Page 18 of Inez

INEZ

Ihave never been entirely comfortable in the company of women—not that I've had many opportunities. I understand men, as much as anyone can ever truly understand the opposite sex. I have spent my life around men, and violent men at that.

I have never had a female friend. Not until Scarlett—a kindred spirit, if ever there was such a thing. I find myself missing her company, and in particular the way she understands me. We are women who have spent our lives spilling blood. We have been used, abused, violated, and traumatized. We have been steeped in violence. I don't need to explain it to her. She simply understands.

These women are…different.

They understand trauma. They know pain. They have suffered abuse.

They have survived.

They are me.

Every bit as much as Scarlett, they are me.

They hold me as I shatter.

Anjalee murmurs in my ear in soft Hindi, which of course I do not understand, but the tone is soothing.

Naomi is praying, her whispers so quiet I cannot make out the words.

The others just hold me, squeeze my arm, my leg, my shoulder.

I am weeping.

I cannot stop.

Something broke inside me. The dam holding back the ocean of tears I have spent a lifetime refusing to shed—that is what has shattered within me. I hear myself keening, screaming, wailing. I rock back and forth, and they hold me through it. They don't shush me. They don't tell me it will be okay. They're just…here. They get it.

I could not give this to Lorenzo. Yes, he loves me. He accepts me as I am. He knows the darkest truths which define me, and still he loves me. This is a priceless treasure, I know, but he is a man.

He may sympathize, but these women empathize.

Mostly.

I don't know of anyone who can empathize with the guilt I carry for the thirty-two names tattooed on my back.

The flood of my tears flows, ebbs, and then subsides into shaking shudders. The heat of bodies and breath is overwhelming and I cannot breathe, all of a sudden, but before I can say a word, they all pull away and get to their feet. Naomi is last, and she takes my hands in hers and we stand up together. They surround me, they're all still touching me in some way, and I find it…acceptable. Comforting, even; I have not been able to tolerate physical contact from anyone in years. Not since that day.

I close my eyes, breathe. Wipe my face. Steady my breath. Examine myself—the state of my soul.

What I feel is nearly impossible to explain, even to myself. Weightlessness? Not quite. It's as if…as if I have carried aburden on my back and suddenly that burden is gone. The weight I didn't know I was carrying has suddenly been removed.

I suppose Ren would probably liken it to taking off your pack after a ten-mile ruck through the mountains.

I open my eyes and look around at the women, and I cannot find it in me to be embarrassed.

Only pathetically grateful.

"Ladies, I…" words fail me, then. "I do not know how to—" so shaken am I that I only realize I was speaking in Portuguese when several brows furrowed in confusion.

I am a bit too accustomed to being around Lorenzo, Solomon, and Scarlett, all of whom can switch between languages as easily as I can.

I let out a breath, smooth my hands down my thighs, and try again, this time in English. "Ladies, I would like to thank you. For…for…" my voice quavers, dammit. "For allowing me to…without…" I shake my head, hissing in frustration as words continue to dry up in my throat. "Fucking hell. Sorry."

Terra wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. "Girl, wegotyou."

I've never been gotten, before. It makes my eyes burn all over again.