more of a gentleman. I didn’t know.”
“You know now and you were perfect.” I spread my legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him inside me.
After the first time we made love, Michael bounded up the stairs after me, saying, “Blood doesn’t scare me.” I pointed him to my bed, said I was going to jump in the shower. He said, “You look beautiful.” I ignored him. In the shower, I stood under the hot stream of water, my arm against the wall, my head against my arm, trying to make sense of how fairy tales begin.
A new day, a rough hand pulled me to my feet by my hair. My scalp screamed, had already withstood so much. I tried to stand, disoriented. Again, I didn’t remember falling asleep. I still couldn’t breathe. I ached. I wanted a moment of clean, fresh air. I wanted water. I smelled sharp and sour. My stomach rolled.
The Commander shoved a phone into my hand. “It has been two days,” he shouted. Thick strands of saliva flew out of his mouth, wrapped around each word. “Why doesn’t your father pay?”
I shrank, trying to find an answer that might satisfy us both. That answer did not exist. “I told you. My father will not negotiate. You are wasting your time. You stole the wrong woman.”
The Commander grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. The pain was so sudden I gasped. The muscles in my shoulder twisted uncomfortably and I tried to do anything to make my body stop feeling like it was being pulled apart.
“Call your father,” he said.
I tried to dial the number using my thumb. It was hard to focus on the numbers and the pain at the same time, hard to figure out how to manage either. I was not going to cry. That’s what I kept telling myself. I was sick of those words. When my father answered, I said, “It’s me.” I looked at the Commander. “What do you want me to say?”
He twisted my arm harder. I bit my lip but tried to make no sound, no sound at all. “I want your father to hear what is happening to you while he wastes time negotiating or not negotiating, as the case may be. I am the one who does not negotiate, not him.”
I was shoved against a wall and dropped the phone. The impact threw me off balance but still I was silent. The Commander handed me the phone again. “Tell your father. Tell him how you’re being treated.”
When I looked at the Commander closely, I realized how young he was. Not even the hideous scar beneath his eye could hide how little he knew despite how much he knew, that he was, in his skin, more boy than man. I told myself he could not force me to do anything. He could not make me dance for him. Or it was that the Commander did not understand how I knew my father, a man who has put great faith in himself. That faith has always been richly rewarded. Performing my distress for my father to demonstrate how badly I was being treated would serve no purpose. I am, or I was, very much like my father. I shook my head. I did not waver. I did not look away. I held the phone to my ear again and said, “I am fine and being treated as well as can be expected, but I am ready to come home.”
“We hope to have this situation resolved soon,” my father said, calmly. “Stay strong.” His ability to remain calm under any circumstance has always surprised me. During my thirteen days of captivity I spoke to my father several times. His voice never wavered.
I wanted to ask for Michael but I did not want to give the Commander the satisfaction of knowing what or who mattered most. I tried to think of something funny I could say, something clever. I couldn’t. I was violently hungry so I said, “Tell my husband to get in the kitchen and make me some damn dinner.”
The Commander gave me a look. In that stifling hot room, I was instantly cold.
My arm was wrenched so tightly the bone seemed to stretch away from my shoulder socket. The pain made all the air in my chest disappear. The room went white and then black and then white again. I ended the phone
“You know now and you were perfect.” I spread my legs, wrapping them around his waist, pulling him inside me.
After the first time we made love, Michael bounded up the stairs after me, saying, “Blood doesn’t scare me.” I pointed him to my bed, said I was going to jump in the shower. He said, “You look beautiful.” I ignored him. In the shower, I stood under the hot stream of water, my arm against the wall, my head against my arm, trying to make sense of how fairy tales begin.
A new day, a rough hand pulled me to my feet by my hair. My scalp screamed, had already withstood so much. I tried to stand, disoriented. Again, I didn’t remember falling asleep. I still couldn’t breathe. I ached. I wanted a moment of clean, fresh air. I wanted water. I smelled sharp and sour. My stomach rolled.
The Commander shoved a phone into my hand. “It has been two days,” he shouted. Thick strands of saliva flew out of his mouth, wrapped around each word. “Why doesn’t your father pay?”
I shrank, trying to find an answer that might satisfy us both. That answer did not exist. “I told you. My father will not negotiate. You are wasting your time. You stole the wrong woman.”
The Commander grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. The pain was so sudden I gasped. The muscles in my shoulder twisted uncomfortably and I tried to do anything to make my body stop feeling like it was being pulled apart.
“Call your father,” he said.
I tried to dial the number using my thumb. It was hard to focus on the numbers and the pain at the same time, hard to figure out how to manage either. I was not going to cry. That’s what I kept telling myself. I was sick of those words. When my father answered, I said, “It’s me.” I looked at the Commander. “What do you want me to say?”
He twisted my arm harder. I bit my lip but tried to make no sound, no sound at all. “I want your father to hear what is happening to you while he wastes time negotiating or not negotiating, as the case may be. I am the one who does not negotiate, not him.”
I was shoved against a wall and dropped the phone. The impact threw me off balance but still I was silent. The Commander handed me the phone again. “Tell your father. Tell him how you’re being treated.”
When I looked at the Commander closely, I realized how young he was. Not even the hideous scar beneath his eye could hide how little he knew despite how much he knew, that he was, in his skin, more boy than man. I told myself he could not force me to do anything. He could not make me dance for him. Or it was that the Commander did not understand how I knew my father, a man who has put great faith in himself. That faith has always been richly rewarded. Performing my distress for my father to demonstrate how badly I was being treated would serve no purpose. I am, or I was, very much like my father. I shook my head. I did not waver. I did not look away. I held the phone to my ear again and said, “I am fine and being treated as well as can be expected, but I am ready to come home.”
“We hope to have this situation resolved soon,” my father said, calmly. “Stay strong.” His ability to remain calm under any circumstance has always surprised me. During my thirteen days of captivity I spoke to my father several times. His voice never wavered.
I wanted to ask for Michael but I did not want to give the Commander the satisfaction of knowing what or who mattered most. I tried to think of something funny I could say, something clever. I couldn’t. I was violently hungry so I said, “Tell my husband to get in the kitchen and make me some damn dinner.”
The Commander gave me a look. In that stifling hot room, I was instantly cold.
My arm was wrenched so tightly the bone seemed to stretch away from my shoulder socket. The pain made all the air in my chest disappear. The room went white and then black and then white again. I ended the phone
Similar Books
