by Marcia DM
“Go check it out.” Life says from behind her armchair. I don’t think I should, but then again, I remember that there are guards posted outside. Plus, Bruno’s here as well.
I wait a moment before removing the chair from the door. The house went silent a few moments ago, so I twist the doorknob slowly. I can hear the spring coil inside it. Finally, the latch releases the door from the frame and I open it just an inch. There are still no sounds coming from the living room. That gives me enough confidence to open the door a bit more and stick my head out. I have a clear line of sight from here to the living room. I can barely hear the guards chatting about something, but the voices sound too muffled for me to make out what they are saying. But if they are chatting quietly, then everything must be okay for me to step out in my pajamas. I walk towards the coffee table. Before I reach it, I see one of Bruno’s boots on the floor. I take a couple more steps, only to find him lying on the rug, sleeping. Judging from the overwhelming smell of alcohol coming from him, I’d say he rather blacked out.
I’m on the fence trying to decide if I should help him up or not. A part of me wants to help him, but the other one wants to go back to sleep.
“Just leave him there. He’s an adult, you know.” Classic Life, not giving a fuck about him.
I decide I have to wake him up and lead him to the guest room. But before I can make him stand up, I notice there’s a wound on his forehead, and he’s bleeding. I manage to pick him up just enough to have him sit on the couch.
“Wait here, I’m getting the first-aid kit.” He’s now trying to keep his eyes open. I make my way to the bathroom and grab what I need. When I return to the living room, I find him in the same spot with his eyes closed and rocking his body to avoid falling again.
“Did I waaake you?” He can barely articulate. He’s completely shit-faced. Before I can answer that question, I notice that not only he reeks of alcohol, but he also stinks of perfume… a woman’s perfume. I can’t believe this. Here I am, ready to help him after he woke me up, and he just came back from a night out, freshly fucked by a woman.
“Yes, you woke me up,” I say angrily, and start to clean his wound with a gauze drenched in rubbing alcohol. I rub it harshly against his forehead to make it sting.
“Are you okay, Sarah? You seem upset.” The fucker is moving his head to look me in the eye, but my arms are in the way. I need to avoid eye contact— he can read me like an open book.
“I’m fine. I just can’t stand that smell of cheap woman perfume all over you.”
“Oh. So, you are jealous.”
“No, I’m not jealous. Shut up.”
“Yeah, right.” Life claims.
“What is it then? Tell me.”
“It’s nothing. You need a shower, you smell like shit.” I drop everything and go back to my room, slamming the door behind me. Long time no see, adolescence.
I can’t believe this! What an awful man. He disgusts me. I wish this would end soon, so I can get the fuck out of here! I’m walking around my room like a caged lion, feeling angry, among other things. How dare he go out for drinks and fuck a random stranger? How dare he be happy?
He doesn’t deserve to be happy or feel pleasure!
What is wrong with me? Why are my eyes burning like this?
I drop to my knees and start to feel pressure on my chest. I’m hyperventilating heavily and can’t control myself. I’m crying out loud while gasping for air. This is the first time I’m letting myself go in a long, long time. I don’t care if he can hear me. I just want this pain to go away.
The weight over my shoulders is just too heavy.
The cell.
The torture.
Bruno.
My mom’s murder.
Bruno.
“Sarah, please, open the door.” Bruno knocks and follows it with a plea.
“No. Go away, leave me alone.” I utter these words while still trying to fill my lungs. At the same time, fluids are pouring out of my eyes and nose.
“Just open it, come on.”
“FUCK OFF!” After saying that, I start to cough, gasping for air. Breathing becomes too difficult and I can’t stop coughing.
“Sarah, are you okay?” I can’t answer. I’m too busy trying not to pass out. He panics and starts to try and knock down the door with his own body.
Once.
This makes the wooden chair crack a little.
Twice.
The crack gets bigger.
And, as usual, the third time’s the charm.
The chair finally breaks, the door swings open and his drunken body enters the room, struggling to reach me. Then, he drops to his knees and pats me on the back to help me. That makes the cough go away in an instant. I can see his lips moving. He’s saying something, but I can’t hear. The cough may be gone, but my eyes are burning, and tears are still falling. He embraces me, shortening the distance between us. “Shhh, shhh. It’s gonna be okay. Just breath, Sarah. Focus on breathing.” He starts to hum a song. I don’t know what song it is, but it’s a damn beautiful one. I cover my eyes with my hands, I don’t want to look at him; but more importantly, I don’t want him to see me like this.
“I hate you.” I whisper in anger and shame.
He grabs my hands and moves them away from my face, uncovering my eyes. While looking straight at them, he says, “I know.”
We stare at each other for a moment without saying anything. We both know the hatred I feel is not related to what he did to me. No, this hatred is the result of the inexplicable feeling of betrayal. Yes, I feel betrayed and I don’t like that. I can’t explain or make sense of it.
I stop crying. I start breathing normally again. He picks me up without any effort —it seems like my weight is not an issue for him— and puts me down on the bed. He tucks me in like a child. My eyes are swollen shut and I’m not even trying to open them. He kisses me on the forehead before stumbling away, leaving the door open.
My autopilot kicks in and takes over my body. My mind turns off and I fall asleep.
✽ ✽ ✽
The next morning finds me on the bed, not wanting to step out of it, because getting up would mean seeing him, his face and of course acknowledging these confusing fucking feelings, and I sure as hell don’t want that shit.
When did I start to cuss this much?
Maybe these feelings are not real. Maybe this is just my brain trying to numb the anger. After all, even though the scenery changed, I’m still at Bruno’s mercy.
“Blah, blah, blah. Don’t you get tired of being fucking pathetic? Like, get the fuck up and leave this room. It’s stuffy to say the least, and it smells like you need a shower… or two.” Why is Life this upset? What did I miss? On the other hand, she’s right about the shower. But maybe later.
The sound of clanking silverware reaches the room, and I realize the door is still open. Paying close attention to the noises, I deduce that Bruno has company. I can hear another man’s voice and some laughter, which makes this man close to him. Bruno never jokes with the guards, and the guards are afraid of him.
I jump in a pair of jeans, put on a black tee and head for the kitchen to meet this guy.
The sun shines in through the kitchen windows, bathing the entire counter and making the room feel welcoming and warm. There’s an island in the middle where you can always find today’s paper, fresh fruit and Bruno’s laptop. A black mid-sized wooden table with four matching chairs on the dining-room completes this kitchen, which looks taken right out of Pinterest. Bruno likes to cook; he spends endless hours in this place, crafting homemade delights to perfection, which is why all the appliances are professional grade, like him come to think of it.
A cup of steaming coffee rests in Bruno’s hand, who’s standing with his hip against the counter. He’s facing a man I’ve never seen before, younger. He doesn’t look like a guard. He’s dressed like a biker. Why is there a biker here? He has a cup of coffee as well, and a relaxed demeanor. Something you don’t see
in people who are around Bruno these days. When I enter the room, I interrupt their conversation. Bruno’s the first to react to my presence— he shuffles his body forward, walks towards me slowly and steadily and blocks the other man’s view in the process.
“How are you doing today?” He’s way too close; he seems more confident than before when it comes to personal space. Did something change last night? I suspected that much, but now I know for sure.
“Fine. I can go somewhere else, so you can finish your conversation—” I signal around with an open hand.
“Of course not. I’ve got your breakfast ready.” His eyes are bloodshot, and a band-aid is covering the place where he hit his head last night.
Without another word, Bruno starts to set the breakfast table loudly while I sit down. The other man, who’s yet to be introduced, looks at him with a smirk and then switches to me to see if I find it funny as well. He waves at me without uttering a single syllable. I wave back. Then, without breaking eye contact with me, he points in Bruno’s direction, who’s still being extremely loud and has his back turned to us, makes the universal gesture for ‘he’s crazy,’ and then laughs softly, making me giggle loud enough for Bruno to notice and make me realize this is the first time I’ve giggled since I’m out. I’m feeling something, but I can’t really put my finger on what it is. By now, Bruno heard us and turns to see what’s going on. He looks at both of us quickly and understands that we were laughing at him.
He doesn’t like that.
I’m now having breakfast and Bruno finally introduces this mysterious man to me. “Carter, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Carter, my… cousin.” Cousin? Bruno didn’t seem like the family type; it looks like I got it wrong. Carter is extremely handsome. He has a young Clint Eastwood kind of charm, something rare nowadays. He’s looking at me with a full smile, a very Hollywood smile. Clearly the family genes were good with this pair.
The cousin walks towards me and extends his hand for a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Sarah.” I take his hand and shake it. As soon as I do it, I feel like my hand is burning and I need to remove it fast. I guess I can’t stand the touch from a stranger. Bruno notices it and grins slightly, leading me to believe he’s satisfied with my reaction.
Carter’s face looks familiar. My brain is trying to remember where from, to no avail. So, I just ask him. “Your face looks familiar….”
“I do porn.” Carter shoots back with a serious look on his face.
“Carter!” Bruno snaps.
I ignore him and ask, “Really? So, you’re like a porn star.”
“If you want my profession’s official name, I’m an adult performer. You need to take acting classes to be an actual actor.”
“Carter, cut the shit!” Carter laughs. “He was at the hospital where you were.”
“Oh. So… then, you’re a cop?” I ask, and Carter looks at me like I’ve just insulted his mother.
“Not by a long shot, Snow White. I was just doing my cousin a favor. Right, Bruno?” I know I’m missing something here— a joke, a code between them. Bruno just glares at him.
“He gave you a new nickname— Snow White. Hmmm, I will add it to my list, but I will keep calling you stupid.” Life is here. That’s obvious, no way she was going to miss this.
“Carter came to share some info regarding our situation, but he was leaving…” For some reason, Bruno wants him out of my sight. But I don’t want to play along. I feel the need to annoy him today.
“Info? About what, exactly?” I ask Carter directly, cutting Bruno out of the conversation.
Carter catches up with my intentions and pulls up a chair beside me. The way he walks catches my eye— his legs and arms move as if he’s listening to some funky music which gives him some sort of arrogance. Judging by his smile, I guess he’s doing all this to humor me and to spite Bruno, and it’s clearly working. It’s good to be in sync with someone who looks like a Calvin Klein model.
“Well, we were just assessing last week’s situation… And by the way I’m sorry for your loss, Snow White.” Bruno bangs his cup on the table and starts tightening his grip on it. I can see his knuckles going whiter.
“Thank you. And how is that assessment going…?” I carry on with the conversation, still ignoring Bruno.
“Okay. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just be blunt and say it— your mom was beheaded.” He slides his index finger across his throat. Bruno’s about to lose it. “We know of a group of people that does that, and they fit right in the picture…” He looks at Bruno waiting for approval to keep going. Bruno sighs loudly and nods. This is an interesting interaction between them— it looks like Bruno is the boss here. “They tend to use other beheading techniques, and always leave a message to take ownership of the act. You know, something like ‘all infidels will suffer and die.’ Very heavy, very religious kind of shit. They all act like they are the toughest kids in the block.”
“What did the message say this time?” I’m really interested— I need to know my enemy.
“That’s the thing, darling— they didn’t leave one,” he says as he steals food from my plate. “Which leads us to believe that this isn’t tied to the group itself, but was done as something personal. The man who posed as a friend of yours vanished into thin air. We’ve been looking from him non-stop since then, but we can’t find a clue on his whereabouts. Bruno here thinks this is no coincidence, that something bigger is being schemed.” I’m troubled by the way Carter addresses me. I’m used to being treated like expensive china. This is refreshing in a way, and I can clearly tell that Bruno doesn’t like it at all.
“A terrorist never acts alone,” Bruno intercedes. He’s sitting far away from me. “He must be getting some help from his friends, whoever they are.”
“So, what are we thinking here?” I ask without a clue.
“Revenge.”
CHAPTER 18
BRUNO
“That’s exactly what it is— our reports show that he was missing from the scene. There’s a bounty on his head and that will flush him out. He’ll turn up sooner rather than later. It doesn’t matter how much security he gets, nothing can protect him from this. But he knows it and that’s what makes him so fucking dangerous— right now, that asshole has nothing to lose.” I continue to make my point but can’t help noticing Sarah’s expression. She looks lost. “He’s prowling and waiting to pounce right where it will hurt the most, to strike me down and fuck my life for good.”
“That means you’re next.” Carter winks and points a finger gun at Sarah with his right hand.
“I… I don’t understand. What does he mean?” Sarah asks me, completely dazzled.
I sigh. “I guess there’s no way around it. I’ll start from where it all began.”
Abdel, the organization leader, was always a fan of my work— and when I say fan I mean a twisted piece of shit who has no regard for human life whatsoever. I guess you can sum it all up in a single word: fanatic. He was always at the facility in good spirits. He even felt close enough to me to share that in his intimacy he’d touch himself while thinking about my sessions with Sarah.
Fucking psychopath.
One day, he introduces me to this boy, his son. He wants me to teach him my ways, claims that he’s a prodigy when it comes to hurting others. Obviously, I decline. Then, he offers me a shit ton of money, even then I say no.
“Professor, this is my son, Asad.” He’s well-spoken. His voice has a heavy accent, something you’d expect from someone like him. I look down to meet the boy’s eyes and switch back to his fathers’, trying to show him that I don’t give a fuck. “He admires you as much as I do. He wants to be like you one day. Isn’t it true, Asad?” He pushes the boy forward.
“Yes, sir,” says the… boy? After a closer look, behind all those rags I can see a twenty-something year-old young man with the face of a teenager.
“Well, you gotta step up your game and practice a lot, if you ever want to get close to being my s
hadow.” In this business, being this cocky… monster is a blessing and something to look up to. But out there in the real world it’s not. I must stay in character.
In here I’m a fucking rock star.
“Yes, yes, of course. He needs to practice a lot,” Abdel replies while grabbing Asad’s shoulder. “But who would be a better trainer than the infamous ‘Professor’? Yes?” He won’t drop the subject, and keeps increasing the fee.
“I don’t have time for this. My work here is on a tight and important schedule and I can’t afford to be distracted by anything else,” I explain with a smirk, implying that I spend most of my time in her cell raping her countless times. My reputation made me trustworthy around here.
“Just name your price. I want my son to be the very best out there.” Asad looks at me strangely. I think he doesn’t want to learn anything from me, but he also can’t say no to his father— no one ever could. I hate this kind of clusterfucks, where young boys are pushed by their fathers to be real pieces of shit, instead of being in school, playing basketball or whatever the fuck they do when they are kids over there.
“How old are you, Asad?” Asad means ‘Lion’ in Arabic, but this kid can barely grow a couple of hairs on his face.
“Twenty-one, Sir.”
“Twenty-one? He’s too old, Abdel. He should’ve started way earlier.” I pull back.
“That is true, my friend. But what he lacks in youth he makes up for in proficiency.” The father insists, and I’m backed into a corner.
“I’ll think about it.” I don’t know how I’m going to get out of this one.
Abdel kept insisting on the matter and as time went by he started to become suspicious. So, in order to not blow my cover, I had to say yes for once. Asad showed a lot of interest and, to my dislike, had the proficiency his father mentioned. I felt a touch of regret for the kid— he was not beyond repair.