Page 17

SIXTEEN

Dante

My mind and body are at war. I want to move, but I can’t. The injury and exhaustion made it possible for an illness to consume me more than it ever has. I rarely get sick; I never had time to be ill. The few times I wasn't well, I was still able to take something or power through it. Not this time. My skin hurts every time she touches it, causing me to give myself lectures to not use the little energy I have to stab her.

I know Inaya means well, but her efforts piss me off. Like now, chills shake my body until my teeth clatter, but I clench my jaw to keep it from happening. I just need to warm up, but Inaya has taken the covers from me. She swears I’m too hot. The cold towels she places on me sting my skin, but my burning throat makes it hard to protest.

This is foreign to me. Any helplessness I’ve ever felt was at the hands of someone else. It was never the doing of my own body. I’m not sure if this is just an illness or the beginning of the end.

If I’m dying, I just might have to kill her now so we can die together. The alternative would be prolonged suffering for her. If I die and leave her here, she’ll be fine for a bit until she runs out of food, then she’d eventually starve to death. Her future shouldn’t matter to me, but it would be a fucked-up way to die.

While it is my plan to kill her, it was never about her suffering. It was about torturing her father. Quick and painless was my plan for her. My plan. It must be my altered state, but my goals don’t seem to calculate as well anymore. We don't need the island and maybe she doesn’t need to die for me to get revenge. I'll kill Father either way.

None of it will matter if I cannot get out of this fucking bed. My mind screams when my body doesn't follow its command.

Fuck! This is some bullshit.

"Please, sip," she whispers. "You need something in your system to take your medicine." She sounds so sincere that I almost comply, but I'm still mad and cold. "Please, Dante. You need this to help restore your strength. Just a few sips, meds, and rest." I hear her sniff, and it helps me place the sentiment I haven't heard since childhood. Concern. “Please…take the rest you've never had. Let your body do its job."

I don't like rest; it provides too much space for my brain to relive everything that's happened to me. My dreams are the only part of me that's still scared of Father. He's been my recurring nightmare since we met and while I wouldn't hesitate to kill him in the flesh, I can never accomplish it in my dreams. However, I decide that Inaya is right. My body needs this. I cannot kill him if I'm dead. Pure hatred for Father laced with delicate encouragement from his daughter was the motivation I needed to part my aching lips.

Her sigh of relief makes me open my eyes, just to get a glimpse of her expression. Hopeful.

The smoothie coats my burning throat, and pills seem massive as I swallow. The coldness still consumes me, but it's the kiss to my sweaty forehead that makes me put killing her back on the table.

Her father cannot rule my nightmares while she tries to star in my dreams. There aren’t any happy endings for me. My life is one continuous tragedy, and she doesn’t need to feed me the idea that someone can or will care for me.

Hope is the most dangerous thing to give someone. I don’t want her hope. I want my vengeance. My body relaxes as whatever she gave me takes hold of my functions and starts to shut them down. Rest, then vengeance, I tell myself to keep from fighting my sleep. Even if my brain isn’t quiet, my body will be.

It must be. True silence isn’t something I’ve ever been able to achieve, but the drugs in my system don't care. Everything was black until the nightmares rolled in again.

My naked body was strapped down to a bed as shivers took over my body. Father had the air so low that the coldness hurt. The skin at my wrists and ankles were raw and bloody from my attempts to break free. I want out of this room, off this dirty mattress, and away from Father.

Tears clouded my eyes, but an electroshock fried my nerves, making it impossible to scream from the pain.

“I told you, Dante. Your emotions aren’t wanted here,” Father whispered near my ear. I prayed he’d get close enough for me to bite off his nose. His laugh grated my nerves, pulled my hate closer to the surface. The spark in my eyes just added a tinge of amusement to his dead glare. “That’s it. Bring the fire and stop being a little bitch.” He spat in my eye, then slapped me as if he just had a bad memory. “How dare you try to kill yourself after all I’ve done for you!” He grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into my skin until I’m bleeding. “I stuck around when your parents didn’t.”

It was his favorite wound to exploit because he knew that I couldn’t understand how they seemed to love me so much, only to choose to disappear. What did I do to make them leave? Pain ripped through me as he punctured me in the side. My screams meant nothing to him as my blood oozed out and pooled underneath me. The only solace in that moment was that my blood was warm.

“I’ve had you for twelve years; rescued you when you were six and you tried to leave me! It’s your turn to take care of me. Protect me like I protected you all these years. I’m disappointed, Dante.”

His disapproval still had the power to hurt me. It made me want to do anything to earn his respect.

“You’re right, Father. I’ve been too emotional,” I choked out. I learned long ago that it was easier to just agree with him; to just do what he wants. The last part of me who was still that well-loved six-year-old, who believed that there was goodness in everyone, died as my tears dried. “I’ll make you proud."

I thrashed in my sleep, trying to pull myself out of my misery, or at least change it from what I knew as my reality, but everything went still. This time, the torture didn’t continue like it really did. My brain didn’t force me to remember the rest of what he did that day.

Instead, he started to choke. Blood poured out of his orifices then he disintegrated, floating away in crumbs of himself. My body warmed and all the pain associated with Father faded. Sunshine replaced darkness, and the abandoned house was now a perfect day where the sun and wind were in harmony. The light felt great on my skin but not enough to overheat me. I was in a field of flowers of all types that blended brilliantly into a colorful masterpiece.

“Dante!” Inaya called for me; I felt compelled to go to her.

I followed her voice until I found her in a clearing. Her smile was bright as she waited for me on a picnic blanket. Her hair flowed freely, each curl on her head was perfectly defined. Her soft yellow dress brought out the brown in her skin. She practically glowed like a beacon despite the sun’s effort to be my only source of light.

“Come, Dante,” she called out while waving her hand.

I walked toward her with bare feet. My once naked body was covered with a white linen shirt and navy shorts. I laid down on the blanket and she pulled my head into her lap. Everything was calm as I watched the clouds float by in the clear blue sky.

Inaya hummed a song as she ran her fingers through my hair. As my eyes drifted closed, I heard her whisper.

“I have you now. Rest.”

The quietness I've been seeking for years settled over me, because she somehow neutralized the chaos inside of me.