Page 60 of Heal Me

The room is completely silent, full of anticipation. All three of us—Dorin, Rex, and me—seem to hold our breaths. I search my mind for a melody. Something I used to play. It takes a full minute, but finally, one pops up.

Closing my eyes, I press my finger to a string and draw the bow across it. The pure sound makes me shudder with a stuttered breath. I pause, lift the bow again, and sweep it across the string. This time, I hold the movement, guiding the bow while sliding my finger to the next note.

Before I know it, I’m playing one of my favorite tunes. Memories come rushing. My mother singing along, my sister dancing, her golden hair billowing as she swirls, her soft laughter echoing through our cozy living room. I play for them. For the good memories and for the love I still hold for them. When I draw the last note and fade it into silence, I expect the same sharp pain that usually accompanies the memory of them to slash through me. But it doesn’t come. The grief is there, but it’s more like a quiet wistfulness floating among all the good memories and the knowledge that they’re at peace.

When I open my eyes, a flood of different memories come rushing as I see the man before me. Dorin lifting me out of the tub, Dorin holding me when all the emotions come flooding out, and Dorin erasing the cruel memories in my body by claiming me himself. All the bad memories are there too, but just like the grief, they mix with the good ones, no longer dominating my mind or tearing all the good ones apart.

Hope blooms inside me. I smile. At Dorin and at Rex. Then I lift the bow again and play.

***

“Are you ready?” Dorin asks with a grave expression when he comes back from the dungeon in the evening.

Shutting the book I was reading, I scoot away from Rex to sit on the edge of the bed and nod.

Dorin is quiet as he waits for me to put on a bit more clothes and shoes, then leads the way down the many stairs, through a couple of corridors, and down more stairs leading to a heavy iron door. He glances at me one final time before pressing his hand to the biometric scanner.

This is it. My heart thuds against my rib cage as I prepare to return to the place that built me up and broke me down, only to have me go through the same process all over again.

Dorin takes my hand in a firm hold as we enter the dungeon. I can’t believe I’ve spent several months down here, without the sun, surrounded by these barren halls. It’s even harder to believe I found some kind of peace here. The walls seem to whisper stories of violence and misery, and the dry scent of the basement is like a virus in my throat, scratching and refusing to let me forget where we are even when I close my eyes. But as much as the place unnerves me, it also awakens a strange sort of buzzing within me.

Glancing at Dorin, I think of all the things he did to me down here—the electro “therapy,” the straitjacket, even the punishment. A hum stirs deep in my belly. A desire to feel his darkness unleashed upon me again. I’m not ready yet, but at that moment, I know I’m going to ask him to bring me down here at some point.

Dorin stops at a green metal door and turns to me. “It’s not a pretty sight.”

Nothing he can say will change my mind. I need to see Zoltan. It’s the only way to stop the nightmares and the clawing fear choking me in fits of flashbacks. So I nod again.

The biometric scanner beeps, and Dorin opens the door.

A foul smell assaults my senses, making me cover my nose and mouth. Blood, urine, rot, and misery. Closing my eyes, I steel myself before following Dorin into a small windowless cell with four barren walls, a toilet and a sink, and a thin mattress in the corner. I gasp at the sight of the man lying on it. At first, I think it’s not him—Dorin has the wrong man. There’s none of the arrogant confidence or ruthless pride I know from Zoltan, and the frail body with protruding ribs is nothing like the well-defined abs of Zoltan’s body.

But then I step closer, and the decrepit man lifts his eyes—or rather, eye. And there’s that cruel, soulless look that not even his charming smiles could cover up. Despite the swollen, dark tissues around his bloodshot eye and the other socket being empty, it’s clear. It is him.

His gaze fills with scorn as he watches me. Coughing, he clears his voice and licks his cracked lips. “The bitch is back,” he says in a voice so weak I want to laugh.

I rake my eyes down his body. Cuts and bruises cover every inch of it, and multiple fingers and toes are missing.

“Do you want me to cut out his tongue?” Dorin asks.

I stare at the decrepit man before me, and this time, I actually smile as fear wipes out the scorn in his eyes and he tries to scoot back on the mattress. An agonized groan escapes him at the movement, and his hand comes down to cover his thigh protectively. Not even the bandage there can cover up the state of his leg. Deep shades of red and blue, swollen tissue, and even peeling skin. This man is dying—unless someone cuts off his leg.

An unfamiliar surge rushes through me as I watch him. He tries to cast me another hateful look but fails miserably as he pants and winces. It’s power I’m feeling, I realize. Seeing this man who has always made me feel worthless and weak in this state makes me feel powerful.

My pulse beats with purpose as I turn to Dorin and point at Zoltan’s leg while making a kicking motion.

He immediately understands my silent question. “You may do whatever you want. Except for killing him. I don’t want you to carry that around.”

Not wasting a second, I go to Zoltan with determined steps. Staring him deep in the eye, I lift my foot above his injured leg, relishing the terror widening his gaze, and slam my foot down. I prepare for some kind of retaliation, quickly stepping back, but all I get is an agonized wail as Zoltan curls up weakly. It makesme smile, and I step closer again and kick his arms away from his leg before slamming my foot back down on the wound.

Adrenaline becomes a heady swoosh through my veins as I keep kicking and stomping. Hate gathers within me, but instead of coiling and constricting, it rushes out with each burst of violence. The world draws back, giving me tunnel vision. I put in more force, kicking with all my might—all over. His leg, his stomach, and even his face. Blood smears my shoe, but the sight only drives me on. Because for once, it’s not my blood.

A voice speaks somewhere in the background, but I don’t hear it. All my ears notice are Zoltan’s pathetic whimpers as he begs me to stop and calls out for his mother.Pathetic little prick.I deliver another kick to his gut, enjoying the way it makes him gag. I lift my foot again, but someone grabs me from behind and pulls me back.

“Enough,” a deep voice demands, but it’s not enough to stop the rage rushing through me. If anything, it intensifies it. I go frantic. Hanging in the air, a thick arm banded around my chest, I kick and hit blindly, writhing and jerking. Raw wheezing sounds escape my throat in lieu of screams. I keep going, struggling with all my might, scratching at Dorin’s skin. But I’m not going anywhere. He has me trapped against his chest, holding me like I’m nothing but a flapping bird. But instead of feeling weak in his arms, I realize there’s safety in his strength. Because he doesn’t use it to hurt me. Dorin is strong enough to take the storm of my rage and get us both safely through it.

When I finally go still, he turns me around and lowers himself to his haunches, gathering me between his legs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, peppering tiny kisses over my head. “You’re safe. He can’t ever hurt you again.”

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