“I still need to call Tom to update him.” Warner rifles through his supplies, pulling out medical paraphernalia. “You should speak to him.”
His words hit me with the ferocity of a destructive hurricane. The thought of talking to my brother in this state threatens to undo all the mental work I’ve done to lock up my hysteria.
“I can’t yet.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain shooting down my torso. “Just… Call him and let him know I’m safe. I’ll see him when we’re home.”
“It may help,” he attempts again. “Talking to him.”
Hit by another wave of vision-blurring vertigo, I drop my head into my hands. I’m fighting a familiar black tide that’s threatening to pull me under.
“And tell him what? I don’t know how to answer the questions he’ll have.”
After a beat of silence, Warner sighs. “One problem at a time. Tell me how you got these injuries first.”
Looking up at him, I don’t immediately respond. The thought of revealing every last horror-filled moment to the sweet boy who once played with me as a kid may just break me.
Back then, he looked at me like I hung the fucking stars and moon just for him. Warner was a sad teen, fleeing his broken home and warring parents mid-divorce. I made it my mission to make him laugh.
But we’re not kids anymore.
And no one is laughing now.
Warner finishes spreading out his supplies then moves to kneel in front of me. He stops short of placing a hand on my leg, though he clearly notes my bouncing knee.
“I just want to help.” The genuine empathy in his tone pulls at my already aching heart.
“Please…” I bleat. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Hey. It’s okay. I’m just here to get you home in one piece. No judgement, no expectations. You can be honest with me. Tell me as much as you feel able to.”
A swarming hornet’s nest has gathered in my still-pounding head, applying bone breaking pressure. He wants to help, but he has no idea what kind of monster he’s aiding.
“You don’t understand what I had to do to survive.”
Exhaling, Warner looks down at the tiled floor. “I don’t give a shit about that.”
“You will.”
“No, Em. I won’t.”
“The things they made me do… It disgusts me.”
“You’re my friend,” he insists. “I would never judge you. The main thing is that you’re here. Safe.”
My chest rises and falls in a speedy rhythm. Traumatic flashes of every time I’ve punched, gouged, strangled and beaten a total stranger to buy myself another breath pour into my fracturing mind.
It doesn’t matter if the people I hurt deserved it. If they were career criminals or deadbeats looking to make a pretty penny by humiliating me. I survived by embracing violence.By becoming it.
“I was sold,” I say in a hush. “There was an auction after we were shipped here. I’d caused some trouble, so they put me up for sale first with…”
My voice dissolves into a parched whine. Just saying her name aloud feels insurmountable.
“Get her some water.” Warner reaches for a bottle of antiseptic and packaged swabs. “Hands, Em. Keep talking.”
Letting him tackle my abused knuckles first, I flinch at the sting of cold liquid. Warner hesitates when he notices the thick layers of battle scars scored across my knuckles.
“Mr Gael purchased me. He said he had a use for me.”
“Gael?” Warner repeats thickly.
