I find Damian in the kitchen. He’s either in here or up in his study. It’s the one place in the house I’m not allowed to go. I haven’t been outside yet. I’m not brave enough to take that step.
“I’d give you something to help you sleep, but I don’t want to struggle to wake you up if shit comes banging on the door and we have to run in the middle of the night,” he says, giving me an onceover like he always does.
I stop halfway into the kitchen and turn to him. “Morning to you, too,” I whisper. Can we at least start off with a greeting and coffee before he has to remind me of where I am and why?
Two weeks. I’ve been here for two weeks already, but it feels like it’s only been a day. I’ve fallen into a routine of cleaning and cooking, not that there’s much to clean, and cooking consists of heating up frozen dinners. I’m not complaining at all. Anything is better than Cup O’ Noodles.
I haven’t had a full night of rest since we left the motel. I know it’s because Damian now sleeps in his own room. I realize how safe I felt with him watching over me. I’m too scared to sleep for long periods of time. The nights go by slowly, stretching the darkness in me to breaking point. It’s a constant battle to keep the memories buried.
Damian is patient with me. He doesn’t ask many questions. I have lots, but I don’t dare ask them.
“Morning, Cara.” He smiles for the first time and it robs me of my breath. It makes him look younger. He almost looks normal where he sits smiling at me until I see the black ink snaking up from under his shirt and everything about him comes back into focus. This man is far from normal.
“If you want coffee, you better have some quickly. We leave in ten minutes.” His smile disappears as fast as it came when I don’t smile back at him.
“Where to?” My eyes widen. Leave? Like leave the house? I’m not sure I’m ready to do that.
“Clothes for you and I need to take care of something,” he answers vaguely.
I take a sip of my coffee and then blurt out the question, “Did you just wake up and decide to do this for a living?”
“You like asking questions,” he says. He pins me with a menacing gaze. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that look. It sends chills crawling over my body.
“I don’t.” I swallow my fear down. I can’t stay here and not know something about the man I’m living with. “I haven’t asked you a question in a long time. I just want to get to know the person I’m living with. It’s not every day I meet a-” I snap my mouth shut and stare at my coffee.
“A cleaner. I’m referred to as a cleaner. And no, I didn’t just wake up and decide I wanted this life for myself.” He clasps his hands together and leans forward on the table. I’m surprised when he continues. “Someone close to me was taken while I was away on tour. When I came back, it was too late. I killed the person who took her and since then it became my job. Jeff is the only person I trust. He was the old man who stood guard outside the container you were held in.”
Container … Old man.
Memories I’ve been fighting to keep buried shudder through me like shockwaves. I drop my eyes to the floor and focus on the wood. I start counting the cracks to keep my mind busy. But one thought slips through. How much does the old man know of what happened in that container, and did he tell Damian? My cheeks grow hot with shame.
“Shit happens to the best of us, Cara,” Damian says suddenly. “It’s how you deal with it that counts. You've gotta fight for what you want, otherwise this life will chew you the fuck up and spit you right out. You're either a fighter or a nobody, and I sure as hell ain't some nobody. You don’t look like some nobody, either.”
I keep quiet after that. I keep running what he said over in my mind, wondering if I’m a fighter like Damian, or just a plain nobody.
“Cara, we’re leaving,” Damian calls out. I’m hiding in the hallway. I’ve been trying to scrape the courage together to walk out by myself, but yeah, that’s not happening.
“Cara!” he snaps and I have to drag my feet to get moving. I take one step at a time and halfway down the stairs my chest closes up.
As the front door gets closer, I can hear my panicked breaths. They sound distorted and way too loud. I wrap my arms around my waist when I take the final step outside. I feel dizzy and can’t take in anything but my next breath.
“You’re doing good,” he says curtly as he walks towards the car, leaving me behind.
My legs grow a mind of their own and I follow him. When he gets in the car, I walk faster. Damian represents safety for me. Only once I’m in the car do I feel a semblance of calm washing over me.
I stare back at the house. It’s old and shabby looking. Paint is peeling off in places and the yard is scattered with dead leaves. The house suits us perfectly; it’s dull and it looks tired.
Damian stops outside a smallish mall and hands me a phone. When I take hold of it he doesn’t let go and I look up.