Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
There are marks on my body that weren’t there before, sores and scabs, and one ugly scar above the line of dirty blonde hair that lies in a pelt between my thighs. I shut my eyes so I don’t have to look at it.
“We all have scars, Riley,” he says. “Don’t be ashamed of it.”
I’m not ashamed. It makes me feel terrible to look at it. It makes me feel deep loss. And it makes the ringing in my ears start all over again. I put my hands to my ears and shake my head. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to remember.
But I am starting to remember.
Angelo.
The name of the man bathing me is Angelo.
He gently takes my wrists and lowers them into the water where they feel warmer and better and I feel safer.
“I know you were hurt, Riley,” he says. “And I know the people you relied on to help you were the ones who hurt you. And I know you have been alone. I could not help you before. You were watched. At least, until you slid from society and became something they were ashamed to look at. You may feel broken, but I can assure you, you are truly free for the first time in your life.”
The ringing in my ears fades as he speaks. I look up into his uncommonly handsome face, and I see something I have not seen in the eyes of any person in a long time. I see acceptance. Full. Complete. Unconditional acceptance of me and who I am.
The numbness is fading, leaving me raw. I am one big wound, and I wail like one, turning into tears that run down my cheeks and join the bathwater which embraces them like old friends.
Angelo makes a soft tutting sound and helps me stand, lifting me under my arms. He pulls me into an embrace, though he is fully clothed, albeit with his shirt sleeves rolled up. I soak him with my wet nudity, but he does not care. He grabs me up entirely out of the bath. My legs wrap instinctively around his waist. I cling to him like a baby monkey clings to its mother and he carries me out of the bathroom and into a bedroom I remember.
It feels like home.
There is clothing. None of it fits, but I do not mind because all of it smells like him, and Bobby. I remember Bobby too. I remember everything I locked away and kept repressed to avoid the prying eyes of the agency who ruined and abandoned me.
Angelo dresses me in a thick, hooded sweatshirt that falls to my knees. It feels like something Bobby would want to wear, and Angelo would not tolerate. But he is letting me wear it, and it wraps around me all cozy.
“We are going to shop for you. But for the moment…” He crouches down and puts big, long socks on my feet, cozy fabric wrapping around my quickly cooling extremities and rising all the way to my knees. I am not wearing any underwear. I am barely clothed, but he has made me feel covered and comforted and safe.
“Now,” Angelo says when he is happy with me. “Let’s go get you fed again.”
11
I eat. I sleep. I bathe. I eat. I sleep again. I don’t know how many days it takes for the fog of incoherence to leave me to the point I start to feel more like my old self, but slowly and surely I do start to recover.
Angelo’s Sicilian roots are never more prominent than when he is feeding those he cares for. I am a stray brought in out of the cold and he is treating me like I matter.
I owe him my life. I know that to my core. If not for him I would have frozen or been assaulted or otherwise come to one of the many unpleasant ends society deems fit for lost souls who no longer fit into the required mold.
It also turns out I owe Bobby a very unexpected debt. That comes out after dinner one evening, where he sits down next to me and fixes me with that hollow stare of his.
“Are you still mental or what?” Bobby’s question is blunt.
“I’m…” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Almost didn’t recognize you under that bridge. I was going to ice this guy and then I saw you, and I thought that looks like Riley, and it fucking was you. Thought you might be undercover, but then I smelled you…”
“Bobby,” Angelo says, his tone full of warning. Angelo has been protective of me when it comes to Bobby. Bobby is hard on everyone he meets, and in my delicate state he could easily destroy me. He is being careful, though, as careful as any psychotic can be. When I am around him, I feel like I’m in the presence of a large wild animal, a wolf or a bear, something that is clumsily trying to be careful with me but might snap me in half anyway.