Page 17 of Hurt to Love
My hell.
Who were all these people? And why did they want to help me? What was in it for them?
And through it all, this persistent, wise-cracking guy was bulldozing through the whole shit show that was my life. Doing his hero routine one minute, and then making light of everything the next. I couldn’t get a read on him. Was he the angel he professed himself to be, wanting to do right and save me? Was I blinded by the prejudices of our first meeting in that club? Or was he the most camouflaged character of them all? A joker, but more of aDC Comicsversion than a likeable jester.
‘Help me to help her.’
I couldn’t deny the guy intrigued me. I’d never met anyone like him before. I didn’t trust, not after I’d been taken all those months ago, but if I did, I probably would trust him. He certainly had the means to build a mini army around himself. Not thirty minutes ago, I’d had no one. Now, I was surrounded by half a dozen well-built men, who looked ready for combat, all because of him.
Those people we’d met in the apartment, I didn’t know what to think about them. The man was brusque, sharp, and closed off. If I’d seen him at the brothers’ house, I’d have said he was cut from the same cloth as them. The girl was another story though. Her eyes told me everything I needed to know. She was good, and kind, and obviously kept the ogre she lived with in check. Plus, she was having a baby. They both glowed when they talked about that. Surely they couldn’t be plotting against me? Not when they seemed so genuine.
I shook my head, freeing myself of my confusing, muddled thoughts. How could you truly know if someone was genuine? After everything I’d been through, the answer was, I couldn’t tell anymore. So far, life had shown me cruelty, and that people only wanted you if they could get something from you. I was a commodity to them, something to be taken and used. At the brothers’ house, I didn’t even have a name; I was the dog. So why should this be any different? And yet, I wanted to believe in it all. I wanted to trust again. Because that’s what makes us human, right? Depending on others and finding solace in our fellow man. Compassion sets us apart from every other living thing, and I missed that. I couldn’t give up all hope, I just couldn’t. I still had a flicker of the old me buried deep inside. A kindling of the old life I once had. I could never lose that.
So, I steeled myself as best I could, took a deep breath, and decided to take each day as it came. I would seek to heal myself and find that peace Cillian had said I deserved back in the apartment. There were still good people in this world, surely.
‘I’m in this with you.’
Why was he following me to this safe house? If his contacts were so powerful, why run?
‘I’m in this with you.’
I heard his voice again in my subconscious. Maybe there was a degree of peace he was looking for too. Perhaps his banter and jokes hid a deeper, more darkened character than he liked to show the world?
I was suddenly yanked from my daydreaming by a sing-song voice saying, “Hop in, princess. Let’s get this show on the road.”
He held the door of the big black beast of a car open for me.One day at a time, I reminded myself.You will heal, one day at a time.
If he wanted to help me, I’d take it. But I’d be ready to run the minute my instincts gave me any reason to doubt him. Life could be a cruel master, and he liked to play tricks. He played around enough with my life, that was for sure. But a little help by my side, to fight back, might not be a bad thing.
‘No one will ever hurt you again. You have my word.’
His words came so freely. Did that mean they were cheap? Only time would tell.
* * *
“You know,people think I act like I don’t give a fuck.” He chuckled to himself as he drove us through the dark streets. “I’ve told them it’s not an act, I really don’t.”
I kept myself as small as possible, sitting hunched against the door in the car and closing my eyes, praying that my nightmares are over.
“Let me tell you a little story,” he carried on, as if we were on a road trip and not on the run from two of the most sadistic men to ever walk this planet. “Once upon a time, I gave a flying fuck. Then one day, I got smart and I lived happily ever after. Maybe that’s what you should do, you know, give those fuckers the two fingers and get your fucking life back.”
I knew what he was saying, but he had absolutely no clue what I’d been through. He didn’t live in the darkness like I did. No. He just danced in and out of it whenever the mood took him. Enjoying the forbidden, but never truly grasping the dirty underbelly, or letting it taint his soul like it did to me. As if on cue, he continued.
“You thinkIhaven’t been shit on from a great height in my life? My own parents fucked me over and left me on the streets at eleven to fend for myself. It’s not what happens in life that defines you, it’s how you react to it.”
No shit, Confucius. Cill sure did love the sound of his own voice. If I’d wanted to talk back to him, which I didn’t, I’d have told him he’d missed his calling. He should’ve been a psychiatrist, or the next Oprah. I bet he’d love to get people jumping on his sofa. That was his kind of crazy.
“Bad things have happened to you, but you’re free now. You need to accept the good in your life. Like me. I’m a fucking delight.”
I snorted at him, I couldn’t help it, and without thinking he reached over and rubbed my knee.
“That’s the spirit. Keep smiling. It’s when we forget to laugh that things become hopeless. We’re not hopeless, are we?”
He took his hand off my stiff, frozen knee and placed it back on the steering wheel. Then he sighed and glanced at my profile. “Are you ever gonna tell me your name?” He smirked, looking back at the road, “or shall I just call you mine?”
He was pulling out the cheesy chat up lines now. God help me. He could call me whatever he bloody wanted, as long as it wasn’t dog.
“Just think, if you were called Christmas, then I’d be the Grinch who stole you.” He shuffled in his seat then ran his hands over the stubble on his jaw. “Sorry, bad joke.”
