by Amo Jones
He hands me a water bottle. “Drink. It’s an order.”
I take it. They don’t have to tell me twice, I’m parched.
I take a long drink, and I don’t stop. It’s too good to stop. The water slides down my throat, setting off a deep satisfaction of thirst quenched before finally settling in my stomach.
When it’s empty, my arm drops down beside me, and that’s when my head starts spinning. I go to tuck my hair behind my ear, my movements feeling a little heavy, echoed.
“Um,” I say, but my voice sounds like I’m speaking underwater, garbled.
The boy steps closer, his body doubling and his movements fading.
I don’t feel anything. My hands don’t shift when I need them to.
When I feel my body float to the ground, in what I think is a slow fall, my legs don’t move.
When I see his face directly above me, his hoodie dropping around his neck, I can’t push him away.
I feel nothing. I’m hopeless. He tears my clothes off me in fluidlike movements, and I close my eyes, part of me thankful that I can’t feel his assault or the intrusion into my body.
I don’t know how long it lasts, all I know is that I can slowly feel my legs throbbing, and he’s still going, emptying himself on my flesh, inside of me, and then shoving his cock that tastes of dirt and salt against the back of my throat. I go from blacking out to coming back into consciousness. Green tie. Cigar. Suit.
I see a man standing behind the boy who is on top of me. His jaw is open, shocked. “Vlad?” I try to whisper, though I’m not sure it comes out.
His face turns serious and he points to me. “Knock her out.”
The boy keeps raping me.
He raped me.
My mind goes black. I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake, he’s still on top of me.
He’s not just taken my body, he’s imprinted himself into my soul too, because that’s what rapists do. You think it’s over when he’s finished? Oh no. That’s just the beginning, it’s living with the memories that kills you.
I slowly lift my hand, but it’s still too slow. His breathing comes in heavier, his thrusts soft and slow. Not brutal or forced like I would have expected.
“Gosh you’re beautiful, even when you look like you do, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, touching my face gently. I gag, my stomach churning and I give him a disgusted look.
He’s being soft and gentle. Why.
Just as his hand comes to my cheek again to caress me. To whisper his disgusting sweet nothings as I fully regain feeling south and start to feel every thrust into me, every punch of pain, and every itch of sweat. His body is gone and a loud crash breaks through the air. I crawl up the bed, not caring that I’m naked and my clothes have gone.
I don’t care. I don’t care anymore.
They win.
I shiver in the corner, letting the damp smell inject itself into my tainted soul.
The boy stands to his feet, but Manik is standing over him, his back to me as if he’s shielding me. “Cub,” he says, turning his head to look over his shoulder. His eyes connect with mine and for a second, I see the Aeron I thought I knew, but then he blinks, and it’s gone. “Do you want the honors?”
I don’t answer, I don’t know what he means and right now I don’t care. Manik steps to him, grabs the boy’s face and turns it up to stare at him in a way that is maybe not natural and could maybe snap his neck at any moment. “Who sent you in here?”
He chuckles, spitting blood out of his mouth and looking up at Manik. He grins, blood dripping around his mouth. “Not sure I owe you an explanation, Zver.”
Manik’s jaw clenches a few times, and then he flips the boy around to face me. He’s inches away, and the sight of his face makes me curl over in disgust. “Watch, Cub.”
I don’t want to.
I fight it, but my eyes drift back to them both.
Manik pulls out a dagger, the one I know he used on me on his kitchen counter, and the one from my memories of him taking my parents’ lives, then he presses the blade to the boy’s neck, his eyes on me. “Keep your eyes open.”
I shake my head, not wanting to watch. Horror seizes my bones and my stomach feels like it’s being slowly ripped from me.
“Cub?”
I look up. He slashes across the thin flesh, the wound splitting open and blood squirting out all over me. I scream, so loud that my throat feels like I’ve swallowed a thousand needles, and the only thing that reverberates out after my screams is the loud thud from Manik dropping his head on the concrete.
Manik tosses the body to the side with a thud, and then advances on me, pulling his hoodie off, he tosses it at me. “You get what I meant when I said do you want the honors?”
I nod slowly, my face wet from my tears.
“Good.” He yanks me up.
After a long drive, he leads me all the way through his house. Everything is semi-blurry and I can’t find anything inside of me to really care. Pushing open his bedroom door, he shoves me inside. “Wash and sleep. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Leave?” I manage to ask, turning around enough to catch his eyes on me. “Leave for where?”
He runs his hands through his hair in frustration, swallowing hard enough for me to notice the Adam’s apple bob around in his thick neck. “The tour, Beatrice.”
Right. I continue toward the bathroom, shutting the bedroom door in his face.
Hitting on the faucet, I drop the hoodie from my swollen and bruised body, looking back at myself in the mirror. My tanned skin looks smudged in dirt, my lip is split, there are dark circles around my eyes and my cheekbones are sunken. I’ve not just lost my spark, there’s something inside of me that has died completely and won’t return. I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me, I don’t recognize the eyes that are peering back at me.
I scrub my body in the shower, seeing everything is exactly as it was when I left, only it’s not. My mind is a maze of confusion and I don’t know where the exit is.
Wrapping a fluffy towel around me, I squeeze the excess water from my hair and make my way back out to the bedroom. There are clothes laid out on his bed. I don’t see what it is, I just put them on. Everything moves slower, lifeless and dull.
I flop backward onto the bed, my eyes drifting closed.
“Black Cotton”—2Pac, Eminem
“Yo, I mean, I don’t know. This is risky business, Ae. I mean, bringing her on tour?” Lenny asks, pacing back and forth in front of the mixer table. He pauses, swinging around to face me. “What do I do if she gives me that look?”
I sink back into the sofa, my hands coming to my hair. I tug at it. “I don’t think that will be a problem. The girl isn’t functioning properly.”
“—And that’s what you wanted, right?” His tone is heavy on the accusatory side.
I lick my lips. “It’s what I should want. It’s what I’ve been trained to want since I was a fucking kid and her piece of shit dad took my mom, started one of the biggest wars to hit this era, and he tried to kidnap me when I was a baby, so fucking aye I wanted her to hurt. She needed to burn in the blood of her parents’ so I can fucking dance on her grave…”
Lenny sighs. “But?”
Conceal.
I chuckle. “It’s cute that you think there’s going to be a but.”
“Hip Hop”—Dead Prez
As soon as I’m curled in his blankets, I close my eyes and try to force myself back to sleep, but every time I do, I’m back in The Pen.
Caged.
My limbs feel numb and soft, my mind sinking deeper into subconsciousness, and then just when I think that’s it, I’m finally going to sleep, I can’t feel my legs again and I launch off the bed, sweat pouring down my face.
I yank at my hair, tears pouring down my cheeks. I feel invaded and dirty, like every person who looks at me now can see that I’ve been tampered with. My mind races a hundred miles an hour, but when I bite down on my lip, the pain calms me
.
It calms me because I can feel—the complete opposite of how it was in The Pen.
Laying back down onto the pillow, my hair sprawls out beneath me and I clench my fists so tight that crescent moons carve into the palm of my hands. I was raped, but I won’t make myself a victim. He took my choice away from me, but he will never take my soul.
The bedroom door cracks open and my eyes fly to the clock on the nightstand. I think about pretending to be asleep, but why. I find myself not really giving a shit. The bed sinks beside me and my eyes go to the shadow that’s sitting there. It’s strange that I feel safe here, considering this house is what set off so many events just months ago, but I feel…safe.
“Want me to sleep on the couch?” His voice interrupts the silent night like a feral animal.
I answer quickly. “You’re actually asking me?”
He pauses, and then I feel the bed move again, the blankets pulling back. “Figure you’ve been robbed of your choices lately.”
My throat swells. Those words may not mean anything had they come out of any other man, but this was Manik, and he doesn’t do sweet, and that was sweet. “Thank you.” Then I quickly add. “And you can sleep in here.”
He doesn’t answer, so I flip over to face him, tucking my hands under the pillow. “I—”
“—Shut up, Cub and go to sleep.”
When I was a little girl, I used to dream about traveling. I’d always talk about how I wanted to make sure I saw as much of the world as possible. My pops said that I had an unsettled spirit, but I think I just knew what was out there and wanted to take it.
This wasn’t exactly how I envisioned it though.
“When can I have a phone again? Why hasn’t Kyle tried to get hold of me?” I ask, clipping my seat belt on.
Aeron leans back in his chair, his eyes coming to mine. “Because he thinks you’re still on the run.”
“But,” my eyebrows cross. “I haven’t used any of their sources. I didn’t even stay with Katiya’s friend.”
He chuckles. “When are you going to get it, Cub?” One eye opens and then he sighs, leaning forward onto his elbows. “The clock may tick, but I’m the handle, numbers, and the sound it makes. You don’t move unless I say you move. You don’t live anywhere unless I say you can. Did you all really think you could outsmart me? I mean, my sister, yeah, she’s always tried to go up against me, but you and Kyle?” He laughs again, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes. “Sleep. We’re starting in New York.”
“Right Thru me”—Nicki Minaj
New York
The dip of the plane descending shifts me from my deep sleep. As much as I tried to fight it, I did end up getting some sleep.
“You alright, baby girl?” X asks from a few rows ahead of me, his hoodie over his head and his shoulders slumped inward. X and I haven’t spoken much, not as much as Lenny and I.
I give him a small smile. “Hmm.” I don’t really know what else to say. Am I okay? That’s probably the most overused question or expression known to mankind. Am I okay?
No.
“Sure,” I lie, it falls from my mouth as effortless as the smile that accompanies it.
My fingers tingle and I squeeze them together to gain feeling back in them. Sweat drips down the side of my face, my breathing labored. You’re not there, you’re here.
You’re here.
On a plane.
Not in a cage.
The heavy thunk of the wheels meeting the asphalt jolts me completely, echoing to the sound of the lock sliding from the cage.
My eyes scrunch shut, my breathing not working. My mind slips into the dark, where small splashes of color dances in little dots.
“Beat? Hey!” A voice snaps my eyes open.
His voice.
Not exactly my savior, since it is sort of his fault I was in there to begin with, but for a reason I don’t want to touch right now, his voice soothes the deep panicking in my head.
My eyes go to his, his face mere centimeters from mine, fuzzing in and out.
“You okay?” His question comes into full focus. My eyes drop to his hands that are on my knees before I pin him with a glare.
“No. I’m not.”
Turns out, I don’t care with Aeron. I can tell him anything truthfully and not feel anything about it. As the plane is shifting across the runway, Aeron leans back again, his face blank.
I tilt my head, noticing his eyes zone out. He’s looking at me, but not at me. He’s looking through me, and I’m not sure I want to really admit how that feels either. I know exactly how it is to be on the receiving end of Manik’s angry stare, but there’s something different about him this time. It’s like something has switched off inside of him, and just when I think I see a glimpse of the old Aeron, the Aeron only I got the pleasure of seeing, experiencing and… feeling, he snatches it away again and locks it up.
It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.
I quickly take my belt off and rush to the end of the jet, colliding with the pilot who was exiting the cockpit. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, brushing around him.
My mind has been in shambles since everything blew up. I haven’t even had enough time to sit down and really think about the revelations.
I’ll do that tonight.
“Where you going, Cub?” Manik asks from behind me, and I hear a few chuckles dance in the air.
I lean against the door near the exit, not wanting to turn and face him. “Wherever you tell me to go, Zvet,” I seethe, suddenly feeling very hot and both—
A body presses against my back and I fly into the wall in front of me, my nose smashing against the fiberglass. His arm wraps around my stomach, clenching me so tight I sink into his chest. I feel his warm breath against the side of my neck as the tip of his nose runs against my earlobe.
“Call me that again and I’ll kill you.”
I gulp.
Then he loosens his grip around my stomach, his hand traveling up to the front of my throat. “You got that, Amaya?”
I grit my teeth. His point is taken—clearly. “Let me go.”
There’s a loud whistle from behind us. “This what it’s going to be for the whole three months? Because fuck me, I’m going to need to call the wife and get her ass sent here.”
Manik releases me, and I turn back around to face him, his eyes hooded in disgust.
I don’t like being looked at like that either, I decide. “Get the fuck off this jet. Now.”
I nod, my lip trembling softly. When did I turn into such a weak woman? Maybe it has something to do with reflection. Maybe if I sit back and think about everything that has happened and been said, I will feel a little bit stronger. Strength comes with knowledge, and right now, I have none.
I drop my bags onto the bed and sink backward until my head hits the mattress and my eyes are locked on the ceiling. He didn’t give me my own room, because of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he has me locked in his penthouse suite of some upscale swanky hotel in the middle of New York City, while he hits the gym. His first show is in two days, a sold out show at Madison square garden. Am I surprised? No, but I also haven’t heard all of this new album, aside from the one song I heard at his party all those months ago.
I twist my head to the side, watching as the clock ticks slowly, the only sound in the room. My thoughts go back to his comment about the clock and him calling all the shots.
I can’t focus.
Twisting to the other side, I push my hands underneath my head. There’s obviously a bathroom and a massive walk-in closet. Down near my feet is a large window that gives me a direct and clear view of the busy city.
Exhaling, I shut my eyes.
My father was in the Italian mafia. That makes me Italian. My name is Amaya Corvo.
Corvo.
I shoot up from the bed when I remember Vlad calling me Corvo all those months ago. I lean back down, shaking my head. I know that Aeron will know everything that I want to know about my past and my pa
rents, but does his words hold substance? I don’t think I can trust that what he tells me will be very truthful. I was eight when my parents died, so I don’t remember much from before then. I do remember my mom and dad always laughing and kissing. They loved each other very much, and I think they loved me too. The thought stings the corner of my eyes as tears slip out and fall on the blanket.
I wish I knew more. I wish I could know more from their side instead of learning from the enemy. But wishes are pointless. A wish is just a sentence that’s said aloud in the hopes of it coming true. They never do. That’s just what they want you to think.
I hear the sound of the door unlocking, opening and closing and I grab the blanket, wrapping it around my body.
The sound of keys hitting hard marble is the next thing I hear, but I try to block out his presence so I can roll around in my self-pity for a little bit longer.
“Hungry?”
I don’t answer.
“You just not going to talk to me? You’re really going to make this fucking hard, aren’t you?”
Anger ripples through me and I tear the blanket off my body, shooting to my feet. “You!” I point.
He laughs, his eyes lighting up with amusement.
I scream and launch myself at him, my fist flying toward his cheek. He dodges it, grabs both wrists in his hands and then swings me against a wall. His eyes are on fire, his chest rising and falling and his teeth bared behind a snarl.
I ignore the smell of his sweat mixed with cologne. He’s wearing nothing but grey sweat shorts with his shirt tucked into the waistband, hanging out the back.
You will not look at his chest, Beatrice.
Amaya.
God!