The bruises on my face were already turning an ugly shade of purple. The side of my face that had been hit twice was progressively worse than where I fell on the cement floor. I stared at my swelling face in mild horror. What wasn’t purple or yellow-ish blue, was red from my crying. While I was surprised at the state of my face, I accepted it on some level. I was always going to be in some horrid state as long as I was forced to be around Mathias.

He yanked the crutch from my hand, forcing me to brace myself on the bathroom counter. He leaned it against the wall before turning his attention back to me. As lightly as he possibly could be, he wiped the dog slobber from my face. Brushing the tissue over my bruises gave me a tiny throb of pain. I was put on the counter when he finished wiping my face. “You want a shower?” He asked softly.

I nodded, hoping hot water on my skin would wash away my pain, would solidify in me that the day was over. There was no more they could do to me that I would be able to acknowledge. I watched him fling open the shower curtain, take note of Henri’s shower. “Do you think you can stand without support?” He turned his head back to me and I shook my head. I could barely stand with the crutch without my ankle or knee hurting. “Alright,” he said.

He took my shoes off gently, peeled my socks off. I gripped the edge of the counter to keep myself from pushing him away. I may be able to use his crush to my advantage. If I didn’t put up any more fights against him, maybe even act like I felt the same way towards him, there was a chance he would let me go. It was a slim chance, but any chance was better than none. He unwrapped the support on my broken ankle he had put on as tenderly as he had removed my boots. We were both men and I had been much more naked in front of him, but somehow the fact of knowing he liked me made me all more embarrassed, all the more anxious that I had to take off my jeans. I sat on the cold counter, waiting, while he retrieved something to waterproof my stitches.

During his absence, in the harsh lighting of the bathroom, I finally noticed how ugly my ankle looked. Swollen red, bruised black where he had smashed the boney part with the hammer. I wanted to hold it in some half attempt to make it feel better, but I knew nothing would make it throb less, make it hurt less. At least the bullet wound didn’t hurt as bad if I didn’t touch it, didn’t put weight on it. Mathias opened the door quietly and I saw the large dog behind him, cocking its head in curiosity. I heard its nails clink against the hardwood as he closed the door.

My thigh was wrapped in saran with duct tape keeping it sealed tight once more. I sat, naked, in the empty tub, wishing Mathias would leave me alone so I could drown myself. I curled myself up, my left leg tucked much closer against my chest than my right as I was scared of popping the stitches again. He had rolled his sleeves up to soak my hair in warm water. He didn’t need to do any of this. I was perfectly capable of sitting in the bathtub and washing myself if the urge to drown myself didn’t take over first. Maybe that was what he was afraid of. He finally had me, he wasn’t going to give me up that easily.

He set the detachable shower head to the side to lather shampoo in my hair. In what felt like a long time, the tension in my body seemed to soften at his fingers. Pressing to massage the shampoo into my hair with just enough force to calm me down a bit. I hated myself for liking it. He shot me. He broke my ankle. He violated me. He was taking care of me. I knew he was terrible, that he would do anything and everything to keep me attached to him, and he was being kind to me. I didn’t want to be swallowed up in his kindness.

He rinsed the shampoo from my hair, and I was reminded of how I washed Clarisse when she was young. I had done the same things for her. Washed her hair, made sure she didn’t hurt herself or go under the water. I was the only one she wanted to bathe her, throwing a fit otherwise. Margot would have to call me to calm her down. She would only listen to me in those early years before life got in our way. I started thinking about that brief interaction with Margot as I rubbed soap on myself. She didn’t look angry or hurt. Concern, shock, that’s what flooded her face when she realized it was me. I wish I had had more time to listen to her. I wanted to know what she’d say. If she would yell at me or cry out that she was happy I was safe.

I sat on the counter with a towel around my waist after he pulled me from the tub. I waited for him to come back once more. He didn’t tell me what he was doing, but I could guess he was grabbing a first aid kit, or something from my car, since he took my dirty clothes with him. I touched my bruised face, wincing at the pain from my poking at it. I breathed in the warmish air, tilting my head back to keep any surprise emotions down. I just wanted to break a bill. Now, I was full of injuries and the Russians needed me. What the hell had my father done?

Mathias forced the dog out of his way as he returned carrying two bags. One was that red bag from under his bed, the other a black duffel similar to what he used to rob the bank with. He set the red one on the counter on the other side of the sink; he put the black one on the floor. Silently, he wrapped my ankle again, tight enough to keep it stable, but not tight enough it agitated the break. Then, he tore the saran wrap and duct tape off my thigh and meticulously undid the gauze wrappings. He slathered a salve around the stitches, then wrapped it with fresh gauze. He dug a different ointment out of the bag and told me to turn my head. He rubbed it gently into my bruises.

The black duffel bag was filled with clothes. I was finally allowed to sit awkwardly in underwear instead of a towel while he dug around for pants, a shirt, and socks. Once dressed, he asked me what two things I wanted. I tried to answer him, but my throat closed again. I made fists with my hands, shaking a little as I tried to speak, only this time I started to taste that hand soap. “Okay,” he said and pulled a crumbled piece of paper and a pen out of his pocket. “Here.” He handed them to me, and I took them with trembling hands.

I used the counter to write down that I wanted to go home. I knew that he wasn’t going to do it, but I was holding onto that last fragment of hope. If he liked me that much, maybe there was a little piece in his heart that pitied me, that would bring me home. “No,” was his immediate answer when I held the paper up for him. “I said within reason.” I gripped the pen harder to keep my hand from shaking too much. I touched the tip to paper, trying to think of two things while he stared at me in anticipation. Ultimately, I wrote down,

I want to go home.

1.  I don’t want to sleep on the floor.

2.  Why do you have a crush on me?; what happened eleven years ago?

I held the paper up for him and he took it from my hands. He stuffed it back into his pocket, took the pen from my hand. “I can do the first one,” he answered. “I’ll tell you the second one at some point. Not around Henri. I don’t know how much English he understands, and I don’t wanna risk it.” I nodded. He helped me down from the counter, gave me back the crutch and we hobbled back towards the kitchen.

Henri was sitting at a small table, biting into a slice of pizza while scrolling and typing on his phone. His dog sat by him, head reaching above the table, licking its chops as it eyed the pizza in his hand. He glanced at us as we entered and set his phone down to point at us, then the stove, and said “Pizza.” in an odd Russian French accented English. He returned his attention back to his phone. Mathias asked if I was hungry, and I shook my head. I wanted to sit down, go to sleep, I’d even take crawling into a ditch and staying there until I withered away over having to eat anything Henri made. I nodded when Mathias asked if I was tired, and he parlayed this information back to Henri. “«There’s one bedroom; my bedroom. There’s a couch. I think it turns into a bed. »” He shooed us away at that point, more intrigued by whatever he was doing on his phone.

Slowly, we made our way over to the couch. I sat down and he took the crutch away from me. “I’ll mess with it in a bit,” he said, walked back to the kitchen.

I had a few seconds of peace before the dog padded over to me. It sat in front of me, put its huge head on my leg. I made a fist and held it in front of its nose. It sniffed at my hand then licked it. I stroked its head, relishing in the feel of its coarse fur. It put one of its huge paws on my leg, as if it knew what I was going through and felt for me. I scooted off the couch and sat on the floor next to it. I buried my face in its coat. I tried, and failed, to keep myself from crying. “You don’t know,” I said so quietly into its fur I wasn’t sure I was even speaking. “You’re the first unconditionally kind thing I’ve met in what feels like months.” I squeezed it and it nuzzled its head against mine. I breathed in the familiar scent of dog, calming myself down. “Thank you,” I told it. I removed my head from its warm body, and it started licking at the side of my face.

“— “Alko—" —” Henri started, but Mathias stopped him with a string of words I didn’t care to listen to. I sat there, holding the dog that was equally as big as me sitting down until it stood back up. Wondered off to do whatever it normally did in the house.

I climbed back onto the couch. I laid down on my left side and stared at the back of the beige couch. I closed my eyes a moment. Whatever happens, I decided, whatever Henri might do to me, as long as he didn’t rope my sisters into trying to find my father, I’d do what he needed me to do. And if he somehow got ahold of my sisters, I felt I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. There was something Simone used to say in her quiet voice. The liver was the best place to stab someone if we ever needed to because…I pressed my face into the back of the couch, trying to remember. Because it was…I struggled to recall what it was she had said. She had shown me the information in whatever anatomy book she was reading at that moment. But the words had slipped from my mind the moment I read them, and when she tried to explain to me in simpler terms, I pretended to understand. It had made less sense to me the way she had explained it.

The liver, that’s where I would stab either of them if ever needed to, if I ever got the chance. I rolled onto my back, resting my hands on my stomach. Where was the liver again? I knew it was in the abdomen, but which side? How far or low was it located in the cavity? I started to regret not paying attention in my biology classes, in not asking Simone more questions. I pressed my fingers around my stomach in an attempt to try to feel it. I knew that it was a stupid thing to do, that I couldn’t feel my liver, but it made me feel a little better. Calmed me down even more. My mind wandered on what my chances were getting a knife through the ribcage and puncturing a lung. It had to be slim, especially if I wasn’t able to feel the ribs before striking.

“Get up,” Mathias said, startling me out of my murder fantasies. His short hair was dripping water down his face and neck. I sat up. He had me slide onto the floor, move out of his way of messing with the couch. He threw the cushions onto the floor and started pulling at the bottom of it. When it didn’t budge he yelled, “«No! »”

Henri responded with his own “«No? There’s a couch. »”

Mathias put the cushions back on the couch. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he told me, helping me back onto the couch. I stayed sitting so I could watch Henri come back carrying pillows and blankets in his arms. He handed them to Mathias. “«Thanks. »”

“«Goodnight, »” Henri said. He turned on his heel, then effortlessly switched languages to snap and call, “—"Alkonost, bed’.”—” The dog padded to a heel next to him, and off they went further into the house.

Mathias gave me a pillow and I placed it where I was going to lay my head. He handed me a blanket next. I lied back down, pulling the blanket up to my neck. I closed my eyes, listening to him mess around with his makeshift bed. He was silent, the only noise the creaking of a wood board, then the lights flicked off. I was about to force myself to sleep in hopes that my dreams may give me some sort of reprise from this living nightmare when he spoke. “I’ll tell you number two now,” he whispered. “That is, if you still want.”