RESILIENCE (Resilient Saga Book 1)

by Marcia DM

  She’s a massive mess, I can almost see her thoughts taking physical form from where I’m sitting, jumping around her head. She’s so caught up in them, she’s not aware I’m watching her. I’m not even sure she remembers I’m in the room.

  We all have to make decisions in our lives, we have the blessing of free will and freedom of choice, but sometimes we forget that those very decisions and their consequences will forge the person we will be tomorrow. Now this is what she’s contemplating; she’s trying to recap her future.

  A beautiful broken piece, that’s what Sarah is right now. Waiting for me to fix her with my own hands, to re-shape her and give back her purpose.

  The crackling sound of the burning wood and the pouring rain outside prevent the silence from becoming deafening. I can feel her mind melting in my hands. She will give in to her instincts and before she knows it, she will start trusting me. I can almost taste victory. I hear a loud noise coming from her stomach— she’s hungry. I always hated that goddamned noise. Whenever I heard it in that cell I wanted to break her free and take her to a restaurant. She knows it triggers me, and almost immediately looks up at me waiting for my reaction.

  “How’s the diet going for you?” I don’t hide my concern. She doesn’t look like she’s doing better when it comes to weight.

  “I’m getting there. I have to take it slow because my stomach is still fragile and sometimes rejects all the food the nutritionist recommends. Can I… ask you something?” I nod. “When you brought me food to my cell… were you breaking the rules?”

  Fuck.

  “Yes, I couldn’t stand watching you starve.” Just like I can’t stand feeling embarrassed right now, I think but end up saying: “Just like I can’t stand hearing you’re starving right now. You haven’t had dinner yet, right?” I look up and see her shake her head. “Well, that needs to change. If your body is weak, your mind will be, too.” I stand up and offer her my hand. That was a reflex, I think. I want to take care of her. I can see my gesture confuses her; she looks at me not knowing what to do next. So I put my hand away immediately, pretending not to feel rejected.

  Note to self: no touching.

  We make our way to the kitchen, where I have already hidden the laptop in the vegetables cabinet. I move around the kitchen like she’s not even here, but actually she’s observing the kitchen and watching my every move like a hawk. However, she can’t decide if she’s going to sit or stand.

  A very nutritious meal is in the menu tonight; something light that her stomach won’t reject. A question stops me in the middle of chopping vegetables. “How the hell did you convince the guards to let you out in this weather, without an escort or even an umbrella?” Thankfully, she’s behind me and can’t see how angry I look. That would only set us back to square one in this game of trust.

  “Actually, I snuck out. I needed to be by myself before dropping by,” she says mortified. I look over my shoulder to check if the expression matches the tone— yes, it does. They should have reported this to me and perform a complete search on the house. None of that happened, which means they’re not even aware that she left, which means I will fire their asses.

  “Are you sure you weren’t followed?” I glance out the window as a reflex. I know nobody else is here because not a single motion sensor at the perimeter was triggered. Still… those fucking guards…

  “I really don’t think so. I turned around a few times and made sure to stop at a couple of places before coming here.”

  “That’s a long-ass walk.”

  “Yep. Wait… You know where I live?”

  Shit.

  I don’t answer the last question; instead, I put the veggies in the pot and turn the burner up. She already knows the answer— of course I know everything about her, dammit, I know more about her than she does. There’s no need for words; she understands I’m not an ordinary guy.

  Little by little, we start to understand each other.

  “Gimme a moment, would you?” I grab my cell from my back pocket and speed dial one of the morons guarding Sarah. I hold the phone between my face and my shoulder, so I can keep cooking when the sergeant picks up.

  “Willis here.”

  “Sergeant, how are you doing this fine evening?”

  “Oh! Captain D’Amico, sir. Everything is fine. Thank you.”

  “What’s your twenty?”

  “Safe house thirty-two, sir, front gate sir, no movement, sir.” That piece of shit doesn’t even know she’s gone. I hang up the phone without responding and immediately dial his supervisor to get him up to speed. Sarah’s face is full of guilt.

  “You don’t have to feel sorry for them. They should feel sorry for themselves. Protecting one female civilian should be an easy enough task for them, and yet they found a way to fuck it all up,” I bark, maybe too angrily. The sheer thought of leaving Sarah under the protection of such retards makes my blood boil. She would be better off if I… I…

  “I’m not the only woman in that house; my mother is living with me now.”

  “Those are good news. Right?” I already knew that, of course, but I have to play dumb for once, to lead her straight to the answer I want to hear, the answer that will confirm what I suspect since I saw her walking aimlessly, doing nothing but allowing herself to avoid going back home.

  “I guess so…” Gotcha.

  “You guess? I thought that you wanted your mom to be with you.”

  “Yes… Yes! Don’t get me wrong, I’ve missed her so much, but now… Now that she’s with me, there are so many things that aren’t working. We were different before I was taken, and even more so now. And I can’t help stressing up thinking about how I expose her. I feel unsafe everywhere I go because of all I’ve been through…” She’s starting to sound more determined. “Now that I’ve met the devil…” I can see her reflection in the glass. She’s looking straight at me. I pay no mind to it— I’m not easily offended, so I keep fixing dinner. “I feel that she could be another victim. I think about it every day. I also believe it was unwise of me to accept her suggestion to live together, but what is done, is done.” I let her talk; I can see that she needs this. The way she’s talking to me right now, it feels good. I don’t detect any kind of hostility towards me, as if I wasn’t the one who tortured her. Right now, I’m not the devil. “And when we are together…” She stops.

  “What? What happens when you are together?” I insist, hoping that she doesn’t notice I’m enjoying this. I turn around to give the impression that I’m only starting to pay attention.

  “The thing is… Sometimes she’s a stranger to me, and she talks about stuff I don’t care about. I struggle so much trying not to abruptly end the conversations we have. Most of the time she doesn’t notice, but when she does, it’s really awkward. I don’t know how to explain it, it’s very hard to do.” She’s sitting on a chair with her legs crossed; that tells me she’s not being completely honest. She waves her hands around as she speaks, which indicates she tells the truth; and she’s still wrapped in the towel. I guess she still needs the cocoon to feel safe.

  “I understand…” Everything she’s describing is expected in people who went through a traumatic experience involving kidnapping. Not fitting in, difficulties connecting with others, loss of interest in common conversation topics, all of it is completely normal behavior. To not experience at least three of the many signs of post-traumatic stress would indicate something very wrong. Experiences like that will change you, priorities will shift, senses will recalibrate, a new perspective will appear, a new idea about society will be born— if you sum all that, you get an awakening of the soul.

  The entire world treats us differently, like somehow it changed. But the truth is, the world didn’t change— we did. We are no longer interested in superficial bullshit, we don’t feel like the rest of the people anymore, we don’t get offended by stupid things; but we do get frustrated by reality.

  I set the table and serve the food. I sit down and start e
ating from my bowl right away. She’s not eating. She probably thinks I’ve poisoned her bowl, so I eat a little from it. Slowly and without taking her eyes off me, she starts eating. When the first spoonful of veggies with chicken enters her mouth, I can see her pupils dilate and hear her stomach growl asking her to swallow, fast. She starts devouring the rest of the chicken soup like an animal.

  I like it.

  “How did you do it?” She says with her mouth full. I take pleasure in seeing her eat like that. I fantasized with this moment for so long.

  “How did I do what?” I’m getting good at playing the fool.

  “This meal. I’ve been struggling to eat pretty much anything. My body rejects everything again and again, but this…” she stares at her bowl, “this is the first time my body doesn’t puke immediately after I swallow.”

  “We have known each other for a long time. I think I know what your body needs, or at the very least I know what your body lacks; after all, I followed your diet closely for the past three years.” She looks at me with the eyes of a little girl who’s about to cry. It takes all my strength not to go around the table and wrap her with my arms and make her mine.

  Mine to look after.

  Mine to protect.

  Mine to worship.

  She can eat without a problem because her body remembers that I was the only one authorized to feed her. With time, she will understand that I’m her only option from now on. The only thing I fear is that I might become a drug for her. I want her to be stronger. The road from this point forward will not be easy.

  Welcome to the freak show, Sarah. There’s no need to worry— I’ll be your guide.

  CHAPTER 13

  SARAH

  The minute I finish my meal, I start feeling sleepy, drowsy. For a second, the thought about being drugged crosses my mind. But he had plenty of chances to do that before, like the coffee, for example. I can’t stop yawning so hard that my jaw could dislocate. I’m slowly lowering my guard, but I don’t want him to notice.

  “You need to get some shut-eye.” That’s not a question, it’s a statement, more like an order. He takes the bowls, stacks them and puts them in the sink.

  “I don’t get it, I slept the entire afternoon. This is not normal…” I stand up and start to move in an attempt to wake up. I stretch my arms pretending not to care too much about it while stealing looks at him, searching for a sign from him that will reveal his plan to drug me. But he does nothing of the sort— he just walks towards me… normally.

  I have the luxury of being able to observe him with abundant bright light, good and not scary. His clothes changed, just like his spirit. He’s wearing a pair of faded worn-out jeans and a tight black tee, so tight that I can see the humps in the cloth from the bulky abs underneath. He’s drying his hands with a rag. It’s very weird to notice this, but he’s being very thorough, drying finger by finger very energetically…

  “Your body is finally relaxing, Sarah. That’s why you feel like that.” He stops in front of me. “Your muscles were tense for three years, and now they’re finally loosening up. Chances are that you’re going to sleep for hours and hours, until every fiber in your body relaxes…” He chuckles. “You were also extremely tense just moments ago. Don’t worry, you will get used to my presence eventually.”

  His gaze feels warmer now. He looks a lot more relaxed with after-dinner Sarah than with the one who came in from the storm. And who can blame him, I’m pretty sure I looked like Samara from the movie “The Ring.” He’s close enough to me and I can feel the heat coming from his body, suffocating and consuming me. He’s observing me with prowling eyes. I should not allow him to be this close to me, but his scent— oh, God, his scent is intoxicating. He smells like leather and shampoo. I’m drawn by his natural glow like a bug towards light. For a moment my thoughts are clouded, and I can’t think clearly; my eyes shut and I lose myself. I have to get the hell out of here before I make a mistake.

  A big mistake.

  “Just to be clear here, are we talking about the same dude who tortured you for, like, three years?” Life is asking me this damn good question, but I opt to ignore her, because I don’t want to go down that road.

  “I should get going,” I whisper in an attempt to get away from him fast, only to trip with a chair like a drunk college girl. He manages to grab my arm and stop the fall before my face meets the floor.

  “Let me give you a lift.” Before I even hear his request, I start feeling a tingling sensation coming from my arm, and I realize that his hand is still touching my skin. To my surprise, I don’t feel assaulted at all; his soft grip is appealing.

  Fall back now, Sarah!

  My cell rings before I can freak out completely and distracts me from the discovery I just made. My mother’s on the other end of the line; she has probably just arrived and realized I’m not there and I didn’t leave a note explaining why. Bruno’s trying to spy on my phone. Finally, something he sucks at.

  “Mom, I’m on my way back.”

  “Hi, sweetie. It’s fine, I just wanted to let you know I’m back and that a friend of yours came to visit as well. What was your name again, young man?” I can hear her voice dim a little, meaning she turned away to ask the question. My senses go into ‘alert’ mode, I feel an adrenaline rush. This is not good, I know this is not good. “He says his name is Leon. How long until you get here?” Her tone in that last question is different, only I can tell. She’s suspicious as well. I’m searching in my mind trying to find that name and match it with a face, I just don’t know anybody by that name. I look at Bruno, standing beside me and watching me wonder.

  “What’s happening?” His eyebrows are once again really close together.

  “She says there’s a man over there with her. A ‘friend,’ apparently. I just don’t know anybody by that name.” My voice is starting to tremble, my body has been doing that for a while now. My mom and Bruno are talking at the same time; I can’t understand either of them, it’s chaos for me. Bruno steps up to control the situation by taking the phone away from me to talk to my mom.

  “Ma’am. What is the name of this friend?” he asks. The minute he gets the answer, his face twists. He hangs up and drags me by the arm towards the street.

  “Bruno, what the hell is going on? Who is he?” He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls his own cell from his pocket and speed dials someone. That someone doesn’t pick up.

  “God fucking dammit!” He yells while still hauling me outside.

  The rain is still pouring.

  There’s a car parked right outside the house. He opens the passenger door and helps me get in. He puts his hand on my head to make sure I don’t bump it against the frame while entering. What in the world is going on? While I click the seatbelt in, he shows up on the other side of the car, starts the engine and without saying anything else, he puts the car into gear and starts to drive. He doesn’t look back, his eyes are fixed on the road, not even blinking; he shifts the gearbox frenetically. The only thing I can hear is the roar of the engine revving. There’s so much rain on the asphalt that the car is skidding, but he’s driving as if the pavement was completely dry. I think this isn’t the first time he does this under this kind of weather. We reach my house; I’m trying to unbuckle my seatbelt when I feel his hand over mine.

  “Stay in the car, I’ll be back in a minute.” I want to argue, but my body decides that I should say nothing and just comply. He gets out of the car and starts walking fast through the front yard. Is that a gun? Yes, I just noticed it, he has a gun trained on his chest, pointing straight ahead. He moves smoothly through the lawn and finally reaches the porch. He opens the door and enters. I lose sight of him. Why didn’t I say anything? It’s my mother, God dammit! Before I can realize it, I’m already at the porch. To my right, or at the end of the porch, I can see a guard’s body, lying down on his back, eyes open, pupils dilated, both hands on the neck. I can see the gloves drenched in blood. And then it hits me— something very bad h
as happened and my life is about to change drastically and violently, again.

  I knew my new life had ended the minute it had begun.

  CHAPTER 14

  BRUNO

  My night went from a somewhat peaceful dream to a piece of shit horrifying nightmare, and I’m talking about ‘your Tinder date slash model drugged you and stole your organs’ kind of deal. That’s what hearing the name did to my mind— that fucking name made me realize that Sarah was going to crash, again, and break into a million pieces. This was the final blow she was so afraid of. I know from this moment on I will become the much-needed partner who provides support.

  I’m moving as fast as I can through the front yard, I want to run or even sprint, but that would be a mistake. I have to keep my shit together… for her. I want to save her mom, I have to. Nothing in the world matters more. I reach the porch and see a guy from the security detail, dead from a clean knife swipe to the neck. There’s no sign of struggle. Whoever jumped him was a pro. I need to focus, otherwise I might end up like this poor bastard. My handgun is trained forward, my trigger finger ready for anything. I’m through the front door, the small hallway after it looks clear. Come on, check your corners, Bruno, stay frosty. I turn left to the kitchen— clear as well. No sounds so far, that’s never good. I’m now moving to the living room. If there’s somebody here, I’m going to fuck them up. Sarah’s safety comes first. There’s two cups of coffee on the living room table, one spilled over the table cloth, the other one still smoking. Chairs are turned over, signs of a fight. Shit. Going around the table to completely clear the room delivers another clue— blood, making a trail to the main and only bedroom in the house. Through a reflection in a window I can see her mother on top of the bed … beheaded… Fuuuuck! I need to clear the bathroom before I can go into the bedroom. I clear it fast, there’s nobody else here. I turn towards the bedroom and I see her. Sarah’s already standing at the door, staring. She looks stiff, her eyes are wide open and full of tears. Her hands are turned into fists and the nails are clawing her palms. I grab her waist quickly and move her to the kitchen, trying to put some distance between her and the corpse. I have her sit down and I pour a glass of water. Her face is still frozen in the same expression. I put my weapon behind my back… How am I supposed to explain this? I kneel in front of her and, with my hands on her thighs, I say, “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I really am…” My stomach twists. She’s shaking and doesn’t reply. I lean forward and hug her tightly. I can’t think of anything I can say to even begin to explain any of this. She pushes me away and looks straight at me. She demands answers without a word coming out of her mouth. She grabs my jacket and shakes it violently.