“You really should tell me your name. You’re blue. I mean, like Smurf blue. I’d hate to see you die of pneumonia before we even get a chance to chat.” I hear a scrape of a chair, and he settles himself in front of me. “Your tank top is still wet. You have great tits, princess. Tight little nipples.”
I say nothing. There’s a dark part of me, a small voice but growing louder that speaks up after his threat of dying from pneumonia. I’ve had it before, when I was fifteen. I ended up in the hospital when the standard antibiotics couldn’t clear it from my lungs. The doctor said I would be more susceptible to getting it again.
Would it really be so bad, the cold little voice suggests, if you just… let the pneumonia do the work? You don’t want to exist as just a breeder for the rest of your life. Longing for Lucca forever and knowing he’s in love with someone else? Another woman having his children?
“...getting hungry yet, princess? You must be…”
You’re not really disobeying your family if you die, the voice whispers this time, more intimately, it wouldn’t be your fault. They’d figure out something else if they can’t use you.
Another slap jolts me out of my thoughts. “You’re hurting my feelings, princess. I feel like you’re not listening to me.”
There’s a click and a light so bright that it’s glowing through the thick material of the hood. He rips it off me and a groan escapes as I squint, trying to turn away from the light searing my corneas.
He starts laughing, it’s harsh and mocking. “Aw, princess. You pissed yourself. Did you even know? Yeah, you’ve been sitting in your own piss. That’s fucking pathetic.”
Don’t underestimate the impact of humiliation. It’s Professor Campell’s voice again. Sometimes, the words can cut deeper than a knife. Be prepared for that.
“If you give me your name, princess, I’ll get you out of this chair and you can take off those piss-soaked clothes. Take a nice, hot shower, put on something warm? I’ll even slap a band aid on that toe.” I still can’t see enough through the spotlight to determine anything other than his shape. “What do you say?”
I close my eyes again and he leaves, slamming the door behind him. The light stays on, searing my eyelids.
Professor Campbell’s voice is trying to remind me of what to do next, how to prepare for the next round of torture. But the cold little voice is whispering in my ear, and she’s drowning out the professor.
It wouldn’t be so bad. You’ll just go to sleep. It’s not like you let Roman down. He sent you here. It’s not your fault you got sick…
“What the fuck did you do to her!”
Oh, I didn’t even hear the door open this time.
“Stupido bastardo! She’s ice cold! Fuck- I can’t find a pulse!” I hear the sudden terror in his voice and I realize that it’s Lucca. I feel hands tearing at the bonds on my wrists and ankles and I moan as I’m lifted out of the chair. My head lolls against his shoulder and the comforting scent of his cedar, rum, wintergreen, and worn leather fills my senses. He’s putting his jacket around me before taking off for the steps leading out of the basement at a run.
“Where the fuck is Dr. Giardo! Why the fuck wasn’t he checking on her! He’s supposed to monitor all the interrogation subjects!” I hear terror in his voice and I feel sad that he’s upset. Even though he’s jostling me painfully as he breaks into a run, I don’t care. I’m so happy he’s holding me. He’s so warm…
Chapter Twenty-Six
In which love is stronger than despair. Also, Aleksandr’s dad is such a perv.
Tatiana…
“Ti amo, dolce ragazza. Per favore svegliati. I love you, sweet girl. Please wake up…”
There’s the whisper of a prayer. It’s in Italian but something about the rhythm tells me I’m right.
Lucca… my mouth shapes the word but I don’t think I spoke it. A calloused finger strokes over my lips.
“Piccolo bacio. Wake up, baby. Ti amo…”
Bozhe moy, I feel like a litterbox that hasn’t been cleaned in a year.
“Tati?”
It’s Lucca, my eyes open and he’s blurry. Trying to smile as much as my cracked lips allow me, I whisper, “Hey, velikolepnyy.”
He presses his lips to my forehead and pulls away abruptly, yanking open the door. “She’s awake!”
“Move over!” It’s the cranky voice of Dr. Giardo. “Miss Aslanova, you gave us quite a scare.” His thumb pulls open my eyelid, shining his light against my defenseless cornea. “Why didn’t you tap out?”
“What?”
Is that my voice? I sound like I’m 800 years old.
“Why didn’t you call an end to the exercise when you reached your limit?” Giardo elaborates crossly.
“Oh,” I croaked. “I didn’t know I could.”
He pulls back. “Did you pay attention to any of the instructions? At all?”
I’m looking past him to Lucca, who is hovering as close as he can. He looks so beautiful, his amber eyes glowing for me like they used to.
“Well, you passed the exam with flying colors,” the doctor grumbles, checking the rest of my vitals. “You’ll stay here in the clinic until you’ve recovered from pneumonia and the additional lung infection. Your classmates can bring your study materials here.” He stabs a finger at Lucca. “You have fifteen minutes, then she needs her rest. Don’t agitate her.”
Extending my hand, I see there’s an IV taped to it. There’s a breathing tube looped under my nose and a plethora of machines around me. Lucca looks down at my hand for a moment and sighs, taking it and sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Why did you do that? Do you know how close you came to dying?”
“You saved me, right?” I croak, “I remember… your jacket? And you were so warm.”
“You lasted the longest of any of the Spy group,” he said angrily. “They’re supposed to monitor your vitals. I had to get past the guards into the Catacombs to look for you. Fuck, Tati! You were blue and you weren’t moving. Those stupidi bastardi didn’t even notice how bad off you were. The notes praised you for being so tough. ‘She hasn’t spoken once!’”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
He gently lifted my head, helping me take a sip of water. It felt so good going down my sore throat. “Take a little more,” he said. “I’ve been feeding you ice chips for the last week.”
“A week?” I rasped, “I’ve been here for a week?”
“Yes,” he nodded.
“I’m sorry.” His hand smooths my lank, greasy hair back from my forehead, and I close my eyes. “I must look and smell disgusting,” I groan.
“You’ve smelled better,” he’s trying to smother a grin.
“Nice bedside manner,” I sass weakly.
“Everyone’s worried as hell,” he said, “the Dean and Professors Suarez and Campell even came by to check on you. Campbell said to tell you that you get a guaranteed passing grade for the rest of the year in her class. In fact, she would really prefer that you not participate in any more practical application exams.”
My little chuckle turns into a very unattractive coughing fit. Lucca helps me sit up to catch my breath. Over his shoulder, I see an uncomfortable-looking little metal cot with a blanket. “Have you been sleeping in here? Your back must be killing you.”