special warning: aftermath of sexual assault, so some things are implied and spoken about, but not graphically
depths of feelings though.
Soft fabric beneath his cheek.
Blur of blue—distant white
Sparkles of gold on blue
Darkness.
A shifting beneath him
He gasped
Fire slashed through his shoulder
Burst through his stomach and lower back
A scream pierced the air
A knife cut his throat
Blood clogged it
He choked, unable to breathe—
Something soft beneath him
Indistinct murmuring
Figures silhouetted against the light
He tried to escape before they moved closer, but could only writhe futilely
One approached, a smiling face, glinting teeth
A foreign object aiming toward him—
He thrashed away—felt empty air—his stomach lurching—
Rough hands grasped him and shoved him back on the bed
And they held him down by his wrists and ankles
He screamed
A prick in his arm
The hands moved away
He could breathe again.
The fog cleared—everything sharpened for a moment, then more fog rolled in, comforting him like a blanket.
The pain dulled, then numbed.
Three faces looked down at him, dark against the blaring lights.
One was Ali.
Ali wasn't an enemy.
Right? Or… maybe he was….
One was a tall man he didn't recognize with graying sideburns and a solemn face.
One was Doctor Miller.
Jason's heart flipped.
I'm in Med!
Why am I here? What happened?
Something dark writhed against the thin barrier in his mind, and he put up more walls to protect himself.
Miller crept forward, and a nurse appeared and they worked on his body.
At first, he felt detached; of course he would need care in a hospital. Never mind how he'd gotten the injuries; he was safe now. He'd had so many in the past it hardly mattered.
Then other memories trickled through his mind, ones he hadn't tried to block—
Last time he'd been in Med.
They'd taken something from him.
Perhaps they were doing that now.
He tried to struggle, but his limbs were clamped down
Panic thrust through his chest
His heart thumped dully
He realized there was an IV in his arm
And that he was naked.
And—
Horror raced through him.
Remnants of gold and iridescence shimmering over his skin
Smeared with blood
No.
That didn't happen.
But the more he tried to avoid it, the more the feelings and images twined back into his mind, trickling through gaps he hadn't thought to close
He tried to avoid them but the memories slammed into him
Vivid yet surreal
The glitter of gold all around him
The knife, carving into his skin
Pinning his arm
The jeweled beetles twisted into his flesh
The maniacal laughter, the malaise of evil
The taste of vile lips
The tang of blood
Crushed beneath a man who wanted to wring out his body for pleasure—
He twisted away from it
But he could still feel fingers dancing over his skin
The kisses, some sharp
The violation
The scream of his body as it burned
Knives ripping him apart—
Please please God please don't let it be true
It's not…something that should happen to me…. I can be tortured, yes…. that's become my theme but. Not this.
It crashed into him—
I am a slave. Perhaps that is all I can be… can't escape it—
Slaves are people who submit to force
As they tear us apart piece by piece until there's nothing left.
Bandages pressed to the wounds, and, like when he was a kid, they made the cuts feel better. The gauze was unwound from his shoulder. Then salve spread over it and pain faded. A bandage was bound around his shoulder then the nurse applied salve to his throat. It hurt a little as fingertips pressed against the rope burn, but then it receded. And he sank into a soft, carefree world where there was no pain
He was drifting off when hands slid beneath his waist
He struggled, yanking on the fabric cuffs that bound his limbs.
"We've got to do this," said the nurse, her face framed by short brown hair, gazing down at him with admonishing blue eyes. "Please don't make it harder on yourself."
"Don't touch me," he whispered. His throat was raw and hoarse.
Sympathy flitted through her eyes. "Electric shocks can be devastating if not tended to promptly."
The hands continued—and he could do nothing. So he just lay there, tears streaming down his cheeks, leaking into his ears, dampening his shoulders.
Thump-thump
Shuffling steps
Ali looked down at him, leaning on his cane, hand grasping a carved silver hawk. "They'll be done soon. Then you can get out of here."
"No, he can't," said Miller, snapping his gloves off and tossing them into the garbage can. "He needs to stay here at least another day for observation."
"He can get out of the exam room, though."
"That's true." Miller sauntered over to the sink and washed his hands.
The nurse dug in the cupboard and drew out a sheet and spread it over him.
He'd never been so grateful for a thin piece of fabric.
He was mortified Ali had seen him with nothing on.
But of course—Ali had been the one to rescue him.
I'm the one who called him.
He wished desperately, though, that Ali had gotten there earlier….
That I wasn't so foolish as to turn my back to Zar.
It's my own fault.
Such a rookie move. What was I thinking?
I probably could've fought him if he hadn't strangled me….
I could've gotten his shockrod… then ordered him to open the door and I wouldn't have needed Ali at all.
It could've been worse. It wasn't even rape, now that I think about it. Unless….. I barely knew what was happening. It was all foreign, strange, beyond my experience… I was in shock… and….shocked
I would've known. Right?
But still… it was a deep violation. He couldn't even process how much. He was glad for the morphine or whatever it was, making everything cottony and indistinct
He dreaded when the full impact would attack him.
Though… maybe it's not that big of a deal… I shouldn't let it bother me so much. I did fall unconscious but that's probably because I'm so sensitive. Weakened by trauma. A real man would've been able to shrug it off…
A real man wouldn't have put himself in this position—would've fought. Not let that creep touch me
Can't get the feeling of those hands off of me…
Real men don't let other men touch them in that way if they don't want it.
Perhaps some part of me wanted it…
That would mean I'm not who I think I am.
That I betrayed her already.
That I belong here.
"Maybe we'd better take him back to my room," said Ali.
Jason's heart stopped. "What?"
Ali's eyes were concerned. "Zar will be here soon."
The name ripped through his heart. "Why?"
Ali glanced at Miller. "Turns out you can't just leave someone locked in Gold Room indefinitely, even if they're spoiled, rapacious golden boys."
"Zar does need medical attention," said Miller, sidling up to Ali and looking down at Jason benevolently. "Besides, we don't want to alienate our patrons. Zar may be a bit much, and he accounts for a lot of the slaves' more severe injuries, but we have to tolerate him."
"He went too far this time."
"Perhaps, according to the limits. I'll inform Elena. But the injuries really are mostly superficial. Nothing we don't see on a daily basis. The worst are the stab wound and the shockrod burns. Otherwise I'd let him go back down. As it is—I've got to be extra careful with Elena's precious possession. Can't risk him getting infected. Can't risk his ability to procreate, either."
"How long do you think Zar will be here?"
"Who knows. Knowing how he freaks out over the smallest injury, probably longer than he needs to. He'll probably go crawling back to his dad afterwards. I don't think Elena will side with Zar this time, but your bias will get you in trouble one of these days if you don't watch it."
Ali flashed one of his scintillating grins, although there was a shadow in his eyes and a tiredness behind it. "I'll be careful." He gestured to the tall man waiting in the corner, arms crossed. "Let's go, Jarl."
Jarl peeled away from the wall and walked over to Jason, looking down at him impassively. Jason shivered under his gaze. Then the guard, or whoever he was, stepped behind him and the bed rolled forward.
"Here," said Miller, holding out a brown paper bag. "Since you're his nurse now, make sure he takes his full course of antibiotics. The wounds will need cleansing and salve daily and his bandages will need changing. There's also painkiller and restorative. Watch the wounds for signs of infection; if there is, bring him back here. You're the guarantor of his health until he's well enough. You've got some precious cargo there."
"I know."
"Don't forget who he belongs to, Ali."
The bed rolled through the door and Ali thumped after him.
Through the hallway suffused with soothing blue glow.
Gradually it lightened to white; birds twittered and happy scenes played on the walls. Kids playing in a flowery field. People baking cookies, then having a flour fight. A man riding a black horse over rolling hills. Light music accompanied the scenes and made Jason's heart ache.
Normalcy—so far from what this place is.
Everything good— just a pale reflection.
An ebony door appeared, carved with elaborate life-like chess figures clashing in endless battle. The door opened and he rolled through a living room with a mauve carpet, mint-green couches, a bright yellow chair, several bookshelves and a large glossy wooden coffee table, flowers along the walls. Into a round room, a round bed in the center. Past one of the bookshelves was an open doorway which showed a green bathtub.
The bedspread was gold. Jason turned from it.
"Jason, what's wrong?" said Ali, shuffling up beside him. "Does it still hurt?"
It hit him how ridiculous it was to be scared of a blanket. But his skin crawled when he thought of it touching him.
Ali tugged the blanket off the bed, revealing a soft-looking blue one underneath. "I'll… get this out of here." He shuffled back into the living room, dragging the golden blanket, and it disappeared.
Jarl reached for him. Fear shot through him, but he couldn't move.
"I've got to get these off," he said in a deep yet gentle voice.
Jason realized what he was doing and his heart steadied.
Jarl, who looked well over six feet (and looked ten feet from Jason's perspective) peeled off the Velcro cuffs. Pangs shot through Jason's wrists then faded. Slowly he moved his fingers, his hand, then lifted his arm a little.
When the cuffs peeled off his ankles, his legs couldn't move at all, and fear raced through him. What if I'm paralyzed?
"I'm going to have to get you onto the bed," said Jarl.
"Okay," acknowledged Jason.
Arms slid beneath his legs and back and he struggled away, trying to get away from those relentless hands—
They withdrew. A soft hand on his shoulder.
"I know how you feel but—we just have to take this one step. I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"Please let him help you," said Ali, clomping through the doorway.
Jason nodded, knowing it had to be done. Bracing himself, commanding his mind not to panic.
The hands slid beneath him, touching his bare skin. He trembled uncontrollably and the sheet threatened to fall off.
To his immense relief, Jarl tucked the sheet around him, then withdrew, leaving the sheet covering him up to his neck.
Ali stepped closer to the bed, a few feet away. "Do you need another blanket?"
Jason shook his head.
"Do you need anything else?"
"I…don't know." He didn't know how he felt… part of him didn't want to know. Mostly he just wanted to sleep.
"Then I'll get out of your hair. Call me if you think of anything. Since I'm on medical leave, I can stay in my suite and won't get called away. I won't let anyone in, either."
That made him feel better. To an extent, anyway. "Thank you."
"You can stay here as long as you need." He thumped out of the room, Jarl behind him, and the door closed.
He still felt exposed and vulnerable. Ali or Jarl could come in at any moment.
Ali was still infirm, and Jarl had been careful.
But Ali could still do something…. Perhaps his feelings would get the better of him—perhaps Jarl would come in and hold him down—
No. That's not happening. Ali doesn't do that even when he's well.
The possessiveness and longing in Ali's eyes echoed the lust in Zar's eyes as he—
No.
Don't think of it.
It's gone.
He can't hurt you.
Are you sure about that! his mind screamed.
Maybe he has access to every room. Maybe he will burst in here in a few minutes and take me back into the gold and finish what he wanted—
Nowhere is safe.
His heart thump-thumped, making the sheet quiver. His chest heaved, his lungs aching
The rope around his neck
No air—
The golden floor skimming beneath him
Glitter piercing his eyes
The white-hot firestorm ripping him apart
A sharp pain in his palms.
Snapping him back to the present.
He lifted his arms above the sheet—his shoulder muscles ached
He lay his hands on his stomach, palms upward
Bloody cuts retraced the crescent scars, some of them exactly matching, some a little mismatched
Pain pulsed, blood seeping from the wounds.
My own pain.
Not made by him
He pressed his fingernails to the cuts again, and the pain washed away the gnawing thoughts, the horror crushing his heart with every beat, and let his mind drift enough so that he could fall into the peace of oblivion.
He gasped awake. His mouth was impossibly dry, as if he'd been lying there for centuries, slowly mummifying. His eyes were dry too; his eyelids peeled open, leaving behind a rather gummy feeling. Even with his eyes open, he could only make out vague shapes. It wasn't dark—but his mind couldn't process what he was seeing. He felt he should panic, but his heart was slow and dull and for a moment he thought it wasn't beating at all.
Maybe I'm dead, he thought impassively.
His eyes drifted to a bookshelf. He still could barely tell one thing from another so he zeroed in on one book.
The Odyssey.
O-d-y-s-s-e-y. He spelled it out, lingering on each letter. Just a flat word, no meaning attached.
Golden letters… they reminded him of something and he swiftly moved on to a rock. Some strange swirls in it. Almost…serrated
Like a knife
Next to it, a smooth rock, amethyst… he lost himself in its facets. Slowly, though, something awful wound into his heart and he turned from it, abandoning the shelf
There was a screen on the wall facing him, but it was blank. Right below it a vase stood on a table with wilting daisies, some of the petals falling off
Just one flower still standing, a blue one
Its yellow eye fixed on him
He stared back
He searched for something disturbing, ready to retreat at a moments' notice, but there was no malice in it.
He descended into swirls of daisies and he was running and he was searching for someone, but she was somewhere over the mountains and he could never seem to get closer—and the daisies were laughing, ignorant of his search—because they were only flowers.
And his heart ached, worse the further he ran
Finally his legs gave way and he collapsed in the flowers
And the mountains gazed down at him, stern and grim. Just stop trying, they seemed to say. Just stay in the daisies. They can't hurt you.
Slowly he became aware of something soft beneath him. A vague alarm that there was nothing between him and the blanket. A warning trickle of pain in his shoulder, his hand… his neck…
He reeled from it, wanting no part of pain, but it became more insistent, throbbing as if a small heart was embedded in each wound, just beneath the skin.
And his throat was unendingly dry.
He took a deep breath and to his relief, his lungs filled, just like normal.
His hand was lying on his chest. The blue sheet covering most of the rest of his body, although it was rather rumpled. Some parts of him felt pain; some felt numb.
Perhaps I'm just a conglomeration of body parts, like Frankenstein….
Perhaps there is nothing beneath the sheet…
But pain in his chest told him that at least part of him still existed.
He moved his hand experimentally, one finger, then the others.
Did my hand always look like that?
He examined the curve of his thumb, the branching veins on top of his hand, the ridge of his knuckles, darkened by remnants of scars….
He flipped his hand over; dried blood encrusted several crescent wounds in his palm. When he flexed his hand, it hurt. He curled it up and laid it on his chest
Parts of his chest throbbed. Other parts burned. And there was an insistent pulsation of fire twisting in his shoulder…
And below his waist—
A deep throbbing burn
Horror curled inside him and he flipped onto his side, not wanting to face himself at all.
A flash of stabbing burns attacked him and he curled up, squeezing his eyes shut.
He could only stay in that position for so long, because it hurt his left shoulder, and so he lay on his back.
It began to crawl back into his mind where the wounds were from, and he resisted, until he opened his eyes and saw the sheet had slipped from his chest and it was too far for his battered limbs to grab
Violent sparkles sparked over his chest, embedded in the hair, some smeared on the bandages
A cry of horror escaped his throat
A bright rectangle of light and a figure appeared in it
Hunched over, it shuffled toward him
"Are you alright?" said an alarmed voice.
Anxious brown eyes looking down at him.
Ali's dark curls in disarray. His face etched with worry.
What is wrong with me? he wondered. The pain isn't that bad….
Ali checked his watch. "It's eight o'clock. You're overdue for your pills. I didn't want to disturb you…."
"I don't need them."
Ali narrowed his eyes. "If you don't take the painkiller now, it'll only get worse. Besides, you also need to take your antibiotics. We've got to be religious about that." He turned toward the door, then looked back. "I'll get you some food."
"I'm not hungry."
"Are you sure?"
Jason took stock of himself. He realized he probably was hungry, but the pain was overriding everything else. That and the malevolent pressure in his mind trying to overwhelm him with darkness.
Perhaps food would distract him…
"Maybe a little."
"What would you like? I've got grapes, cheese, pizza, some leftover cake, crackers, blueberries… I could make you a sandwich."
"Just…" He didn't want anything that reminded him of the hors d'oeuvres. "Some fruit for now."
After the distraction was gone, the pain seemed to grow stronger. His shoulder was a stabbing, twisting constant; the phantom rope around his throat burned, and the cuts that carved over his chest and stomach seemed as if the knife was tracing them again.
But they somehow didn't bother him as much as the other injuries did.
The puncture wounds were relatively shallow, but they lay heavily on his chest, and twisted viciously with each turn as Zar's eyes danced
Teasing fingers caressing him as they pierced the jewels into his flesh, making him some strange and bleeding piece of art
The wicked things gleaming, their facets reflecting like dead eyes
The things had claimed him, warped him into something else—something that belonged to Zar
Crescent wounds made by teeth, showing that he was merely a thing meant for satiating other's pleasure
It shouldn't have happened
This can't even be real. The worst nightmare—even worse than
Just the clean lines of torture, what I can resist, from people who don't want to claim every inch of my soul
Those scars are badges of honor, actually.
These—
Disgust filled him.
Disgust pouring through him for his own flesh.
That wasn't even the worst of it.
Below the sheet that had slipped to his waist, everything was aflame.
A steady burn
Random piercing slices just to make sure he didn't forget for a moment
What if—
What if…
I'm damaged permanently.
He couldn't face that
But he couldn't get away from the fact that…. he had been cut, he had been shocked mercilessly, he had been nearly raped—
Dear God.
Why
Ali saved me in time…
But too late
This is too much. I can't deal with it. It wasn't supposed to happen to me.
You were supposed to get out, right? (the opposing, taunting voice in his mind) You weren't supposed to be hurt, not like that. Torture you expect—not something worse.
What gives you the right to think you'll be spared? Because God loves you more than the others? He doesn't spare them. You somehow thought you'd get out unscathed. God doesn't always spare you or reward you for being good.
Good…. I'm not that.
Then this is punishment.
Perhaps.
Or… said a darker voice. Perhaps God doesn't love you. Perhaps he's abandoned you. Or perhaps he isn't good. A god who is good wouldn't let this happen. Would he? Only a twisted god who enjoys watching pain.
At the same time… perhaps I'm being too sensitive. Was it really that bad? It wasn't even the worst, wasn't even close. Not compared to what the others went through. I should be able to get up, walk out….
But his body stayed plastered to the bed; he couldn't gather the energy to move.
Crushed by this… when it's not even close to the worst possible… I'd better get out of here… Or maybe because I'm so weak, I deserve this. The others are able to endure far more with less damage. Perhaps I should take on all of it… let the others go
The door opened and Ali shuffled slowly in, carrying bottle of water, a plastic bag on his arm. The bag rattled slightly.
Sorrow crossed his features. "I… I'm so sorry, Jason. I couldn't get there sooner." His voice was a near-whisper, hoarse and contrite.
A shudder ran through Jason. If only…! "It wasn't your fault."
"All the same… he—shouldn't have even touched you." Anger flashed through his eyes. "If I can do anything for you, anything at all…"
"Can you get me out of here?"
His eyes flickered. He stopped a few feet from the bed. "I—I'm sorry. That's the one thing I can't do. Even if I could…. She would find out. We'd both be in worse shape afterwards." He set the bag and the bottle on the nightstand, and drew a bag of grapes, an orange, and a pear out of it. Then the pills. His hand shook. "If only I weren't so infirm…." He twisted the bottle open, then stepped back. He hesitated, then said, "Do you need any help?"
Jason shook his head. Even if he needed help, he didn't want it. He felt a revulsion for any kind of touch, and a hint of panic twisted through his chest—what if it lingered. What if—if he escaped—he couldn't let Connie touch him—
No. I'm not letting Zar win. Not letting someone so evil take something good from me.
First step—sit up.
He pushed his forearms against the bed; pain pierced his shoulder and he bit back a cry. Using his right arm, he pushed harder, trembling; it was like trying to slide up a mud bank. He kept slipping back down.
The sheet slipped further and he froze.
"Do you need some help? I could call Jarl."
"Just—could you— get me a blanket?"
"I've got one in the other room. A blue one."
"I don't want to make you go back and forth…."
"That's what I'm here for."
"You were shot."
Ali smiled. "It does hurt, even with the painkiller. I could call Jarl—it's just that he's off hours now."
"Is he paid?"
He shook his head. "He's a slave. I can't do anything about that. He was bound for experimentation, but I thought—I can use a good strong servant. I know what you're thinking, but he has never been touched, not by me. He has a wife back home. I… do what I can for him. He's been great for helping me with my…handicap, but usually, he's free to do what he wants, since I'm usually gone. If he stays out of sight, they mostly leave him alone. I…can't always protect him though….." Sorrow flitted across his face as he turned away again.
Jason grabbed for the sheet, but his body wouldn't cooperate; it was like his upper half was separated from his lower half. He wasn't convinced he wasn't partly paralyzed, except the pain seemed to burn deeper each moment.
He reached for the water and nearly knocked it over. The pills seemed impossibly far away. And the sheet was threatening to slip further if he moved any more. He longed for clothes but knew he wouldn't be able to put them on and couldn't imagine letting someone else do it.
I have to get back. I have to find out how Kara and Karim are doing. And everyone. I don't belong up here.
I hate being so dependent.
It's true I'm relatively safe here.
The safest place Above.
Still… I'm so helpless. If someone else came in—I could do nothing.
Thin fabric is really no protection at all. They can take it away at any moment.
The door opened again, Ali dragging the blanket. Jason lay there shaking, pinned under the light, as Ali awkwardly spread the blanket over him
Flinching as his hand neared his hip
The blanket warmed him and soothed him back to a semblance of reality.
"How's that?" said Ali.
"Better," said Jason breathlessly. "I think… I do need some help."
Ali held out his hand. Jason grasped it, the pain in his palms distracting from some of the fear. He forced himself to turn off his mind so Ali could slid his arm behind him, lifting him up onto the pillows.
He lay back, shaking, aches rippling through his body randomly.
Ali tilted two pills into Jason's palm and Jason tipped them into his mouth, then Ali handed him the water bottle and Jason sipped, then swallowed.
Closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.
Gradually, his mind faded into a cottony vagueness. A feeling of well-being flowed through him and the pain he did feel didn't matter as much. The harsh edges of the memories dulled.
"Would you like some fruit?"
Jason nodded and Ali handed him each one and he laid it on the bed beside him. He picked a grape; his tongue ached. Some stabbing cuts there—from his own teeth. It felt so good to eat, though, he didn't mind the pain. He didn't even notice when Ali left; the room had already begun to blur.
He drifted away into a pleasant benign darkness.
He woke lying on his side, having slipped all the way down the pillows, the orange and pear cradled against his stomach, the grapes crushed beneath him.
He rolled away from the warm squishiness, at first afraid it was something else. But there was an unpleasant pressure and he knew he still had time to get to the bathroom.
He draped the blanket around his shoulders, trusting its fuzzy, substantial fabric more than the sheet, and rolled off the bed.
His legs gave way; he grasped the bed, holding tightly so he didn't fall. Feeling burned back into his legs, and pain jabbed his flesh from all directions. He bit his lip; he didn't want to alert Ali.
Finally he thought he could control his legs enough to walk, and he let go of the side of the bed, the room tilting.
Clutching the blanket to his chest, he shuffled to the bathroom, the burnt orange carpet rubbing against the soles of his feet. Every moment he felt he would fall and be unable to get up again.
But finally he reached the doorway and grasped its edge, limbs tingling and prickling, his vision whirling a little. Joy hit him when he saw the blue toilet.
He had to lean his hands against the wall, but—such relief! All pain faded into insignificance.
As he stepped back, his knees gave way and his heart plummeted and he had to sit down on the side of the bathtub and lean his head in his hand to stop the spinning and his stomach burned and he feared he might throw up. Revolted at the prospect, he just focused on his breathing, stilling his mind.
Gradually the nausea faded.
Tears streamed down his cheeks.
I don't think I can get back to the bed…
He slid into the tub and wrapped the blanket around himself, cuddling it up to his chin.
The smooth surface of the tub cool against the soles of his feet.
Footsteps approached but he wasn't able to rouse himself enough, even though his mind screamed for his body to move.
A throat cleared.
"Good morning," said Jarl in his deep, steady voice. "How are you doing?"
Jason hazarded a smile. "Can't get up."
"I have your pills."
"Thank you."
Jarl handed the bottles to Jason, Jason's hands shaking uncontrollably.
"Would you like some breakfast?"
"Just my fruit. Not the grapes though."
Jarl inclined his head.
A few moments later, he returned with the orange and pear, then left him alone after asking if he needed anything else.
Jason had enough to contend with with the pills, water, and food. It took him several minutes to take the pills. There was another pill this time—a restorative. Perhaps it would get him back in the game.
I have to get back to planning our escape…
That felt impossibly far away, but at the same time something sparked in his heart.
Leave this horror behind.
It's really not enough to affect me long-term.
He took a bite of the pear and pain stabbed his tongue. He took a few more agonizing bites before he realized he should wait until the painkiller kicked in. He was dismayed to find that his tongue seemed more swollen and sensitive than yesterday.
At least Zar's tongue must hurt, too. And I did fight… after that appalling passivity… and before I let myself be tricked—
Next time Zar won't be so lucky.
Jason couldn't quite convince himself this would be the case, but he held onto that vision. To do otherwise would be to admit defeat. To admit he really was a piece of flesh for others to do with as they pleased. Not a man with a wife, a family… who had once lived out where he could feel the warmth of the sun…
Longing to feel sunlight on his skin, he closed his eyes and imagined it, could almost feel its soft, pleasant heat—
Could almost sense Connie's presence beside him.
He drifted on the haze of daydreams. Not quite asleep, not quite awake… part of him filled with unending gratitude for the medicine that allowed this reprieve….
A shadow fell over him. Jarl set down a tray beside him, laden with a sandwich cut into small squares and some intact grapes and some yellow beans. "I hope this is okay. I can get you something else."
"This should be fine." It hit him how strange it was to be in a bathtub wrapped in a blanket. "I suppose I should get out of here."
"Stay as long as you like."
"Won't Ali need to get in here?"
"He is using my bathroom for the time being."
"I wish I could get up, but… I don't want to cause more trouble. Just in case I can't…. I'm sorry about the other grapes."
"I don't mind. I'm glad to help you. Ali is kind enough to give me a lot of leeway, so I can almost forget I'm a slave…as long as I stay in his suite. So that's what I do most of the time. Even though I treasure this amount of freedom, it gets dull sometimes. It's actually a relief to have something to do, something to focus on—especially when it's for someone who needs it."
"You shouldn't have to be here at all."
Immense sorrow shadowed his eyes. "I've…come to terms with it. My life as I knew it is gone."
"You have a wife, right?"
"I can only hope she has presumed me dead and has moved on. Excuse me." He lumbered out of the room.
I shouldn't have spoken about that. But…. I wonder if he would escape with us. If I could give him hope….
I've got to figure things out a little bit better first.
Perhaps… A thrill ran through him. Perhaps I can find out something up here. If I stay with Ali for several days, I could learn something perhaps… he might not be as careful… and of course there's his obsession…
Can I bear it for that long.
At least he's been very careful.
I have to find out what happened to Kara and Karim. How everyone is doing.
Perhaps Ali can tell me…
Would I be able to trick any information from him? Or is he too clever, despite his limitations? How much of a chess master is he…
I'm not exactly at my optimum …
At least I have time to rest. At least I can have space to think, unlike if I were in… anyone else's room….
Knowing he had to keep up his strength, he nibbled on the ham sandwiches, beans, and grapes until he could stand no more.
Full on a lot less than usual, he lay back and let his mind drift into dreams.
He gasped awake. Hands still gripped his arms, pinning him down. He thrashed away, trying to get rid of them, but then discovered they were as insubstantial as cobwebs.
Relief flooded him, but his heart was still drumming, his soul disturbed.
Will I ever get rid of his phantom touch?
Evil somehow overrides beauty—threatens to darken everything…
Hands, again, twining where they should never have gone.
Tied down, he could do nothing but squirm like a worm on a hook.
Disgust burned through him.
He wished he could rip this skin off, start over. Just hop out of his skin like an insect.
That image distracted him for a moment and he laughed; his chest ached and he realized the meds were fading again.
How many days has it been.
How long have I been lying here.
He realized he needed to use the bathroom and he hoisted himself out of the tub, the blanket falling from him like a discarded cloak.
He shivered, missing its comfort. He was mortified he was still as vulnerable as he'd been when Ali had found him. Not bound at least, but… very slow and infirm. Joints creaking like an old man's.
He headed over to the sink and looked in the mirror. A strange, haggard face looked back at him. Fading bruises marred it. His hair was a complete mess.
If Connie were here, she'd smooth it down.
Or just ruffle it.
A sword pierced his heart and he grasped the sink, tears blurring his eyes, his heart aching, hollow.
Without you, I'm just a ghost of myself.
If she were here, he knew her touch would help heal him. He wouldn't flinch from her. Gradually, she'd bring him to life again. With each trace of her finger on his skin, she'd erase all of the horror of this place.
Dear God. Please. Please let me see her again.
He sank to his knees, tears streaming onto the blue and green tiles. Flowing into the cracks.
He sat back against the tub, the center of his chest carved out. He lay one hand on the floor, palm up, wishing more than anything her hand would appear in his, and she would lead him out of here, into the sunlight.