Page 33 of Integrated (Mistress & Master of Restraint #11)

“Oh, my Katya.” Lips trembling, I can’t stop the whimper from flooding out as I walk over to the side of her hospital bed.

Deathly pale, Kat looks so small and fragile. When speaking to her, I always forget how she’s only an inch over five feet and a hundred and thirty pounds. Seeing Katya lying here, I change her weight closer to one hundred and ten pounds. Why hadn’t I realized she’d lost so much weight?

Gaunt, sunken cheeks, gray, lifeless skin, and even her fiery red hair has lost its brilliance. Katya looks like a husk of the woman who moved to Dominion four years ago. That Katya was innocent, stubborn, adventurous, and thrilled to reach for her dreams.

Then I came in and snuffed the life from Katya’s curious green eyes by making her do things against her will.

I turned Katya into someone she doesn’t recognize when she looks into the mirror.

I miss the Kit Kat who would look up at me and secretly smile, ready for anything I would ask of her. Kat would giggle with delight when I jaded her innocence one naughty act at a time.

Biting my lip against the sob that’s threatening to bubble up, with a start, I realize Katya is my ultimate punishment– the consequence to a long life of trespasses.

Katya truly loved me, loved me like Cortez loves me. I know she did. I loved her too– still do. My punishment is knowing that I murdered that love, extinguishing the budding spark before it blazed into an eternal flame of forever.

My punishment isn’t losing Katya, because I was always meant to be with Cortez. My punishment was losing Katya’s love. Forever. Never will Katya love or trust me again. I can only hope through a lifelong quest of redemption that I can re-earn Katya’s respect.

“If you’re curious.” Caleb speaks, taking up residence near the door. “Besides the missing spleen, Katya also has four broken ribs and a cracked pelvis, not counting the nasty contusions. I also have to give you a heads up, as the husband of the victim, the police will be questioning you. We tried to say Katya was mugged and called Faith. Which was plausible since their children share the same father. But since it was obvious the wounds were days old–”

“They will think I harmed Katya,” is numbly muttered as I stare down at the broken woman. The cast on my arm glares at me like a silent accusation. Even though my broken bones were acquired through striking my adoptive father in defense of my wife, a police officer will see it as evidence of the violence wrought against Katya.

“Didn’t you?” Caleb challenges me, and I know he’s furious but trying to hide it. His tone is even, but the crossing of his arms over his chest and the wide stance of his feet betray him. Caleb is standing his ground, subconsciously readying for attack.

“I’m so sor–”

“Don’t.” Caleb cautions. “Don’t say that phrase anywhere near Katya. Didn’t you hear how the heart rate monitor just sped up?” Quickly my ears register Caleb’s meaning. The even beep … beep … beep … is now a rapid sound, almost constant. “Katya may be asleep, but somehow she hears you.”

“But I am,” I whisper. With slow deliberation, I touch Katya’s hand, finding it cold and pale, the skin papery thin instead of filled with healthy vitality. I lightly rest my fingers over hers, having no idea how to fix this, give her justice, or let her go.

“Are you, now ? If you actually meant it, you would stop doing this shit on a minute-to-minute basis. Saying you’re sorry doesn’t absolve you from the consequences. It doesn’t take Katya’s pain away. If you truly meant it, you’d stop doing it.”

“I guess what I meant to say is that I’m sorry I hurt Katya– sorry I’ve hurt everyone. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” is twisted out pitifully. “At the root of it, I’m sure I’m to blame for Regina attacking Kat, but never did I imagine this happening. The only one not at fault is Katya.”

“Well, there is that. At least you’re not like your daughter. You must realize Ava did in fact mean to hurt everyone with her newest article.” Caleb speaks in a calm and calculated manner that is eerie, as if he’s not calling out my daughter directly to my face. “Your wife is a private woman, and your daughter just aired your dirty laundry.”

“Katya won’t approve of our daughter’s actions– trust me, I know. Ava couldn’t handle how Regina harmed her mother, feeling guilty, as if she indirectly caused the attack by not stopping Niel and Whitney. Ava acted out of emotion in haste to erase the suffocating emotions– I’ve been in her position many a time. Like right now.”

“And yet you both kept on hurting people,” Caleb incredulously mutters. “Is that what Ava’s future has in store for her as well? Should we all run and hide in fear of the great Zeitler lunatics?”

“Caleb, stop,” I warn, feeling the first stirrings of anger through the fog of guilt and shame.

“Ez, I fought the enemy for sixteen years– I didn’t come home to fight more. You need to accept that you all need help. I’m trying to protect us from everyone making these ridiculous kneejerk reactions without thought of the consequences. I’m observant. Your wife has been absolutely miserable since I returned to Dominion.”

“Oh, I’ve heard all about how observant you’ve been of my wife.” I growl, hating how Katya’s monitor speeds up as I raise my voice. “I’m not stupid, Caleb. I’ve seen how you look at my wife, and I’m not the only one. How happy you must be now that Katya is free of my tyranny.”

“Ez, you’re such an asshole.” Caleb sneers, clearly disappointed in me and sick of my shit. “You come in here, wanting to hold Katya’s hand, kiss her cheek, tell her you’re sorry and that you love her. All about you, not a damn thing to do with Katya. It’s to lessen your own guilt and to make you feel better about yourself. See it from Katya’s perspective, and then you will realize why you were only allowed to visit while she was passed out.”

“Why? Tell me, because I’ve never been able to see anything from Katya’s perspective,” is an angry demand, more loaded with frustration than anything. “After everything, I still don’t understand Kat at all.”

“Because you never look outside of yourself,” Caleb calmly says, easily passing judgment upon me. If it weren’t for the fact he’s right, I’d use my newfound talent of bone breaking to punch him.

“Say you were raped.” Caleb attempts to clue me into Katya’s state of mind. “Just taken off the street, bent over, and viciously torn to shreds. Would you want the perpetrators to enter your hospital room as you convalesced from the wounds they gave you? Would you accept their tender touches, pleas of redemption, and words of affection? You were already violated. Wouldn’t that be a violation that’s far worse? When you were first attacked, you were at your strongest. So now you lie broken. Wounded. Vulnerable. With no means to protect yourself.”

“Stop,” is a weak protest, feeling so down on myself that I want to fall to my knees and weep for forgiveness. “Just stop.”

“No.” Caleb challenges me. “This is why I left Dominion and didn’t come back for nearly two decades, because everyone was protecting my molesters– all of them complacent, even if they loved me. I didn’t come back until they were all dead. Dalton took out the last of them a few months after I signed for another tour. There was no justice for me and my fellow victims. It was a get-over-it mentality, where we were made to feel weak and shamed for it happening to us, while our victimizers were respected, trusted, and obeyed. The predators have no idea what it feels like to be prey, neither do those who were never preyed upon yet take advantage in other ways. Both think themselves far superior, as if they are stronger, not weaker for preying upon others.”

“Caleb–”

“You said you wanted to understand how Kat felt. Well, I’ve been in Katya’s shoes– always will be. She loves her attacker, as I loved mine, and he’s attacked her in a myriad of fashions over decades. Katya’s attacker was supposed to protect her from the likes of himself and others. Was that in plain enough English for you to understand, Ezra?”

“You must hate me,” I whisper to my childhood friend. The need to slit my wrists and bleed out is strong, but I know better than to think that is redemption. It would be cowardly of me, as I need to face my crimes for a lifetime, not be selfish and escape into nothingness. “I hate myself.”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about, Ez. For some reason, no one can seem to blame you. We all love you too much. We all see something in you that you don’t see in yourself– an understated greatness. The same thing we see in Ava. We want to watch you reach your potential. You need to stop apologizing, Ezra.”

“But I am sorry,” I whine.

“Prove it. Do better. Stop others from making similar mistakes. Teach your daughter to act with premeditation and foreknowledge of the consequences of her actions, especially to the victims. Ava probably feels vindicated right now. Proud. Self-righteous. Victorious and filled with justice, like a little badass. She needs to grow into being a strategist, because she’s acting without caring about the fallout for the other side. Again, just as it will be Whitney and Ava taking the brunt of their scandal, Katya and Regina will be the ones shouldering this newest one. You’ll go unscathed. In defense of her own mother, Ava just wrote an article that painted her mother as the victim, while removing Katya’s autonomy and opening her up to vicious attacks. Kat will pay as much as Regina, and you’ll pay nothing.”

“I–”

“If I kick you in the nuts, then said I was sorry, you’d forgive me after you stopped puking. Five minutes later, I do it again, only harder this time. Enough so you pass out in agony. But, hey, I apologized, so it’s all good, right?” Caleb’s voice pitches higher and lower as he speaks, every word filled with sarcasm. “After that apology, I punch you in the junk. Would you trust my word when I apologized again, then continued to perpetuate that same cycle? Would you trust my word ever again? That’s how Katya feels right now. Petrified.” Caleb breathes the word, voice quivering for added affect.

“What am I supposed to do?” Gazing down at my fingertips as they touch Katya’s limp hand, I suddenly feel guilty for touching my own wife, as if I’m violating Kat in her sleep.

I realize if Katya were awake, she would hate that I’m touching her. While I don’t want to take my fingers away from her skin, I recognize it’s not about me anymore. I tuck my hand into my pocket, curling my fingers against the need to feel Katya’s skin beneath mine.

“Katya doesn’t need a laundry list of your crimes, like she doesn’t already know what they are, since she lived through the cocksuckers the first time around. I highly doubt she wants to repeat the experience in her mind, every item on the list triggering her. What you need to say is, “ Katya, I acknowledge that I …” Then fill in the rest of the sentence yourself.”

“You know what I need to acknowledge, don’t you?” My voice is dripping with desperation “Did Katya tell you?”

“No, we’ve barely spoken about anything other than my duties as her guard. I fear that I know Katya more than anyone at this point, because I actually see her as a person, when everyone else has used and abused and bullied her.”

“I was going to deny your claim, then decided I better not. When I counsel families, there’s always one member pointed out as the troublemaker, when it’s usually the entire family pointing fingers and using them as a scapegoat. There’s the quiet one, who is easily ignored and forgotten, then blamed because they refuse to defend themselves. It’s a dynamic impossible to escape, dictated by human nature, even if it’s toxic for all those involved.”

“Ez, I have an older brother and four younger siblings– you have no idea how accurate what you just said truly is. The larger the group, the easier people slip into those roles.”

“What do I say to Katya.” I’m not opposed to begging at this point.

“I just know what I would need you to acknowledge if you treated me as you’ve treated your wife. A lot of it for me is the closure I’ll never get from those who harmed me. I won’t tell you what, because it’s up to you to figure it out, or it wouldn’t be genuine. Katya needs genuine from you to move on.”

“Hey?!” Cort calls in a curious tone, trying to get the door to open, but Caleb is barring the way. The door bangs into the guy’s back, yet he doesn’t even twitch a muscle. “Am I interrupting, or aren’t I allowed in?”

“Is Levi out there?” Feet firmly planted, Caleb is not moving. “If he is, send him in. I’d like to go shower, change clothing, and get something to eat. Plus, I need to get Katya some things from home.”

“Yeah, Wil’s out here with Faith,” Cort says, obviously as confused as I am.

“No Faith, Syn, Pixie, Game Master– whatever everyone calls her.” Caleb orders in a brusque tone. “Tell her to go home.”

“Um… you tell the bitch that.” Cort grumbles into the small crack he’s created by pushing the door into Caleb’s back. “I’d like to keep my nuts, thank you very much. Just let me in, then you can go.”

“I cannot do that,” Caleb calmly states. He steps to the side, allowing Cort to enter the room. “I promised Katya someone would protect her at all times.” Sticking his head out the cracked door, he expects to be commanded. “Go home, Syn.” Caleb projects out into the hallway, and I know the message was received loud and clear as a snarled reply sound fills the space. “Levi, get in here.”

“I’m not going to hurt Kitten.” Cortez sounds insulted, but more so hurt that Caleb would think him capable of harming Katya.

“I never said you would. Imagine being Katya at the moment. It’s a bit scary to allow the doctors to put you out with painkillers. Katya would like to wake back up. Her fears are very plausible, considering someone just tried to beat her to death. You want to give up a random organ and see how trusting you become? I can help you pick.”

“Calm down, bub.” Wil tries to soothe Caleb by patting him on the back. “I won’t leave little miss Sparky alone. Promise. Go get some rest, and I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Why? Why does Wil have to be in here with us?” Cort argues, but I already know the answer. “You’re nothing to her– we’re her family, for Christ’s sake!”

“Cort, calm down. Kat would very much like to see you when she wakes.” Caleb’s measured tone is gentle and affectionate, which is odd, since Cort used Caleb’s face as a soccer ball when we were kids, and he’s held a wicked grudge ever since.

“If you want, you can sit in here with Katya until she wakes. Katya said she would like you to hold her hand while she sleeps.” Caleb calls as he disappears out the door. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“What’s up?” Cort asks his lifelong shadow as he settles himself on the edge of Katya’s hospital bed. With an ease of familiarity I’ll never feel again with Kat, Cort possessively takes her hand in his, then starts massaging her arm.

Experiencing too many emotions at once, basically extremely guilty and unwanted, I start to edge toward the door, but Wil stops me by resting his palm in the center of my chest.

“Nah– I think you should look at Katya while she sleeps, don’t you? A friendly reminder of how things can and will be blown out of proportion. Whether you mean for it or not, people still get hurt. Sometimes they die, and it’s too late to repent.” Wil stresses in a calculated voice reminiscent of a serial killer toying with their victims moments before the kill.

“I have no reply to that,” stumbles off my tongue.

“I’m to keep watch over Katya while Caleb gets some rest. Remember the powder room?”

Everyone in the hospital room shudders in horror, and I swear Katya’s heartbeat quickens on the monitor. Powder room will be a trigger phrase, much like when people say before and after when speaking of mine, Cort, and Aaron’s ordeal with Raymond Hunter.

“It took a lot of arguing before Katya trusted me to protect her.” Wil looks as if he’s struggling not to reach out and touch my wife, like they share a kinship now. I have no idea what actually happened in that powder room, but even Faith was ejected, leaving only Caleb and Wil behind. “No Marcus, Pixie, or Regina allowed to enter this room unaccompanied–”

“Well, go then, ‘cuz they aren’t in here.” Cort growls, getting annoyed. Wil has glued himself to Cortez for the past twenty years, but Cort has spent just as much time trying to use nasty words as a solvent.

Ignoring Cort’s causticness is easy for Wil, after adapting to his wife’s attitude. “One other person isn’t to be left alone with Katya.”

I hopelessly utter, “Me.”