Page 38

38

LAVINIA

“I have something for you,” Dorin says one morning when he comes into the bedroom.

I’ve just gotten dressed, ready to go for what has become our regular morning walk.

Rex hovers around me as I walk to the bed to sit.

My legs are still weak after such a long period of inactivity, and Rex seems to sense it, always at my side from the moment I leave the bed, ready to offer support if needed.

Dorin comes to sit beside me, a long cardboard box in his arms.

Setting it on his lap, he says, “Open it.”

Rex jumps onto the bed, rushing around us and sticking his snout between us to sniff the contents suspiciously.

“I swear he was a guard dog in his former life,” Dorin says, giving Rex a good head scratch.

“And a lap dog in the life before it.”

Leaning down to Rex with a smile, I part my lips to tell him what a good boy he is.

A pang of longing contracts my chest as I snap my lips shut, remembering I can’t give voice to those words, and have to settle for showing him with a kiss on his head.

“He knows,” Dorin says, voice full of sympathy and understanding.

I lift my eyes to his, pausing in my movements at his knowing gaze.

“Your touch and your body language are plenty to tell him how much you appreciate him.”

Vulnerability flushes over me.

And gratitude.

I don’t know how, but Dorin has come to read me with scary precision.

I often don’t even have to use the notepad when I need something, and often, Dorin predicts my needs before I even know them myself.

Even though I try to hide the constant grief, he can tell when it’s about to get the better of me, taking me in his arms and whispering soothing words until I let go and let the hurt flow freely in the safe embrace of his arms.

“Open,” Dorin repeats, nodding to the box.

Lifting my hands, I carefully open the top and lean in to see what’s inside.

My breath stops when I see a black case hidden beneath layers of paper.

It can’t be.

Pulling the wrapping aside, I see the shape of the case.

Wide and rounded at one end, long and narrow at the other.

My hand flies to my mouth, and I shake my head as I lift my eyes to Dorin.

It can’t be.

Pinch me.

“A violin,” he confirms, and tears spring to my eyes at the confirmation.

I reach my hands into the box but pull them back out, feeling like there’s a catch.

A price to pay.

Reading my reaction, he says, “It’s for you. You may use it whenever and however much you like. It doesn’t come at a cost. I’m not Zoltan.” His eyes darken.

“I’m never gonna put a price on your happiness.”

His words have me reaching for the notepad as a surge of fear rises within me.

I had all but forgotten about Zoltan trying to buy me, too ridden with grief—too numb—to do anything other than take one day at a time.

Where is he?

I scribble and hold the paper up briefly.

Will he come for me here?

Am I safe here?

I know Dorin must have somehow overturned the sale, and I trust that he’ll do everything in his power to keep me safe, but I also know the kind of resources and reach Zoltan has.

Darkness sweeps across Dorin’s features.

“That man is never going to touch you again.”

How?

I write, the huge letters filling half the page.

I show them to Dorin, then rip the page off to start on a fresh one.

You don’t know him.

He’ll come for me.

He has—

Dorin grabs my hand, stopping me mid-sentence.

“I know ,” he says fiercely.

“He’s here. In a cell. Begging for his momma.”

I give a confused shake of my head.

“Don’t you remember the promise I made? That I’ll kill him?”

Biting my lips together, I nod slowly.

“That promise still stands. But I’m taking my time. I want him to suffer for what he did to you.”

The snarl forming on his lips as he says the word suffer almost makes me draw back.

But I know Dorin.

So I lean forward instead, grabbing on to his T-shirt as my heart pounds with a speed that makes the world whir around me.

I sit there for several minutes, feeling the steady thuds of his heart and letting it be the beat that grounds me.

When my own heart settles in a regular rhythm, I lean back to write again.

What have you done to him?

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asks, brows furrowing in a grave expression.

I need to know , I write.

I look toward the window for a moment, then continue.

I want to see.

Dorin sighs.

“It’s not a pretty sight. I’ve cut off most of his fingers, taken one of his eyes, and he’s coming down with a severe infection in one of his legs.”

I underline the last four words I wrote and hold the notepad up, tapping against them to convey how much I need this.

Zoltan has been a constant fear gnawing at the back of my mind, biting deep into my bones, ever since I fled from him.

I need to know that I no longer have to fear him.

“Okay,” he relents with a sigh.

“I’ll take you to see him. But first, I want you to open your present.”

Gently, I reach down and take the violin case in my hands.

A surge of something powerful rushes through me as I bring it into my lap and pop the clasps open.

Closing my eyes, I lift the lid, still unable to believe I’ll find a real violin in there.

Time slows as I open my eyes and see a beautiful, shiny violin.

I just stare at it.

The polished wood, the taut strings, and the elegant curve of the body.

I haven’t touched a violin for years.

I don’t even know if I remember how to play anymore.

Dorin seems to be holding his breath when I glance up at him.

“Play for me,” he says, his breathy voice full of hope.

Carefully, I wrap my fingers around the neck and lift the instrument out of its case.

A shuddery breath escapes me as I rest it on my shoulder.

Plucking two strings at a time, I listen to the soft vibrations as I tune them.

Then I pick up the bow, and time comes to a standstill as I hover it right above the strings.

The room is completely silent, full of anticipation.

All three of us—Dorin, Rex, and me—seem to hold our breaths.

I search my mind for a melody.

Something I used to play.

It takes a full minute, but finally, one pops up.

Closing my eyes, I press my finger to a string and draw the bow across it.

The pure sound makes me shudder with a stuttered breath.

I pause, lift the bow again, and sweep it across the string.

This time, I hold the movement, guiding the bow while sliding my finger to the next note.

Before I know it, I’m playing one of my favorite tunes.

Memories come rushing.

My mother singing along, my sister dancing, her golden hair billowing as she swirls, her soft laughter echoing through our cozy living room.

I play for them.

For the good memories and for the love I still hold for them.

When I draw the last note and fade it into silence, I expect the same sharp pain that usually accompanies the memory of them to slash through me.

But it doesn’t come.

The grief is there, but it’s more like a quiet wistfulness floating among all the good memories and the knowledge that they’re at peace.

When I open my eyes, a flood of different memories come rushing as I see the man before me.

Dorin lifting me out of the tub, Dorin holding me when all the emotions come flooding out, and Dorin erasing the cruel memories in my body by claiming me himself.

All the bad memories are there too, but just like the grief, they mix with the good ones, no longer dominating my mind or tearing all the good ones apart.

Hope blooms inside me.

I smile.

At Dorin and at Rex.

Then I lift the bow again and play.

***

“Are you ready?” Dorin asks with a grave expression when he comes back from the dungeon in the evening.

Shutting the book I was reading, I scoot away from Rex to sit on the edge of the bed and nod.

Dorin is quiet as he waits for me to put on a bit more clothes and shoes, then leads the way down the many stairs, through a couple of corridors, and down more stairs leading to a heavy iron door.

He glances at me one final time before pressing his hand to the biometric scanner.

This is it.

My heart thuds against my rib cage as I prepare to return to the place that built me up and broke me down, only to have me go through the same process all over again.

Dorin takes my hand in a firm hold as we enter the dungeon.

I can’t believe I’ve spent several months down here, without the sun, surrounded by these barren halls.

It’s even harder to believe I found some kind of peace here.

The walls seem to whisper stories of violence and misery, and the dry scent of the basement is like a virus in my throat, scratching and refusing to let me forget where we are even when I close my eyes.

But as much as the place unnerves me, it also awakens a strange sort of buzzing within me.

Glancing at Dorin, I think of all the things he did to me down here—the electro “therapy,” the straitjacket, even the punishment.

A hum stirs deep in my belly.

A desire to feel his darkness unleashed upon me again.

I’m not ready yet, but at that moment, I know I’m going to ask him to bring me down here at some point.

Dorin stops at a green metal door and turns to me.

“It’s not a pretty sight.”

Nothing he can say will change my mind.

I need to see Zoltan.

It’s the only way to stop the nightmares and the clawing fear choking me in fits of flashbacks.

So I nod again.

The biometric scanner beeps, and Dorin opens the door.

A foul smell assaults my senses, making me cover my nose and mouth.

Blood, urine, rot, and misery.

Closing my eyes, I steel myself before following Dorin into a small windowless cell with four barren walls, a toilet and a sink, and a thin mattress in the corner.

I gasp at the sight of the man lying on it.

At first, I think it’s not him—Dorin has the wrong man.

There’s none of the arrogant confidence or ruthless pride I know from Zoltan, and the frail body with protruding ribs is nothing like the well-defined abs of Zoltan’s body.

But then I step closer, and the decrepit man lifts his eyes—or rather, eye.

And there’s that cruel, soulless look that not even his charming smiles could cover up.

Despite the swollen, dark tissues around his bloodshot eye and the other socket being empty, it’s clear.

It is him.

His gaze fills with scorn as he watches me.

Coughing, he clears his voice and licks his cracked lips.

“The bitch is back,” he says in a voice so weak I want to laugh.

I rake my eyes down his body.

Cuts and bruises cover every inch of it, and multiple fingers and toes are missing.

“Do you want me to cut out his tongue?” Dorin asks.

I stare at the decrepit man before me, and this time, I actually smile as fear wipes out the scorn in his eyes and he tries to scoot back on the mattress.

An agonized groan escapes him at the movement, and his hand comes down to cover his thigh protectively.

Not even the bandage there can cover up the state of his leg.

Deep shades of red and blue, swollen tissue, and even peeling skin.

This man is dying—unless someone cuts off his leg.

An unfamiliar surge rushes through me as I watch him.

He tries to cast me another hateful look but fails miserably as he pants and winces.

It’s power I’m feeling, I realize.

Seeing this man who has always made me feel worthless and weak in this state makes me feel powerful.

My pulse beats with purpose as I turn to Dorin and point at Zoltan’s leg while making a kicking motion.

He immediately understands my silent question.

“You may do whatever you want. Except for killing him. I don’t want you to carry that around.”

Not wasting a second, I go to Zoltan with determined steps.

Staring him deep in the eye, I lift my foot above his injured leg, relishing the terror widening his gaze, and slam my foot down.

I prepare for some kind of retaliation, quickly stepping back, but all I get is an agonized wail as Zoltan curls up weakly.

It makes me smile, and I step closer again and kick his arms away from his leg before slamming my foot back down on the wound.

Adrenaline becomes a heady swoosh through my veins as I keep kicking and stomping.

Hate gathers within me, but instead of coiling and constricting, it rushes out with each burst of violence.

The world draws back, giving me tunnel vision.

I put in more force, kicking with all my might—all over.

His leg, his stomach, and even his face.

Blood smears my shoe, but the sight only drives me on.

Because for once, it’s not my blood.

A voice speaks somewhere in the background, but I don’t hear it.

All my ears notice are Zoltan’s pathetic whimpers as he begs me to stop and calls out for his mother.

Pathetic little prick.

I deliver another kick to his gut, enjoying the way it makes him gag.

I lift my foot again, but someone grabs me from behind and pulls me back.

“Enough,” a deep voice demands, but it’s not enough to stop the rage rushing through me.

If anything, it intensifies it.

I go frantic.

Hanging in the air, a thick arm banded around my chest, I kick and hit blindly, writhing and jerking.

Raw wheezing sounds escape my throat in lieu of screams.

I keep going, struggling with all my might, scratching at Dorin’s skin.

But I’m not going anywhere.

He has me trapped against his chest, holding me like I’m nothing but a flapping bird.

But instead of feeling weak in his arms, I realize there’s safety in his strength.

Because he doesn’t use it to hurt me.

Dorin is strong enough to take the storm of my rage and get us both safely through it.

When I finally go still, he turns me around and lowers himself to his haunches, gathering me between his legs.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, peppering tiny kisses over my head.

“You’re safe. He can’t ever hurt you again.”

I don’t know how long I sit there.

At some point, I start shaking, the pained groans behind me go quiet, and then the shaking fades again.

Finally, I lift my head to look at Dorin.

Brushing his fingers over my forehead, he moves my hair from my sweaty face.

“Do you want me to end him now or let him suffer more? I might be able to keep him alive a while longer with antibiotics.”

I stare into the distance as I consider.

The hateful part of me that has my blood pulsing, craving eternal vengeance, wants to prolong the suffering.

But there’s nothing peaceful in revenge, and what I crave more than anything else is peace.

Leaning my head on his shoulder, I consider for a moment.

I’m exhausted.

Spent.

Done.

I’m done.

Certainty is firm in my hand as I face Dorin and make a slicing motion across my throat.

Dorin gets up, holding a hand against my back as I move into a more stable position, then closes the distance to the mattress with four long strides.

Zoltan seems to wake from whatever unconscious state he was in as Dorin grabs his head, and a raw wail bounces off the barren walls just before Dorin twists his head around in a rapid movement that gives a loud crack, then leaves the room in silence.

The echo dies out, and I stare at Zoltan’s limp body, shock and horror warring to get the upper hand.

But as my eyes flit away from the man who was my worst nightmare, to the one who is my savior, another feeling wins out.

Relief.

All-consuming, overwhelming relief.

I draw a long, freeing sigh and smile at Dorin.

It’s a careful smile, but it’s there.

Thank you, I mouth.

Finally, I’m free.

For the first time since I lost everything, I can see real hope ahead of me.