door, tightened my jacket around my body, left the car unlocked.
I dashed down the dark corridor to Melody’s room, hunched over and fast in my movements, pulled out my debit card as I got closer. I took a deep breath and held it, placed one hand on the knob, slid my card over the lock with the other, and quietly opened the door, slid in, and pulled it behind me.
Our two worlds, once hurtling toward one another, finally collided.
I stood in the corner and let my eyes adjust to the darkness, and when they finally focused through the grain of black and white, I could see the shape of Melody’s body balled up under the covers, could smell vinegary chemicals lingering in the air, the noise of the ventilator near the window humming loud enough to cover my steps.
Everything about who she was, all the innocence, the flesh and the spirit, was trapped under those blankets, and I hated myself for having to disrupt it, for having to toss her into a swirl of fear even if just for a minute.
I stepped toward the bed like a cat positioning to pounce, and with each footstep I could see more of her, watched as the covers rose and fell with each breath, then her nose move each time she inhaled.
All the risks, all the following, all the worrying, all the wonder, every thought I’d ever had about her collapsed like a black hole, and out the other end churned an energy as sharp and bright as a laser.
I closed my eyes and took the final step forward, close enough to reach down and kiss her on the lips, to smell the powdery scent of her skin. How gently I could have whispered in her ear, “I’m here to save you, Melody. You’ll never have to run again.”
Instead, I reached inside my jacket, pulled out a pen, and pressed the point to her neck with all the strength and intent of killing her.
FINCHÉ C’È VITA,
C’È SPERANZA
(AS LONG AS THERE IS LIFE,
THERE IS HOPE)
ONE
And then her body stops rising and falling, her nose stops moving.
She shivers and says this: “Ow.”
Through all of my years of anger and violence and fist-pounding, I can’t muster it here to save my life. There is no faking it. If only she knew: This is going to hurt me a lot more than it’s going to hurt you. I shake my head in disappointment with myself, quietly mumble, “Oh, sorry,” like I just blew a take on a movie set.
I stand up a little, loosen my grip on her neck, and whisper in her ear, “I’m gonna let you go. Do not scream. Do you understand?”
She shakes her head but I think she meant to nod, and as I release her, her fingers dance around her neck as though she’s expecting to find a small pool of blood. I pull back a few paces, ready to bolt if she begins screaming; I can only hope that capturing her and so quickly freeing her will provide for a temporary form of trust. Or at least confusion.
As I watch her rub her neck through the grain, see her shake and hear her breathe and force back a nervous cry, I can tell she peed herself. And now I know I could never understand the degree of terror and trepidation she must have been living with day after day for two decades. I stand ashamed; through all my years of despicable behavior I have never despised who I am as much as I do right now.
Melody stumbles out of bed, keeps her distance. We face each other in the dark silence, she energized by panic, I dispirited by disgrace.
I reach in my jacket, pull out my keys, and press the button on my keychain flashlight, shine it around the room until I spot the wall switch. I flip on the light and stare at her and hope she can’t tell how hard I’m swallowing. She squints as a yellow hue fills the room, holds her hands to her chest like a praying child. She’s wearing a loose-fitting camisole and pajama bottoms, her hair has been chopped short and is two shades lighter than it was just hours earlier, the bangs that danced above her eyes abbreviated to expose her forehead. Then comes a flurry of details I could’ve never gotten close enough to notice: the exact diamond shape of her jawline, the dark rims of her irises that give her eyes