Page 39 of Everything Under the Sun

“Well, what about mine then?” he said about Thais.

“First of all,” I shot back, “she isn’t yours yet, and she may never be.”

Private Masters’ big nostrils flared like a bull’s.

“And since it’s apparent that none of the soldiers here can be trusted with these women, I’ll be guarding her myself at night from now on.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Private Masters’ face darkened under a shroud of anger.

“I mean that if I want a job done right…” I didn’t have to say the rest.

I looked over at Thais. “Get up,” I told her. “You’ll be staying in my room until Rafe returns.”

“What?!” Private Masters protested; Petra continued to struggle underneath his arm.

I locked eyes with him. “Did you think I was going to have you sit outside the door and watch over her?” I almost laughed. “Now take that one to the brothel and find a goddamn mop.”

Private Masters sucked in a deep, enraged breath, and with gritted teeth he walked out the door with Petra tucked underneath his arm; the sound of his heavy, giant steps echoed down the hall until the stairwell door closed with a vociferous bang and then all was quiet.

Only glancing at the body—I’d seen, and done, much worse—I turned my attention to Thais.

“Get your things and come with me.”

Thais slowly raised her head from her knees and let her hands drop from her ears. But she didn’t get up.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. “But if you stay in this room, someone else will—now get your things.” I pointed at the air with my gun in-hand.

Finally, Thais stood. She bent over next to her bed and stacked books in her arms. Then she went toward the wall where a dress hung from a nail. Her hands were full, so I stepped up beside her, fitted both hands between the books and her arms, and took them all into my own, my gun still in my right hand, which made it difficult to grasp them.

“Get your dress,” I said with the nod of my head toward it hanging on the wall.

THAIS

I took the dress, walked past the body of the green-eyed soldier, and followed Atticus into his room across the hall. I felt my heart in the tips of my fingers; the moisture had evaporated from my mouth, and all I wanted to do was run for my life. Away from all the violence, and the dark souls who lived in this place; away from the girl who I knew would want revenge on me even though I had nothing to do with Petra being taken; and away from this man, Atticus, who I would be alone with, in his room, for no telling how long.

I stood motionless and silent with my dress draped over my arm. After many days of wanting the chance to talk to Atticus, to find out anything about my sister, here was my chance, but I couldn’t look at him, much less speak to him.

Atticus set my books on the floor beside a wall and walked past me. He left the room and came back seconds later dragging my small mattress with him. After setting his gun on the end of his bed amid the messy sheets, he kicked away a small pile of clothes next to a wicker hamper, clearing a place by the wall near the window. After placing the mattress on the floor, he went to his bed and grabbed one of his own pillows, beat it gently with the palm of his hand to puff it up, and then tossed it on my cot.

“It’s late. I’m tired. And I have to be up early.” He walked over to the door and locked it from the inside.

I still couldn’t move. I was surrounded by rapists and murderers; I wanted to stand there and keep my eyes open all night even if it meant with needles.

Atticus went over to his bed and fitted his fingers on the waist of his pants. But then just before he slid them down over his hips, presumably his ritual every night, he stopped. His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath, and then he zipped and buttoned them up instead.

“Please,” he urged, pointing at my cot, “get some sleep—I can’t if you’re standing there like that.”

I nodded once, though I didn’t think it was enough he saw it, and then I crawled onto the cot. His pillow felt lumpy under the back of my head, but it was soft and smelled faintly of cigars and man, neither an inviting nor an unpleasant smell.

I lay against my cot in the heat, gazing up at the strange shadows moving along the ceiling above me. Why is he being so kind? Why am I not more afraid? But I was no fool, nor would I allow myself to be by falling under the spell of a man who only pretended to be kind—that’s what he was doing, I was sure of it. But I would be the one pretending, the way I had been with Naomi and everyone else.

I rolled onto my side with my back facing the wall, and took in what I could of my new surroundings. There were many things at my disposal I could use as a weapon, even if just something hard to hit him over the head with. And I thought of the door, locked by a single slide-over lock from the inside. Why would Atticus go to sleep knowing I might try escape in the night? Because he was probably one step ahead of me, and to attempt escape with him in the room would be nothing short of stupid.

And so I did nothing.

I was a prisoner without bars.

15

---