She could have killed him, when he hinted - or was it more than a hint? - that she had been fucking Ezequiel. She hated him. She hated Rafael too, for what she was going through now, prisoner in a cell with only one choice: get the other killed, so it wouldn't be her.
She had hated the plunge into water at first. Fear, her lungs burning for oxygen, could clarity ever come from such? Then she had gotten used to it, to his voice whispering in her ears, to his hand trailing higher and higher. She wasn't even startled now. Not that she hadn't resisted in the beginning, staring at him in horror, face still wet and hair leaking into rivulets over her dress.
He had watched her back, saying nothing. His eyes bore into her, burning, and she averted her eyes. His hand found its place again.
She once brought up his wife, his obsession though long gone, and he slapped her. That day he didn't touch her.
She stood up, nervously pacing. She hated being emprisoned, here or on the other side. Old, odd memories kept invading her mind, when she needed it so clear to figure out an escape. His hand on her bare thigh while she bent over the sink. What if he had lifted her skirt and gone for what there was no way he had never thought of?
"Ezequiel, you must help me! Ezequiel?", she whispered. She had before already, pleading for her brother's release. Now she was begging for her own life.
"I will help you, Michele, we are the same", he replied again, and it could have been a voice straight from Heaven or hell if not for the chip he had implanted into her soft skin. "But you must give me, too".
That was what he had said about her brother. The girl hadn't been surprised that he wanted more than some groping. He wanted reciprocation. She had approached, on tiptoes, and kissed him straight on the mouth, not even closing her eyes because she would know who he was anyway. She hated that she didn't mind. He had been almost taken aback, as if he didn't expect her to agree, or act on it, or go that far. When she didn't remove herself in a late change of mind, he embraced her, his arms around her thin waist, and the kiss had deepened. She had been the one grinding against him, for some reason, and he had been the one to take a step back and leave the room.
She could still feel his lips on hers if she closed her eyes. His hardness against her stomach - he had been ashamed of it, or of her finding out, it was obvious. He was human after all, not the heartless leader he wanted to be. She didn't want to, but it was comforting, it was warm, it was home.
"I'll give you everything, Ezequiel", she whispered, her fingers grazing against her lower lips, as his had. Rafael would die, Ezequiel would help, Michele would give.