The Subjugate

by Amanda Bridgeman

  “They kept us both home from school after that. Our parents taught us, made us pray for hours every day. They wanted me to learn from my sister’s mistakes. Wanted to make sure I didn’t repeat them.” Her eyes came back to focus on her apartment. “Brad was convicted and sent to prison… He’d had consensual sex with his girlfriend, and because of one stupid jerk, both their lives were ruined. Faith was beyond devastated. The thought that Brad had been sent to jail, the thought that her naked body was flying around the internet for other people’s amusement… it killed her.” Salvi stared at the empty couch opposite, as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “She couldn’t stand it,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “And then I found her, hanging from the ceiling fan.”

  “Fuck…” Mitch said softly. “Salvi, I’m sorry.”

  “My parents were beside themselves. I remember them crying and praying, trying to get her body down. I had tried to but I… I couldn’t… I had to wait for my parents to get home. I just had to sit there staring at Faith hanging from the ceiling… Things got worse after that. My parents were constantly praying and wondering why their little girl turned out so damaged, saying the devil had taken her from them. Said that God was testing them. Then all eyes turned to me.”

  “I was the hope left in their lives. Faith had fallen to the darkness, but I was their Salvation. My father told me that, you know? He said he just knew when I was born that I would be their salvation… I hated them… I couldn’t forgive them for what they did to Faith, or Brad. As soon as I was strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I rebelled. In every way I knew how. I openly slept around. Men, women, I didn’t care. I drank too much. I tried all kinds of drugs. Anything to avenge Faith. Anything to make them realize that she was the good one. That they were wrong about her. They tried so hard to bring me back into the fold, so determined not to lose another one. They locked me in the house, had their fellow parishioners come and kneel in my room praying, like some kind of exorcism or something. But I fought, and I fought.” She wiped her face. “I ran away at sixteen, and I never spoke to them again.”

  “And you still haven’t?” he asked gently.

  Salvi shook her head, as a curtain of tears streamed down her face. “When I was twenty-one a lawyer tracked me down with a letter in his hand. They’d died in a car accident. It rolled down a ravine…” She paused a moment as the sobbing took hold of her. “I never forgave them,” she whispered. “Hadn’t spoken to them in years, and here was this guy handing me my inheritance, all the money they’d made from their TV show, from donations. At first I just let it sit there. I didn’t want to touch it. Then I was going to donate it all, find some charity. But then I saw it as my way out. I was living in a shitty apartment, working in a shitty bar. This was my way out. I went back to school, graduated, and became a cop.” She wiped her face but it was useless. There were too many tears. “I never forgave them, and they’d left me everything they had. All their money, their house, life insurances, and this letter, telling me that they forgave me for everything. For disowning them. For turning my back on God. They said they loved me. That they always loved me and Faith. They begged my forgiveness, said they’d meet me in heaven… and I… I think I died myself that day.” She nodded vaguely to herself. “The guilt… it killed me. Killed my heart… I swear it stopped beating… and… I don’t think I’ve ever let it beat again since.” She leaned forward, placing her face in her hands, as the emotion overwhelmed her. Mitch leaned closer and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m so sorry, Salvi,” he whispered, pulling her gently against his side.

  She pulled back and looked at him with her wet face. “So, you see, I’m even more fucked up than you are, Mitch. So don’t listen to me when I tell you to stop feeling things. I’m just jealous because I haven’t let myself feel anything in years.” She looked away again.

  “It’s not too late,” he said, sliding his hand over her cheek, turning her face back to his. “You gotta forgive yourself, Salvi. Just like I had to. We gotta move on. We can’t change the past.”

  “You didn’t kill your girlfriend, Mitch. My parents? I often wondered whether their car going down that ravine was an accident. It was a fine day. The roads were dry. They were driving a straight patch of road at the time.”

  “Salvi–”

  “Sometimes I wonder whether they just gave up and drove right off the edge…”

  “Salvi, you can’t think like that.”

  “…Whether I drove them over the edge.” She looked away, but he turned her face back again.

  “Salvi,” he said firmly, locking eyes with hers. “You can’t think that.”

  “You can’t think that maybe if you gotten home earlier that you could’ve saved her.”

  “But I know I could have,” he told her. “If I’d been home when I’d promised, she would still be alive.”

  “Or you could be dead too.”

  He looked at her, not sure what to say.

  “What if he had a gun, Mitch? What if he shot you, then still did that to her?”

  “What if your parents had a genuine accident? What if your father or mother or whoever was driving had a heart attack at the wheel?”

  Salvi stared back at him through blurred eyes.

  “That’s what I’ve finally learned, Salvi. The ‘What if’s’ will kill you. Her killer is still out there, but I have to let it go. And so do you. They’re gone, and there’s nothing we can do to bring them back. All we can do is forgive ourselves our mistakes and move on before we waste any more of our lives.”

  His hand remained cupping her face. She studied the dark fringe resting against his forehead, his eyes as they stared into hers, felt the soft caress as he wiped her tear-stained cheek. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched like this; with care, with feeling. She couldn’t remember if anyone had ever touched her like this… She dropped her eyes to his mouth.

  The silence sat for a moment.

  “I should go,” he said quietly, standing.

  “Why?” she asked, looking up at him.

  He looked at her. “It’s late and you’re drunk. You should go to sleep.” He turned for the door.

  “Just like that?” she asked.

  “Just like what?” he asked.

  She stared at him. “All this time you push to find out who I am. You finally get it out of me, the family shame, the reason why I changed my name, the reason for the nice apartment.” She waved her hands around. “And the second you get it out of me, the second you turn me into this pool of crying weakness, you make me open this door, then you just leave?”

  “It’s not weak to show emotion, Salvi,” he told her. “It takes strength.” He turned and headed for the door.

  “And still you leave,” she said, unable to hide the bitterness. She stood from the couch. “It’s weak to leave.”

  He stopped and turned around, studied her. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It takes strength to leave.”

  She picked up the glass from the table and threw it at him. He dodged it and it fell onto the carpet.

  “What the hell, Salvi!”

  “You asshole!” she said walking up to him. “Go on then. Go!”

  He stared back, brow furrowed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you? You pushed me and pushed me. Kept telling me I need to live a little, I need to let go. That I need to feel something.” She pushed him backward. “Then finally I feel something and you run away.”

  “And you kept telling me to stop feeling so much. So that’s what I’m doing!”

  “Get out,” she said pushing him again.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “What do you want from me?” she shot back. He didn’t answer her, just stared. “Get out!” She pushed him again, but this time he didn’t budge, and her body slammed into his. He grabbed her wrists to stop her hands from pushing him back again.

  “W
hat do you want from me, Salvi?” he asked, breathing heavily, trying to lock his eyes on hers.

  “Get out,” she said, averting them, trying to get her wrists back.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, squeezing her wrists. “If you want something, say it, Salvi!”

  She refused to answer him, focused her drunken mind on freeing her wrists.

  “You want me to feel something?” he asked her. “Is that it? Huh? You want to go there? You really want to go there?”

  “Go where?” She looked up at him confused.

  “You know where, Salvi. And you know that’s why I’m leaving. But if you want to stop me from leaving, if you want me to stay, just say the word, and I will.”

  She stared back at him, breathing heavily, but no words would formulate in her mouth. She could smell the faint scent of his aftershave, tried not to soak up his piercing gaze or the feel of her body pressed against his, as memories of her wilder days invaded her. Memories of times when she let herself go. When she had no fear.

  She felt the fight within her disappear, lowered her arms.

  “You want me to feel something?” he said again. “Well, I will if you will.” His focus dropped to her lips, before returning to her eyes. “Tell me what you want, Salvi. If you want me to stay, say it.”

  Salvi worked to catch her breath. He let go of her wrists but remained standing close to her. She felt his breath on her face.

  “W-we’re partners,” she said, glancing around, her head still spinning a little from the alcohol. “This… isn’t a good idea.”

  “No. It’s not,” he said, but didn’t move. “And you’re drunk,” he added.

  She nodded, looked back at him. “So why are you still here?”

  “You’re the one who stopped me from leaving.” He held his arms out. He stared at her for another moment, then nodded to himself as though understanding something. “Goodnight, Salvi.” He went to turn around but she stopped him. He glanced down at her fist scrunching the front of his shirt.

  She looked at him, awash in vodka, drained of tears.

  The urge to feel the warmth of his body pressed against hers again, wanting to taste his kiss, was overwhelming.

  But he was her partner. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea.

  But for the first time, in a long time, she wanted somebody. Needed somebody. Wanted him.

  “You want me to feel something?” she said quietly, staring into his eyes.

  “Yeah. I do,” he said back.

  She scrunched his shirt tighter and pulled him closer. “Then God help us both,” she whispered and pressed her mouth against his.

  He exhaled heavily, closing his eyes briefly and savoring the kiss. He opened his eyes again, studying her carefully as he slid his hand over her cheek and kissed her again.

  She felt the vodka swimming through her bloodstream, let it drown the common-sense part of her brain, sending it into hibernation. She pooled her energy into her senses, focused on the way his mouth kissed hers, warm and firm and wanting. The way his chest felt pressed against hers as she rolled off his coat. The way his hands slid around her back, pulling her closer to him. The way hers slid around his neck, the fingers raking through his hair.

  She didn’t want to think about the fact that he was her partner. As she moved him toward her bedroom, all she wanted to do was feel.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Torment

  Salvi slowly rose to consciousness on a sea of sporadic dreams. Images flashed like shards of daylight piercing through branches that blew in the breeze. Memories of vodka, of tears, of Mitch. She saw Mitch’s fingers trace over the scorpion tattoo on her hip, saw his mouth press against the Faith tattoo over her heart. She heard him panting in her ear, felt a wave of ecstasy rolling through her body.

  Then she noticed the dryness in her mouth, the ache in her head, and realized she was awake.

  She opened her eyes, felt her naked skin against the sheets and knew she hadn’t been dreaming. Lying on her stomach, she slowly rolled onto her side and looked over her shoulder. And there he was. Mitch Grenville. Her partner. Sleeping beside her.

  He was lying on his back, his face turned away, the sheet draped lazily and low around his hips, providing enough evidence that he was naked too. She watched his chest, saw it rising and falling evenly. He was still in a deep sleep.

  She slid out of the bed as carefully as she could, not wanting to wake him. She needed to sort out the pain in her head so she could get her thoughts together, to process what had happened between them. What they’d done.

  She moved into the bathroom and closed the door quietly. Resting her forehead against it, she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She’d slept with Mitch. She’d had sex with her partner. One of the biggest unwritten rules of being police – and she’d broken it.

  The worst part was, if her hazy memory served her correctly, she’d enjoyed every second of it. And so had he.

  She slid underneath the spray of her shower, trying to wake up, trying to shake off the hangover, trying to figure out what to do. The images from last night continued to flash through her mind: his naked body pressed against hers, the warmth in his eyes, the way she’d hungrily kissed him. She tried hard to shake them from her mind, but they wouldn’t leave. Or maybe she wouldn’t let them leave. Maybe she didn’t want to let them go.

  “Hey,” Mitch’s voice sounded from behind, giving her a fright. She turned around and saw him standing naked at the door of her shower, stepping inside.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her head still hazy, automatically covering herself.

  He looked down at the arm across her breasts, the hand covering further below.

  A smile curled his lips. “I hate to break it to you, Salvi, but I saw it all last night. Up close… Up real close. And my memory is probably better than yours is today.”

  She shot him an insulted look, and he reached out and gently pulled at her arms. She lowered them. His eyes washed over her body before he scooped some water and ran it over his face. As he did, she eyed his naked form back, swallowed hard, hesitated, then stepped out of the shower.

  “You doing a runner on me?” he asked.

  “No, I’m just done,” she lied, grabbing a towel and leaving the room.

  Mitch came out a few minutes later, his hair wet, lean but toned chest glistening with water droplets and a white towel wrapped around his waist.

  Salvi was dressed, her lenses were in, and she was sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling her black boots on. Despite her rusty head from the vodka, she found it hard to look away from him.

  “This how it’s going to be?” he asked her.

  “How is what going to be?” she asked, playing dumb, strapping her iPort on.

  Mitch stared at her. “Us. Last night. You don’t want to talk about it?”

  She stood up but averted her eyes, moving to the mirror to put her red lipstick on. “I’m getting ready for work, Mitch.”

  He nodded, still eyeing her. “So, you’re just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen?”

  “Mitch. We’re late.”

  “You asked me to stay, Salvi,” he said calmly. “You wanted me to stay.”

  “Mitch, you’re making a big deal out of this,” she said, heading for the bedroom door, but he caught her arm. She looked back into the green eyes that were fixed upon hers.

  “You asked me to stay, Salvi,” he said again. “You invited me into your bed, now you’re going to freeze me out like I did something wrong?”

  “Mitch,” she closed her eyes and ran her hand over her forehead, “I haven’t even had coffee yet. Do we have to do this now?”

  “Yeah, we do,” he said. “We’re partners, Salvi.”

  “I gotta go,” she said, pulling her arm from his grasp and heading out into her kitchen.

  He followed her. “Your car is still at the bar. Wait a minute and I’ll give you a ride.”

  “No,” she said, grabbing one of t
he two key cards by the door and slipping it into her pocket. She poured a glass of water. “I’ll meet you there. We should arrive separately anyway.”

  Mitch watched her silently while she swallowed some painkillers.

  “I got a ReVitalize shot in my car,” he offered.

  “I’m fine,” she said, grabbing her coat and heading for the door.

  Mitch moved to block her exit.

  “Salvi–”

  “Mitch, we’re late for work. We got a serial killer to catch.”

  “I know we do,” he said.

  “So, let me go do my job,” she said.

  “Our job.” He stared at her.

  “Mitch, I can’t deal with this now. Seriously.”

  She pulled the front door open. “I’ll meet you at the station. You can let yourself out.”

  Salvi sat at her desk, staring at her console display. The painkillers were working, but she was still so thirsty. The thought of that ReVitalize shot was tempting, except for the fact that she was avoiding Mitch right now. She stared at the picture of Rebecca Carson, dressed in her softball uniform, smiling back at her. Salvi was trying hard to focus on the case and trying hard not to make eye contact with Hernandez or Beggs or Caine or Bronte. Especially Hernandez, scared he might read the truth on her face.

  More than that, she was trying not to think about what a bitch she’d been to Mitch that morning. He was right. She’d asked him to stay, had wanted him to stay, and she’d enjoyed it. It had taken every ounce of her willpower to drag herself out of the shower that morning, away from him, to not have sex with him again right there and then. Now she was making him pay for the confusion she felt, the tattered remnants of her past billowing inside her. The loneliness. The connection she’d felt with him. Their shared guilt, their shared need to forgive themselves. He understood her pain. And she understood his. They were both fucked up yet functioning. Both needed someone. But they were partners. God, what a mess.