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TWELVE

Inaya

I know I wasn’t exaggerating when I thought that the ocean had the power to change people. I don’t think this was his first near-death experience, but I almost did not recognize the person he was when he opened his eyes.

He was calmer. Still gruff but not super rude and abrupt. He thanked me without realizing it. Smiled and laughed at the appropriate times. I’ve learned that being delusional doesn’t do me any favors, but there seems to be a shift.

It could be the time we’ve spent here since he already seemed a little less unyielding before he left. Almost playful. I doubt assassins get vacations, but I may have witnessed the closest thing to Vacation Dante. When the rain rolled in dark and angry with no signs of him, I started to worry. Like I told him, his death wouldn’t have helped me out here. If we were in a city, or at least on dry land, I’d have a much better chance. I need him to get off this island.

The light from the jet ski was faint as he’d gotten closer, but I could tell he wasn’t his usual self. I’d chalked it up to the rain pelting him and gluing his hair to his face, but I knew something was wrong when he fell.

I ran out without caring about the dangers outside because Dante not surviving was the biggest danger to me. I hated how he’s given himself a dual purpose in my life, but I’ll choose survival until I can’t. I couldn’t let the ocean take him. I arrived in time for the water to push him farther on shore and was able to hold on to keep him from floating away. The cold water from the sky wasn’t enough to awaken him, and I knew that was bad.

Even with all the water, his blood was visible. I knew then I needed to give him medical aid.

The storm roared around me with lightning whitening the sky periodically while I located the tarp and fought with all my strength to roll him onto it. Luckily, wet sand is a little more reliable than dry sand.

My legs burned once I dragged him inside, but it didn’t matter. I had to stop the bleeding. His groan told me he was still alive. The ocean had rid him of the wig, so his brown hair clung to him. Dante has been such a powerful force in my life that I’d forgotten he was human. Nature reminded both of us.

I handcuffed him to the bottom of the bed. His cooperation was imperative, as his cut was pretty bad. I looked through everything until I found the necessary medical supplies, then started to strip him. The pants were the hardest to get off, and he was missing a boot. I stopped the bleeding, then cleaned the wound while praying that it wouldn't get infected. I didn’t have any antibiotics. My hands were shaking from the adrenaline, but they needed to be steady to patch him up. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, then started humming.

The music in my head eased my nerves. I was satisfied with the stitching, but even happier when he awakened. I didn’t want to have to find another way to move his big ass again. He stayed calm and almost amicable until he dozed off for the night. He was hurting, I could see that, but he did his damndest not to show it.

Once he finally fell into a restful sleep, it was like his whole body sighed. I, however, am still wired. Tending to him knocked away some of the fog I had been living under since being abducted. Bandaging him up was the closest I’d get to my old life. The rain still rages on, but I watch over him as I read on the tablet he gave me. There is no better escape than a good book.

Dante whines and grumbles to himself a few times, but I’m not alarmed since I’ve gotten used to it. He gets my attention when he starts crying and begging. I can’t quite make out what he says, but I know this isn’t the usual nightmare he’s had damn near every night. This is worse. His forehead is sweating, but he doesn’t have a fever. I moved when he started thrashing, giving him space to get through his episode, but my heart hurt with the way his voice sounds so small and helpless when he says, “Mommy? Daddy?”

Despite what the adult version has done to me, I hurt for what the child inside of him must have endured. My dad may have been distant, but he gave me the best of everything, and even though my mom died when I was younger, I still remember the love she gave me. My nanny, Antionette, moved near my boarding school and practically raised me since my dad was busy. Her love and kindness were what motivated me to help others. Sneaking up on Father was my attempt to make us closer but it did the opposite. I ran that night and never looked back.

He releases a broken cry that pulls a tear out of me. A flash from the lightning etches a tortured face that I’m sure he never shows anyone. Pain and vulnerability. I’ve never experienced the pain his night terror suggests, even at his hands.

Once again, I act although he’s not conscious to ask. His mind is torturing him, and I must pull him out of it. I’d rather him glare at me the rest of the night than to hear the cries of a broken man.

What the hell happened to him?