Page 36 of Break Me
“I didn’t think so either. The things they do”—she shakes her head—“there’s no way they’d get to keep this place running if someone official knew.” She sighs. “But I guess it’s better than nothing, don’t you think?”
I don’t have the heart to break her hopefulness, so I just wait for her to continue.
“And I feel safer here than I did out there.”
I want to shake my head ardently—let her know that she’s by no means safe here. But it seems cruel to destroy her hopefulness, especially since I can’t give her the truth and tell her what this place actually is. So I’d rather let her live in the illusion for as long as she can.
Before she can speak more heartbreaking hopefulness, I gesture to her, then to my mouth.
She frowns, not following. But when I hum gently behind the leather and point at her again, her eyes light up. “Oh, you want me to sing to you?”
I nod eagerly.
“I’d love to.” She leans her head against the door, still holding my hand, and the gray walls and dry scent of basement draw back as she starts singing. She keeps her voice soft, as if singing only for me—and maybe to not draw attention, knowing we’d both get in trouble for me being here—but her voice is breathtaking nonetheless. Warm and delicate. I don’t understand the Russian words, but her enunciation is clear and deep-felt as if every word is of great importance. It sounds like a lullaby for a child, full of love and warmth. It washes over me with a deep sense of calm, and I drift away with the notes. Time seems to suspend as she sings, and I close my eyes, forgetting where I am.
Her hope rubs off on me just the way I thought it would. I feel lighter, less burdened by the loss and uncertainties of everything, and for the next few days, I simply drift along without worrying or wondering too much.
Over the next few weeks, I go back there every chance I get. It’s not much, but often enough to appease the jittery unease that has been crawling inside me since the distant sound of Lavinia’s voice made me remember everything I had lost and Dax closing my pussy made me think of what I’ll lose as he hands me over to a new man.
By some miracle, Dax never finds out that I leave. Neither does any other guard. I’m careful, only running off after lunchtime like Lavinia suggested, and being quick to run back to Dax’s office when I hear a guard approach.
She tells me stories about her childhood town and sings me songs, and I hold her hand in turn and stroke her cheek when she’s trapped in the straitjacket. Our bond grows with each visit, solidifying a friendship stronger than any I’ve ever known despite our time together being short.
As careful as I am, I’m bound to get caught at some point. I know it, yet I keep returning. I think that day—getting caught—has come one day as I’m leaning against the door, enraptured by a beautiful folk tune she sings to me. Suddenly, I hear footsteps approaching, way too close. Usually, I stay alert, listening for approaching steps, so I can run off before they get too close. But this time, they’re just around the corner.
Pushing out from the door, I turn my head from side to side. There’s no way I’ll make it to the end of the hall in time; there’s nowhere to hide. So I make a quick decision. I close the hatch as quickly and soundlessly as I can, then step to the side of the door, lower my head, and gather my hands at my back. It’s the same way I always wait outside Dax’s office, and I hope to God the person approaching won’t find it strange that it’s not his office I’m standing outside.
My heart hammers in my chest as steps turn down the hall and I see a guard approach in my peripheral vision. It takes everything I have to keep my airflow steady so my nervous breaths rushing in and out of my nose won’t give me away.
The guard only casts a glance at me as he passes. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief, but then he stops and backs up two steps to stand in front of me.
“Are you Dax’s special project?” Grabbing my chin, he lifts my face to study it. “Hell, I can’t tell with that mask.”
He pulls my head forward and holds a scanner to the back of my neck. It makes a beep, and he releases me. I stop breathing as he reads the info on the screen, and I can’t help the relief that makes my shoulders drop as he says, “I don’t get why he lets you stand out here.” He lets his eyes glide down my body. “Untied and without a leash.”
With a shake of his head, he walks on, and I nearly collapse against the wall as relief pounds through my veins. The moment he’s gone, I rush back to Dax’s office, and my heart is still lodged in my throat when he comes to get me half an hour or so later.
Despite several good opportunities, I don’t come back for two whole weeks, too scared to repeat the incident and not get away with it. But eventually, the thought of her voice—her company—pulls me back. But as I open the cell and find her curled up on the mattress, locked in the straitjacket under the blankets, and she doesn’t even lift her gaze, I know something’s wrong.
Worry churns in my stomach as I gently tap the door and she still doesn’t look my way. Finally, as I tap my knuckles against the metal, she turns her head. She blinks like it takes effort to keep her eyes open, and her blue eyes look dull and lifeless.
Needing to feel her—to comfort her with my touch—I lift a hand to the hatch and wave it.
With slow, staggered movements, she gets off the mattress and approaches. She looks lost, sad, and dejected, and I can’t help but wonder if she has finally found out the truth about this place.
“Did you know?” she asks me, leaning her head against the door, close to the hatch so I can stroke her cheek. “That we’re all just sex slaves? That they’ll sell us?”
I nod, hating that I can’t give her a better answer.
“I thought he saved me,” she says, her eyes going distant again. “I actually thought I had finally found someone who wanted to help me.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “How stupid was I? Now he keeps me drugged up and locked in this jacket, afraid I’ll hurt myself.” Tears form in her eyes as she glances into the cell. “How am I supposed to do that in here?”
She doesn’t say any more. She just stands there, leaning against the door and letting me stroke her. I want to talk to her. Tell her that everything will be okay. But deep down, I know it won’t. Things might become some version of okay for me, but they probably never will for her. She doesn’t have Dax to protect her. Only the scary brute.
So maybe it’s for the best that I can’t speak. Even if I knew what to say, it would only cause her more sorrow. So I just stand there, forgetting about everything as I reach my hand through the hatch and stroke her hair, her temples, her cheeks, and her neck. Tears trickle down her face, but she never cries. Not truly. But I can tell there’s a vast ocean of grief hidden deep inside her, and I wonder if she keeps it locked up or if it’s the drugs that prevent it from flooding out.
I don’t know how long time passes, but once again, I get lost and only realize my inattention when steps echo too loudly through the halls.
Quickly, I close the hatch and step aside like I did the last time. My whole system seems to reel—from the shock of seeing Lavinia like that and from the threat of getting caught.