"Oh, spare me the justifications, Ren!" I snap, pacing away and whirling to face him. "They were all complicit in some way, I know. They knew the things that went on at that estate. Father's barbarity was no secret to anyone, nor was Rafael’s. But does that make it okay? No one I murdered that day was directly involved with what happened. I just…snapped. I couldn't—"
Words fail me. I choke on them, like hot, bitter stones lodged in my throat.
"Tell me," he whispers. "Tell me everything."
"It's bad enough I have to live with what I did," I breathe, my voice bile-hoarse. "You shouldn't have to carry those memories, either."
"Tell me, goddammit," he growls. "You think you're the only one with innocent blood on your hands?"
I sit back down on the bumper beside him. "What is there to tell, Lorenzo? You know what happened."
"Yes, I do. But I don't know your perspective."
"My perspective?" I repeat, brow furrowing.
"Yes, Inez. Your perspective. Your feelings. Your memories. They're festering inside you like cancer. Get them out."
I shake my head. "I…Ren, I can't."
He takes my hand in his, threads our fingers together. "Try."
I shut my eyes. "Seventy-two hours after the wedding, I emerged from the shower to find Rafael with four of his men and a doctor waiting in my bedroom—I had one separate fromRafael. I was…well, you can probably imagine the state I was in. I'd been beaten and raped dozens of times, as you are aware. I was in so much pain I could barely walk. Emotionally, I was…well, at that point, I was too…I was in too much shock to know what I was feeling, and the physical pain overrode the emotional trauma, or I probably would have killed myself. Later, rage kept me alive, as it has done ever since." I swallow hard. "I froze, seeing Rafael and the men. They…they held me down on the bed and the doctor ripped the I-U-D out of me."
"Jesus," Lorenzo breathes, muttering something in Portuguese that I don’t fully catch, something about a vile monster.
"He did give me another week to recover before he began…trying to impregnate me."
Lorenzo's head hangs. "Inez…"
"I won't speak of the things Rafael enjoys. I cannot. Not even to you—especially not to you. Suffice it to say, there were times I wished I was back in that cell instead of enduring the sick shit that twisted fucking demon did to me." I look at him. "Still want to know the rest?”
Head hanging, he nods. "I will bear witness to your pain,meu amor."
A warm rush of…I don't know what…rushes through me. Gratitude? Something akin to gratitude, I suppose. "It took…god, I don't really know how long. My life then was a blur of agony and rage and disgust and horror and terror. Emotions too dark and awful to have names in any language. The kind of thing there just aren't words for. So it was all a bit of a blur. It was weeks of…him. Not every day, he was too busy for that, which was the one small mercy. Eventually, after a few months, I would guess, I began throwing up in the mornings. I never had a normal period after…after those days in the cell, but the morning sickness was a pretty obvious sign. He sequestered mein my rooms, locked from the outside with armed guards to prevent me from leaving. I spent the next nine months locked in those rooms. He didn't try anything with me once I was pregnant, which was another small mercy."
Lorenzo rubs his face with a hand. "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." He paces away, muttering under his breath in Portuguese, and then comes back to me, listening.
"When I was near term, he brought a midwife in from…god, I don't even know. Some nearby village. She was a mean old woman. She was there against her will, and hated me for it, no matter that I was there against my will too. I went into labor. It was long. There were no drugs for the pain. I bore my son. I was alone. Where the midwife was, I don't know. She appeared after I birthed him. Took him from me. That…that’s…” I shut my eyes, shake my head. "That's when I snapped. She took my son from me. Said it washisorders. I only remember certain things. I…" I look at Lorenzo. "This is ugly, Lorenzo. I warn you."
"I saw the photos."
"Photos," I say, huffing a bitter laugh. "The photos don't tell the whole story. I remember thrashing when the midwife took my son. She called in the guards to hold me down and cut the umbilical cord. The guard who cut it was just a boy, barely old enough to even have fuzz on his lip, but he was already one of them. I could see it in his eyes. He saw me suffering and he enjoyed it. He cut the cord with a pocket knife. I was all bloody. Naked. Still bleeding. I hadn't passed the afterbirth yet. But I…I watched the midwife tie off the cord stump on my baby's belly and take him away, and I snapped. I took the knife from the boy and cut his throat. I took his AK-47 and shot the other guard. I…I couldn't stop. My vision was this reddish-hazed tunnel. And I couldn't stop myself. I went room to room, shooting everyone I saw. I couldn't stop. I ran out of ammunition and found another rifle. The second-to-last person I killed was a stable hand. Hewas sleeping—he must have been drunk to sleep through all the shooting. I shot him while he slept. He never woke up. He didn't even have a beard. He was…simple, I think they used to say. He just liked the horses. Of everyone I killed that day, I regret his death the most."
Lorenzo says nothing. But he is looking at me, unblinking, unwavering. Bearing witness.
"I found the midwife trying to sneak out with my baby."
"Rafael wasn't there?"
I shake my head. “No. He was gone on business with most of his men."
"So you killed the midwife."
I nod. "I took my baby from her and I shot her. She was a mean old woman who hated me, but she didn't deserve to die. None of them did.” I stand up again, breathing hard. "I know their names, Lorenzo. All of them." I face away from him. Slowly, I lift my T-shirt to bare my back. Peel up the strap of my compression bra.
"Inez," he whispers. "Meu Deus."
Thirty-two names are tattooed on my back, between my shoulder blades and over my spine, in the shape of a skull.
