I never did get up and change. I vaguely remembered getting up to eat something. Let me rephrase, I remembered attempting to get up to eat something. My vision blacked, I fell back down, and I’d been sitting in bed, staring at my pictures ever since.
I was fucking hungry. I wanted a fucking shower, but I was too tired. I used to call this a waking coma. I was aware of everything that was happening, but I couldn’t do shit about it. I was too tired to move. I just had to lie in bed and deal.
Had to think about Anteros and his betrayal. About Lucia, my grandmother, actually being my mother. About how I was the product of incest. I had to wonder if that was why I was like this—a king and a queen had fucked and made me, a sick, twisted princess. Charles II of Spain had been so deformed from inbreeding that he was the last ruler of his line. Sort of like how I was the last Pavoni.
Awesome.
I had to see the bruises on my skin from Anteros kissing me and holding me too hard. Before those marks had driven me crazy, but now they caused deep grief in my soul, like someone had used a shovel to unearth all the pain. Before when I’d been trapped in bed, I had my thoughts and pictures to distract me; now they were a prison.
I thought about Gabby and how I’d betrayed her, and I wondered what Anteros was doing. It wasn’t even the afternoon yet, but he was always efficient. I wondered if he would go back to being Boss like nothing ever happened. Probably. That wasn’t good news for Levi, which meant it definitely wasn’t good news for Gabby.
I was an asshole.
Mostly I was an asshole because instead of being sorry for Gabby, for how I’d ripped her happiness away, I was sorry that I’d destroyed my only other friend. I had nowhere to go and was stuck in this fucking closet, thinking about what an inbred freak I was.
That made me a double asshole.
Sitting up, I swung my legs off the side so I could attempt to get some food. I was starting to get stronger. Only a few more hours of this and I would be back to normal, or at least what normal meant for me. That was how it worked: feel like you’re dying for a few hours and then bam, it’s like nothing ever happened. Just my body’s way of mindfucking me and reminding me that even though the doctors say I’m fine, I’m not.
It took me a while to get to the kitchen because I had to stop every few feet to breathe. When I got there, I stumbled on the table and knocked over floor cleaner Papa had left out—probably to get high, as he never fucking cleaned. It was clear and slippery, but I was too tired to mop it up.
I opened the freezer, praying for a TV dinner, when a sound caught my attention. I had never gotten the chance to lock the door, so I stared down the hallway, wondering if someone was coming to rob me. I didn’t have anything of value to steal, and once they figured that out, they would get angry and come for me. Footsteps got closer and as I was figuring my theory to be correct, the person appeared in the doorway.
“Gabby!” My grip on the freezer slipped, eyes widening.
“They’re coming for you,” she said. “They’re going to send you to The Institute.”
A million questions ran through my mind. Why is Gabby here? How did she know where to find me? I went with the most pressing one. Taking a deep breath, I asked her what she was talking about.
“I overheard Lucia talking and she knows you’re here and she’s been searching for you ever since you ran away and she’s pissed you ran and she wants to punish you.” Gabby said everything in one long sentence. When she finished, she rested on her knees, out of breath. I gave her a minute but when she stood up, I questioned her.
“How did she find me?” I closed the freezer and propped myself on the door—improvement. A few hours before, I couldn’t even do that.
Gabby shrugged. “I don’t know. She has cops on patrol, maybe she’s had them watching the traffic cameras, but that’s not important. We need to go.” She looked over her shoulder again, then at me. That’s when she paused. She raked her gaze over me, slowly taking everything in—the gorgeous dress, ripped and covered in blood.
“Frankie…” Her eyebrows caved. “What happened?”
I fiddled with the stained fabric. “I—” I didn’t know where to begin. With a truth, or a lie? I was so tired of lies. Gabby beat me to it, though.
“Frankie, she told me everything.” Her eyes crinkled with pity. “I just didn’t believe her.”
“What are you talking about?” I placed a hair behind my ear as if the nonchalant action would discount the blood in it.
“I was hoping it wasn’t true, but, it is. Isn’t it?” Gabby looked so much like Lucia, it was frightening. She was wearing a cream pantsuit, elegant heels, and the pink streak in her hair was gone. The transformation I’d witnessed happening just before I left was complete. I wasn’t sure what to say because I felt like I would be saying it to Lucia.
“You’re still sleeping with him, aren’t you? She said you love him. How could you Frankie? Is it Stockholm syndrome? Did something happen back when you were captive?” I stood up from the fridge slowly, hoping she wouldn’t notice how I wobbled. At least I could stand—again, improvement.
The significance of discussing this in the kitchen where I’d traded myself to Anteros wasn’t lost on me. I didn’t think it was Stockholm syndrome. If I hadn’t been taken, I wouldn’t have discovered my true self. It was just happenstance, a magical, dark happenstance. After a few minutes of silence, Gabby spoke again.
“Levi is going to kill him,” she said, voice quiet.
“I…” I dug my nails into my palm, focusing on the pain to keep my face still. I shouldn’t have cared. I shouldn’t. Rationally, I knew that. I’d left Anteros. He’d betrayed me. Still my gut twisted, my mouth dried. “I heard he died,” I finished. Why am I still protecting him?
Her brow crinkled. “Lucia doesn’t think so.”
“Why?” I released my fingers from my palm, leaving crescent-shaped marks in the flesh, and redirected my attention to the peeling countertop. I pulled up the rough edge, focusing on the scratchy brown underside.
“I’m so sorry, Frankie,” she said instead of answering me. “I had no idea you loved him.” Anger welled inside my chest—at Gabby for not telling me what the fuck was going on, then at myself because I’d done worse to her. “I’m sorry—”