RESILIENCE (Resilient Saga Book 1)

by Marcia DM

  I go back and hand her the towel. She grabs it and quickly wraps herself with it, squeezing her body with the cloth. She looks so delicate, soaking wet and cold. I’m fighting the desire to warm her with my body, because I know that would be a terrible idea. I point towards the couch and make way for the light switches, but she stops me.

  “You don’t need to do that.” Great, she doesn’t want to see my eyes go out.

  “At least let me start the fireplace, otherwise you’ll freeze.” She gets comfy in the couch and I lit the fire for the second time since I’ve moved here. After a few moments, the big fireplace fills the room with warm air and paints the walls with a mix of red and orange tones. The sparks jump all over me.

  When I turn around, I see her buried deep into the couch, her hair on the outside of the cocoon she made with the towel, her hands crossed against her chest, in an attempt to warm up.

  I sit in front of her, only to notice that she can’t look me in the eye. She’s tense, Okay, who wouldn’t be? A lightning strike followed by its thunder makes her jump in her seat.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Water, tea, coffee…” I offer; she studies me for a long time. There’s a surprised expression on her face that’s impossible to hide; soon after, she looks down again and just nods. “One coffee, coming up.”

  As soon as I enter the kitchen, I turn on the coffee machine and open my laptop to check the surveillance cameras. Yeah, what did you expect? A guy like me not having security measures on his own house? Come on. I go full stalker mode on her and start observing as much as I can, as I’ve been doing for over a month— from the shadows, hiding, tasting her with my eyes, making excuses for myself to justify the stalking, like I have to analyze her every move to avoid being caught off guard.

  Yeah, right.

  She’s looking around from where she’s sitting. Her eyes are all over the place, but her body doesn’t even flinch, and then a question hits me— Does she like my house? Wait, what? She must be thinking that this is how the house of a psycho looks like. She’s not wrong there. Besides, who cares. I’ll be dead in a moment, anyway.

  She’s rubbing her palms together and twisting her fingers while doing it; she’s inflicting pain upon herself to keep her mind in check. Pain is something she’s familiar with, but at least now she’s in control of it. That must be making her feel safe, up to an extent of course. She sighs loudly and finally relaxes her body a bit.

  That’s it, don’t be afraid, I will never put my hands on you again.

  Minutes go by and it still troubles me that I haven’t seen any weapons on her. That intrigues me, deeply. I mean, how the fuck is she gonna do it?

  The coffee machine beeps, letting me know that the coffee’s ready and at the same time forcing me to come back to the real world.

  CHAPTER 11

  SARAH

  Inever thought I’d be here. I mean, yeah, I pictured myself being here a thousand times in different situations, with lots of questions and some hypothesis. Some of those situations ended alright; some others, well— let’s just say I’d rather remember the ‘okay’ ones. The point here is that not even in my wildest dreams I could see myself doing this, let alone being welcomed the way he welcomed me. The house is not what I imagined, either; I figured it would look like a dungeon or something worse, like a Russian Gulag.

  Looking around this living room, one could say that he’s a man of some financial stature, single and yet lonely. The decor is also lacking a woman’s touch— black leather couches with scary high backs, pretty intimidating if you ask me. To put it in a context everybody would understand, if couches were alive, these ones would bully the shit out of the ‘granny’ ones I’ve got back home. The dark hardwood floors are like a big shadow casted from afar; the fire burns very hot but doesn’t provide enough light for me to make out anything else in the room. The darkness within the living room embraces me like a black hole. It should be scary, but it’s in fact relaxing. The minute I walked in and saw the reigning shadows, I didn’t panic, on the contrary— I saw them as allies. Dwelling in the shadows I feel at ease. There’s not much to see in the shadows, therefore there’s no need for me to hide my feelings.

  I’m nervous, the wait is killing me. I hadn’t noticed I was twisting my fingers until I felt a warm sensation. The sound of the rain pairs well with the crackling sound of wood burning, it seems like they’re getting louder and louder. At this point it’s the only thing I can hear, because his footsteps stopped a while ago. Maybe I can’t recognize his steps like I did before.

  “Do you take sugar with your coffee?” His voice echoes through the room and thunders in my ear, making me jump out of place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought I was being loud enough for you to notice me approaching you. Please, sit down, Cassandra. I’ll keep my hands to myself, just like I promised.”

  “That’s not my name anymore…” I interject with a whisper, while trying to hide my embarrassment for my reaction. I wrap myself with the towel once more to find some sort of protection. “I’m Sarah now.”

  “Oh! Sarah,” he savors it. “Nice name they picked for ya, although I think Cassandra was… exquisite.”

  “Exquisite? What is this shit? He’s suddenly a fucking knight? Somebody call the carpenter. We need a round table around here! What an idiot, this one.” Life is not holding anything back.

  “Cassandra doesn’t exist anymore.” I look at him straight in the eye. He’s showing traces of… shame? Maybe awkwardness…

  “You’re right; she’s gone.”

  Silence makes itself present and makes the situation even more unbearable. Nothing comes out of my mouth. At least we can rely on the rain and fire; I’m thankful for that. He pulls a armchair in front of me and sits, resting his right leg over the left, just like he used to do back then. He looks uneasy, maybe because he doesn’t have a clue as to why I’m here, and that makes him anxious.

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Sarah. If you’re here to kill me, I’m not gonna fight you.” He lets out as he straightens his back. I can’t help but look surprised. Did he really mean the ‘You’re free to take my life if that will give you peace’ part? He doesn’t even look stressed about it; in fact, he’s disturbingly relaxed, which makes me disturbingly stressed. Is he serious about it?

  “Don’t you fear death?”

  “No,” he says sharply. “I’ve already done everything I wanted to do in this life. I gave it my worst and best tries. There’s nothing left for me to do. Please, drink up your coffee before it gets cold.” He points at my coffee with his own mug. But I don’t want to drink coffee now, I want to know more.

  I take a few sips and say, “What was the worst thing you ever did?”

  “Torturing you, of course.” He utters that word like there’s nothing wrong with it. I still can’t even whisper it.

  “And the best?”

  He sits back holding the mug between both hands, eyes fixed in his coffee. After a while, he lets out a big sigh and answers, “Rescuing you.”

  His answer makes my stomach feel weird. What is this feeling? Am I nervous? What is happening?

  “You mentioned you’ve killed people. Isn’t it worse than… you know?”

  “Torturing?” He finishes my sentence with that painful word.

  “Yes, torturing.” I can’t believe I’m saying it, I wasn’t able to do it until now. Did the pain I felt when I heard it right now helped me say it? I feel self-assured right now, powerful even. Could this place be the reason? His presence? Or maybe just the fact that I can kill him without him fighting back?

  “Woah, this is worse than an FBI interview. The answer is ‘no,’ by the way. The people I killed were not innocent, and I couldn’t give a shit, even if I wanted to…” He stops, lost for words and looking around to continue with his answer. “…And before you ask, I did give a shit about you, even though I can understand that this small piece of information can be too hard for your brain to digest.” His tone change
s, now it sounds like mockery. Is he treating me like an idiot now? I don’t like that at all. I can feel the adrenaline rushing through my body. I could end this quickly, kill him right now and never again feel like a dumb little girl.

  “If you gave a shit about me, you could’ve said something about the mission. I would have understood.”

  “Not possible. The minute I would have said anything, the whole mission could have become compromised. We were being watched all the time, Sarah.”

  “We?”

  “What do you mean by that? You and me, of course.” He answers with an angered expression, like it’s obvious. This is not what I had in mind when I rehearsed the conversations in my head on the way over.

  “You and me, of course… that sounds like a telenovela, right?” Life mocks me once more. Bitch.

  We stare at each other, one in front of the other, green versus light blue, rain versus fire. I’m drenched, and he radiates heat. Mixed feelings going back and forth. I can’t shake the feeling I get when I think he can see right through me. Those piercing green eyes make me feel like an open book and I don’t like that. To counter that, I cross my arms. I think I’m going to keep this towel for now.

  “Why did you walk in the rain, Sarah?” His face looks puzzled— eyebrows close together and pressed lips complete the picture. He’s curious.

  “I always enjoyed walking in the rain.” That is the absolute truth.

  “Oh, I see. I like doing that, too.” He agrees with me, but his tone doesn’t match what he just said. He made it sound… worried, alert. I can see a question being asked through his eyes, and mine answer it. No words are being spoken right now, none of us is using their mouths. “You’re not here to kill me, after all. Are you?” he finally asks with a grin on his face I want to delete. He knows I’m weak, and I hate that. I wish I could take him down, but I’ve already lost this battle.

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  He sees my arms crossed and mirrors them. “If you’re not here to do that, then… Why are you here?” Before I can reply, he fires a comment. “Let me guess and correct me if I’m wrong. You’re here because you think I have the answers to all your questions…” I want to reply, but he doesn’t let me. “You might be right, I may have them, but it is you who must answer those questions; not me. I know how you feel. I know it because I forged you, you were molded by my actions. I’m the reason you feel broken, hopeless, without emotions. Nothing matters to you anymore, you don’t have anything or anyone to live for.” He sighs. “You hate that feeling and have already found a way to hide it for the rest of your life, hoping one day it will fade away. But there’s something deep, deep inside that tells you that ain’t happening. That thinks you’ll have to look over your shoulder for the rest of your days; that there is no place on earth that will make you feel safe again; there are no cops, guards, or anything that can give you peace of mind. That future upsets you. Right… Sarah?”

  I’m gathering every word he just said, taking my time to arrange and digest them before I say anything, only to find that almost everything he said was real— yes, I said ‘almost.’ “That’s not true.”

  “Which part?” He didn’t like my answer at all.

  “I feel safe here…” The answer makes him lose his poker face and silence takes over the room once again.

  I won this one.

  “Here? At your torturer’s house?” I can clearly see his hesitant demeanor. He doesn’t get it, and neither can I.

  “Yes. The minute I walked through that door, I felt it in my skin, I heard it in every word I spoke. And even before that, when you answered the door.”

  “Are you fucking with my mind, Sarah!?” He yells at me, stands up and stomps around the room like a shark surrounding his prey— nervous, confused, stunned… He lost it.

  “I’d like to say yes, but to be honest, I still have to figure out what’s going on in my own mind. So no, I’m not fucking with you.” He’s still walking around; my eyes follow him.

  He stops in front of me but doesn’t sit down. He sighs loudly. “I’ll ask again. Why are you here?” He’s now expecting an honest answer. “Talk to me.”

  Not only have I forgotten all the questions I prepared while walking under the rain through the dark streets of this city on my way here, but even worse— I am now the one being interrogated. When did the roles change? “I needed to see you. I wanted some answers and had prepared a lot of questions, which I don’t remember now.” So many things are happening at the same time, my mind can’t keep up with all of them.

  “I see.” He sits right next to me, but leaves a gap between us, and starts thinking about our current situation. I stare at him waiting for an answer. He looks tired; he rubs his eyes and sits back for a few moments, which feel like five hours to me. I can’t tell if time stopped. The wait feels worse than the anticipation before, when he used to open the cell door. “I… think I can help you.” Even though I didn’t come here looking for help, somehow his answer catches my attention.

  “Help me, how?” He turns his head to me; the gap between us narrows. His eyes are fixed on me so intensely, I can feel my cheeks burning.

  “I know you’re under the witness protection program; I also know that they make you talk to a stupid shrink who never in her life experienced anything remotely similar to what you went through. She claims that everything has a solution, that she can fix you, but she doesn’t get it and never will. The truth is, there’s nothing to fix. This is the new… you.” He points at me with his entire hand. “You just have to figure out how to live as… Sarah.” And for the first time in a long time, I like what I hear. Dr. Gonzales wanted me to become Cassandra once again, to go back in time like nothing ever happened, but, how can I become someone who doesn’t exist anymore? How can I erase from my mind everything I went through, what I’ve learned, what I’ve lived? It’s simply impossible.

  My train of thought is derailed with another question from him. “You like what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” I confirm, ashamed of myself. Agreeing with this man feels wrong; however, his words are exactly what I wanted to hear. But I didn’t know that until now.

  “Don’t do that.” He straightens his back and neck. The closeness between us vibrates like a ball of energy being compressed. I am now able to look at him in detail. The fire paints him orange and sheds enough light for me to find some wrinkles under his eyes, notice his full lips and a five-day beard.

  “Don’t do what, exactly?” Our faces are way too close now, more than I can handle right now.

  “Feel ashamed of yourself. Look, Sarah, there’s nothing better than accepting who you really are and embracing the feeling of doing what you want and need, instead of just trying to fit in. There’s so much social pressure in the world, which makes men and women unhappy, live repressed, ignore how they actually feel, worry about doing whatever it takes to be just another sheep waiting to be devoured by the wolf, which is a total waste of time if you ask me. If you feel the need to be mad, then do it! You don’t have to be someone else, you sure as hell are no longer Cassandra… You are Sarah now, and she has the right to take a shot at life. So, don’t be frightened of what I’m telling you right now, don’t believe even for a second that because our relationship is shit you can’t agree with me; ‘let it be,’ unshackle your inner self, release all that contained energy. If you need to punch someone in the face to feel better, well, here I am willing to take that punch. After all, I did promise to give you what you wanted from me. If help is what you need, I will give it a go. I’m a man of my word.”

  I thought I was free the minute they rescued me from that hell hole a month ago. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What really freed me were the words he just spoke.

  It was that simple— freedom lived at 7011 St. Thomas Street. Alamo Hills.

  “How can I trust you, after all you did to me?” Those words slip through. He feels ashamed for a split second and then goes back to his formal
and cold demeanor.

  “You WANT to trust me. That is why you’re here. If I wanted to hurt you, I could’ve done that a hundred times by now. I could have even kill you. The minute you walked through that door you had no chance against me. But that was never my intention —ever.” He doesn’t get an answer from me. I’m just staring at him; I can almost see the scalp through his short hair. I gaze upon the nose that separates his green eyes, at which I can’t look straight. They make me look down. I can’t stand to look at them for long; it doesn’t matter how beautiful they are, they still represent the past horrors. I look at him once more; my senses betray me, they trust him. I’m fighting with everything I have and I wonder how good it would feel to let myself go, just once.

  I’m about to ask a question and I don’t know if I’m ready for the answer. But it finds a way from my brain into my mouth before I know it. “Am I ever going to feel again?”

  That one throws him off balance. I can almost see the cogs moving inside his brain. He sits back again, head against the couch, and after a big sigh, he replies. “Not the way you used to.”

  CHAPTER 12

  BRUNO

  Of all the scenarios I’ve played in my head, I did NOT see coming what’s going on right now. It’s unbelievable— she’s sitting on my couch, a few inches away from my body, asking for my help. Me, of all people, the one who tortured her for three fucking years. Not even a month went by. That fresh and exposed wound is so deep that she doesn’t know how to fix it.

  Let’s be clear. I’m no doctor, but her being here is not normal. But then again, lately nothing about her is fucking normal, nothing at all. Plus, since I’ve been stalking her, the fact that she comes to me is a breath of fresh air. So, I’m not gonna complain; what’s more, I fucking like this. I know, I’m selfish, boo-fucking-yah.