I’ve never been as alone as I feel now, handing Colin back his phone. I feel like I’ve just barely survived a plane crash, and I’m stranded alone on an island. There are no people around. There are no trees. It’s a barren patch of land, just a small sandbar, assuring I’ll never be found, never be rescued. Guaranteeing I’ll never return to civilization.
I know I won’t. I might survive this family, but I’ll never escape them.
Maybe they’ve never called me a prisoner, but they have a way of repackaging ugly realities to make them seem more appealing. I’m clearly not free to leave, or to make my own choices. I move when they tell me to. I go to sleep beside who they tell me to. I eat when and where they tell me to. I even dress how they tell me to. I’m told I’m free to leave if my relationships ever end; only loving these men is like giving a blood oath. They get their hooks into you, they rip you apart, and they don’t ever let go—even if you beg them to.
Colin doesn’t leave.
He texts on his phone instead of talking, and he doesn’t speak to either one of us. He gets out his gun so we know he has it, but he doesn’t make a move.
I sit on our couch and try not to think about the hellish encounter I’m about to endure. I stare at the bookshelf full of graphic novels Mateo bought me. I try to recall exactly what it was he said—something about how I believed good always triumphed over evil, but it didn’t, and he could’ve told me that. I ruminate on how different I felt coming home from his poker game the night I sold myself to him for a house. For a chance to get away. I had hope for the future, but I still felt so jaded by my present.
I’ve sunk even lower now. I didn’t think it was possible that night, the way I felt.
I think maybe there’s always a lower level here. You hit rock bottom and the floor opens up to show you a new low. It’s infinite. Maybe I really am in Hell. Maybe Mateo really is the devil. Vince is my inescapable demon. Maybe they’re going to keep ripping me apart like this for the rest of eternity. Maybe this is my fate, and there’s no escaping it.
I’m so tired. It’s taking forever for Mateo to get here. I wonder what he’s going to do, how he’s going to play this. He was certainly pissed off at me when he hung up the phone, so I don’t think he’ll take the tender approach. He’ll come in logical; probably interrogate me more about what Vince said to scare me. I’ll have to lie to him again. Me, the person who’s tried so hard to be loyal to him.
That’s what I expect, when I finally hear his car pull up outside.
Even-keeled sociopath, like Mark said.
What I don’t expect is for him to storm in, his brown eyes blazing with fury. I’m taken aback that he’s showing his feelings in front of them and not just me—anger may not be a pleasant emotion, but it’s still an emotion, and Mateo likes to appear untouchable. I just told Mateo I would rather stay with Vince than be with him. If I meant it, if Vince believed I meant it, I can’t imagine Mateo would want Vince to know it actually mattered to him. That we’re actually hurting him. Yet here he is, master of the pokerface, showing his hand.
He doesn’t stop at the door. He doesn’t approach the couch and grill me. He rages in like a storm, rips Vince off the couch by the shirt he’s now wearing, and throws him against the wall. Vince is clearly not expecting it either since Mateo generally prefers mental warfare to physical violence, but before he can recover his balance, Mateo punches him in the jaw.
“Stop,” I shriek, jumping off the couch.
“Sit the fuck down,” Mateo barks at me.
Eyes wide, I drop back onto the couch.
Vince comes up swinging this time and I gasp as he clips Mateo in the jaw. I know Mateo told me to sit, but Colin isn’t helping and I know Adrian’s in the car. I’m tempted to run out and get him, but I’m also afraid to leave them alone. I know Colin would step in to help Mateo, but Colin isn’t going to keep Vince alive.
They keep that up for a couple minutes, punching each other, blocking, attacking. My heart starts and stops a dozen times since I’m invested in both sides, but I take it as a good sign that no one’s pulled a gun. Maybe they just need to punch each other a few times. They both have plenty of testosterone to spare.