Page 113 of Retrograde

A part of me feels the way it has felt with him for weeks. Safe. But that part of me is a fool. That part of me is a liar. He told me himself. Every gesture of kindness, every seeming sign of affection ... it has all been nothing but a ruse.

I’m not safe with him. He’s only biding his time until he hurts me again.

The bathroom is barely big enough to fit a shower stall, a toilet, and a sink equipped with two plastic-wrapped cups and packaged toothbrushes. Aron sets me down, holding me firmly around the waist like he’s worried I might collapse to the ground. Which he’s not wrong to be, I realise as I stumble, catching the side of the sink to stabilise myself. A hollow-eyed ghost stares back at me from the mirror.

I reach for the toothbrush, unwrapping it with shaking hands, suddenly all too aware of the vile tang in my mouth. The minty toothpaste tastes like a touch of heaven.

When I’m done, Aron reaches around to undo the belt slowly, like he doesn’t want to spook me.

“Let me help you. You might get dizzy.”

He turns on the stream, adjusting the creaking faucet. I don’t protest when he pulls the robes over my head and leads me into the stall, his hand on the small of my back. Warm water falls over my head, and with it, my sobs break free, my whole body quaking. He stands behind me, hands on my waist to make sure I don’t fall.

“It’s alright,” he keeps saying. “He can’t get to you anymore.”

He doesn’t have to, I think. You’re here to break whatever’s left of me.

ARON

I lead towel-wrapped Riley out of the bathroom. The tips of her damp hair leave wet trails across her shoulders whenever she turns her head. She smells of shampoo.

The feel of her between my hands is monumental and daunting. I could so easily have lost her. I have so nearly lost her, before I even realised that losing her would mean losing absolutely everything.

She isn’t saying much. It hurts her to speak. Her voice is hoarse from screaming down there with nothing to drink. It will pass. It has to pass.

I tuck her into bed, hand her a sandwich and convince her to take a few bites. She sinks into the pillow, closing her eyes. I wish she would fall asleep, but she barely rests for a minute before looking straight at me, her eyes tired and full of pain.

“Aron, please ...” When she tries to speak, it sounds like there’s a live crab lodged in her throat.

My own throat constricts in sympathy.

“What? What do you need?”

I reach for her face, and she flinches for about the tenth time today, squeezing her eyes shut and whimpering. She settles when I cup her face gently.

“Do it now.” Every word is an ordeal.

I chew my cheek, and copper fills my mouth. I want to get angry. I yearn for the comforting oblivion of my wrath, for the familiar shield of my rage protecting me from this guilt, this regret, this helplessness. But I resist it. Not only is it a mercy I don’t deserve, but I need to hold it together for Riley. And I will. I will not expose her to my fury—definitely not now, and not ever again if I can help it.

“Do what now?” I ask her softly, and I lay my hand on top of hers.

“Punish me,” she replies simply in her pained, raspy voice, holding my gaze in something much worse than a challenge. A defeat.

My face catches on fire, shame searing through my body and right into the depths of my black soul.

“I ran. I knew what would happen if you caught me, and you did.”

Her features contort, sobs racking her body, but her eyes stay dry—she’s still too dehydrated for tears.

“All I’m asking is that whatever you want to do to me, do it now,” she continues. “I just spent hours, days waiting to die in a tomb. Please, Aron. Hurt me all you like. Just don’t make me wait anymore.” This is the most she has spoken since the rescue, and it triggers a coughing fit.

“Riley, the last thing I want to do is hurt you,” I assure her when it stops.

“It’s all you’ve ever wanted. You made that clear. You’re just fucking with my head again. Every word, every touch, it’s all a trap. A lie. You are lying.”

“I was lying, Riley. Was. To you and to myself. But not anymore.” I reach out to tug a stray strand of damp hair behind her ear, my touch reverent. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realise. But I swear to you, you’re safe with me.”

“Safe with you?” she repeats more forcefully. “Safe with you? My best friend is dead, I had my worst fear come true, and I’m exiled. All because of you.” Her eyes lock into mine, the look in them forceful, accusing, damning. “All because you chose to be hateful when you could have been kind. Vengeful when you could have shown forgiveness. All because of the choices you made.” Her nostrils flare. “You’ve already destroyed me, and it’s still not enough. It will never be enough. Why do you have to be so obsessed with me?”