, letting the words that he used to say to me when I was scared wash through me. Once I feel more whole, I strip off my clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. I don’t want to look in the mirror but my eyes rise anyway. I look different, there’s no denying it.
The last time I looked in this mirror, my hair was shorn short from where I hacked at it with a knife so that no one could ever use it against me again. Now it hangs in waves to my hips, the top a dark brown and then lightening to blonde. The hopeless defeated look has left my eyes, now they sparkle with hope and determination. No bruises, whip marks or wounds litter my body like Ivar’s favourite painting. Instead, my skin is tanned and glows with health. My face has filled out, no longer starved. So have my hips, I now have curves, no bones peeking out for all to see. My boobs have grown too. My muscles are still there, but bigger. All together I look healthy, something I never thought I would be. I don’t cringe or feel sick, not even the slave brand makes me turn away. My body feels like mine once again, not his. When I do turn away, it is out of choice, not repulsion.
I hop in the shower and when I’m under the cold spray, my body starts shaking. I let myself think it’s because of the temperature of the water, not that too many emotions race through me at once leaving me weak. I forgot what it was like to feel anything and now it nearly overwhelms me. When I manage to get some semblance of control, I scrub my skin, washing away the feel of that man. My skin turns red from my ministrations, but the look in his eye is forever burnt into my mind. Just another horror to add to my memories. I quickly wash my hair, and get out, not wanting to leave them waiting for long. Using one of the two towels in the room I quickly dry off. I look at the clothes on the floor in disgust, I really don’t want to wear them again. With a sigh, I steel my spine and stick my head out the door.
“Could one of you bring me my bag please?” I ask. They all stop what they were doing and look around for it where I dumped it at the door. They all dive for it at once and I have to bite my lip to hold in my laugh. Drax makes it first and struts up to me, the bag outstretched.
“You want some help getting dressed?” He winks. I laugh this time and shut the door in his face. I dress in my back up clothes, forgoing a bra. After quickly washing my dirty clothes in the sink, I hang the towel over it to dry. Before I leave I look at myself once more, a small smile on my lips. Grabbing my wet clothes, I slip out. Heading outside I hang them on the balcony to dry.
This time I don’t stay outside. I wander in and sit with the guys, letting their banter and camaraderie wash through me. Thorn throws me his smile and Drax winks at me as he makes fun of Jax, who sits through it all with an unreadable expression, but I see his eyes twinkle with amusement. Maxen just shakes his head at us all, but when I catch his eye, he offers me the softest smile I’ve ever seen. One full of something I don’t want to think about, but I find myself returning it. Is this what it feels like to be happy?
◆◆◆
Later on, when everyone has showered, we sit around an actual table eating the food the guards brought up. The men talk quietly, including me in the conversation. They keep it light and for that I’m glad. We laugh and joke until the sun starts to set, throwing its last rays through the balcony doors.
The guys spread out on the floor in the bedroom. There is a bed, but the mattress only sleeps two. I protested when they said I could have it, but they didn’t listen. Maxen eventually told me to shut up and take the bed, so I did. Now I’m laying there, staring at the ceiling when Thorn’s voice breaks the silence.
“Where are you from?”
I know he’s talking to me, but I don’t respond. I really don’t want to open that door. Something in me whispers that I fear once they know everything they will look at me differently. It’s starting to get really annoying.
“Is Worth your
real name?” Drax asks.
“No,” I take a deep breath “I chose it to remind me to always be worth the blood and death spilt for my freedom.” My voice is soft but it echoes around the room.
It's quiet as they take that in and I wonder how they will react when Drax’s cheerful voice sounds from somewhere at the end of the bed “What is?” I snort, beyond grateful for his ever-present amusement. But I remember what Jax said about his brother and his nightmares. The thought is sobering.
Sometimes some of the happiest people hide the most pain, their joking attitude a way of covering so that no one will ever know the truth. It physically hurts me to think he feels the need to do that with me, I need to remember to ask him, to dig deep and find the real man behind the laugh.
“Seriously, I don’t think I can keep calling you Worth,” Drax laughs. I smile in the dark, he never gives up.
“Tazanna, my name is Tazanna. My dad named me. It means princess, he said it was because when I was born I became his princess.” The words tumble out of me and I want to snatch them back immediately.
“That’s a beautiful name,” Maxen rumbles. I’m quiet for a bit, but in the end, I decide to take a leap of faith. Jax shared his pain with me and they had my back today, sharing something about me is the least I can do.
“My mum named my brother, I guess it was a fair trade...you tell anyone my real name and I’ll kill you,” I mutter. They laugh and I even smile again, what are these guys doing to me?
“What’s your brother’s name?” Jax’s quite voice rumbles.
“It was Von. It means hope.”
My voice cracks over his name, it felt foreign on my tongue after so long. Like saying it out loud gives it power, it conjures his smile and soulful brown eyes. I quickly push them away, the pain and loss so great that my heart clenches painfully and my breath catches. The air hard to suck in, I hear the men inhale and then the sound of flesh meeting flesh. It brings me out of my misery, bloody men can’t even let me suffer for one minute. The air tumbles back into my tight lungs and my heart releases its painful grip.
“So Taz, where are you from?” Drax asks again, his voice purposely cheerful. I ignore the nickname and groan at the question. I hear a smack again and snigger to myself.
“She doesn’t have to answer if she doesn’t want to.” Maxen’s voice is strong and leaves no room for argument. He’s offering me a way out, but the dark makes me brave and I find myself spilling my secrets to these men who are worming their way into my cold broken heart.
“You know how I told you the divisions of the clans up here?” I ask, my voice taking on a faraway quality as I try and push the past back. There’s a reason I don’t talk about it.
“Yes,” Thorn sounds hesitant.
“I’m from The Berserker clan,” I hear them inhale and the air practically trembles with their unasked questions.
“How?” Maxen sounds shocked. I roll over and face where I know his body is. It’s easier to talk when I can imagine it is just one person.
“I was stolen from my family when I was thirteen. My mother died in the scorch. My brother, father and I headed North to avoid the chaos in the cities. We survived for a while, but the further North we got, the worse the chaos. We were running every day, hardly stopping to eat and sleep. I could see it taking its toll on us. One day, I begged them to stop, to let me rest, and eventually my dad caved. He always did when it came to me. That’s when Ivar found us. Him and his men surrounded us before we could even run. He beat my father, as my dad screamed at me to run. My brother ran at them, trying to stop them and buy me some time. I’ll always remember the look he gave me as he did, he knew what would happen but he was hoping he could save me. My stupid, protective big brother.” Silence reigns as my story takes on a life of its own, I couldn't stop now even if I tried.
“I did, sands help me, I ran. As fast as my legs would carry me, but I was already exhausted and running on empty. They laughed as they chased me. When they caught me, they dragged me back by my hair and made me watch as they killed my brother. I had to watch the life leave his eyes as he realised he couldn’t save me.” I take a deep hiccupping breath, tears slowly making their way down my cheeks, and carry on, “I was thrown over the back of a bike. I never knew what happened to my father, but I can guess. Ivar kept me as his pet, chained to his chair and forced to lay at his feet as he sat in his throne. Days passed into months which passed into years of just trying to survive the hell that is that clan.” I feel better after getting it out in the open, like I needed someone to hear my sob story. That I needed to remember my family’s sacrifice, despite the pain. Even at night when I laid in the dark on the floor in Ivar’s bedroom, I didn’t, in case he saw my tears. It soon became easier to just push all the memories away; to forget. But I want to remember, I want to see the good as well as the bad. My dad's cheeky grin, my brother's ever constant eye roll. Memory after memory bombards me like I threw open the doors and they are eagerly rushing out.
“How did you get from there to here?” I appreciate Maxen’s steady strength, it allows me to shove the memories back. But I don’t lock them away again, just enough to give me room to think.
“I was his slave at first. When I grew up, I went through the same pain and training his men did. He thought it was amusing that his pet could fight. I soaked in their knowledge and brutal nature like a sponge, hoping I would be able to use it on them one day. When I became a fighter, he taught me more, only so I could win him more money. He reluctantly allowed me to join his warriors. My days were filled with just getting through the next moment. Killing and fighting to survive. I don’t think he ever knew I planned to win all my fights and my freedom, but I’d spent enough time under his hand, experiencing the pain he gained pleasure from. It gave me all the determination I needed to get away.” I snap my mouth shut to stop the word vomit from coming out. They don’t need to know just how broken I was or what he did to me. What I let him do to me. Deep down, I know I couldn't stop him and it wasn't like I sat there and asked for more, but it’s hard to explain that logic to the primal side of me. The guilt, hate and self-loathing whirling, crying out for vengeance.
“You said you were thrown in the pit as punishment?” Jax asks, his quiet timber reminding me that I might be alone in this bed, but they are still here. And of course he would remember that. That question locks me down faster than anything. I don’t want to see his face again. To remember the pain of losing the only man I ever trusted, my light in the darkness.
“Yes,” My voice is clearly saying drop it, but he doesn’t.
“What for?”
I turn over again, facing the ceiling. Bright blue eyes flash in my memory along with a soft smile, the one only I saw. I remember his tears of hopelessness as he patched my broken body, crying all the tears that I never could. I close my eyes in pain, I can’t see it again. It was bad enough living it the first time.
“I fell in love,” I ignore them after that, burying my head in the pillow beneath me. Eventually, I hear their breathing even out, and lulled by it, I soon follow.
◆◆◆
I wake up slowly, my head cushioned by something soft and my legs and arms wrapped around something hard. I crack my eyes open and then slam them shut in panic. Shit. The body I’m wrapped around like a koala moves beneath me.
“You were screaming and moaning in your sleep. You stopped when I touched you, so I stayed up here.” Maxen’s voice is soft and his calm even breathing helps stop my panic. This is no big deal right?
“Sure,” I fake my calm and his chest moves as he laughs.
“Calm down Mi Alma, it’s only a bit of cuddling.”
Calm down? I’m going to stab him and then see how calm he is.
“Yes, well, some of us don’t cuddle with a lot of people,” I gripe before trying to move out of the circle of his arms. He tightens them, caging me in.
“You’ve never cuddled before?” His surprise only pisses me off. I wiggle trying to get free. H
e moves one of his hands and swats my ass.
“Stop moving and answer my question.”
I huff in annoyance and look at his face. It’s open and there's a tenderness in his eyes.
“No. Ok? No. I either couldn’t or didn’t want to,” I stay rigid in his arms. He peers at me, his eyes at half-mast. His hand strokes down my back softly. I grind my jaw against the purr that wants to come out.
“Couldn’t?” His voice is soft, creating a bubble around us.
I nod and he just waits. Ugh. “You don’t exactly get to have what you want when you’re a slave.” My voice is hard and I know my eyes must be flashing with barely controlled violence right now. His lips quirk despite that.