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“Yes, be a good girl, Sadie.” His voice was that same bitter calmness he always made it. The kind of calm that told Lia that if she did anything wrong, he would still be that calm as he killed her. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run and run and never stop running until he disappeared. He leaned in and she felt her heart stop in that far too familiar way and–
“Good girl, Lia.” No it can’t– it doesn’t go like this. It’s not supposed to go like this. He doesn’t know her name; he can’t know her name. His voice changed from the previous skilled facade to a different one. This voice was warm and welcoming and sickly sweet and wrong. Then his face changed. Everything was wrong everything was wrong everything was–
She was trying to get her mother to look at her but it was like she didn’t exist.
Flash.
She was hearing her lie about loving her son.
Flash.
She was planning her escape with thorns wrapping her arms.
Flash.
She was sneaking out of the dorms to draw the maps for Sloane.
Flash.
She couldn’t get him out of her room, off of her bed, off of–
Flash.
She pretended to take it, pretended to be drugged, pretended to–
Flash.
She was in the hole, in the dark with the cold that–
Flash.
She was in the basement with the bones and the chains that–
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Flashflashflashflashflashflashflashflashflashflash–
She didn’t scream when she woke up; she had learned not to do that a long time ago. She didn’t scream, but she almost did. Normally the nightmares were just about before. She should have figured they’d include the other place now too.
She could feel his hands, feel his breath on her skin, hear his voice, see his eyes, she could–
No. She needed to get out of this bed. She needed to do something, anything to make it stop. She needed it to stop. It was gone. Everything was gone, everything was gone, everything was gone, everything was gone. But she knew she was lying to herself – it would never be gone.
She tried to ignore the way her legs shook as she stood up, the way her hand shook so much that she could barely unlock and open her door. It was so, so cold. She didn’t know if that was because the house was cold or because her dreams were.
She turned on the shower, not caring if anyone woke up now. She was a liar; she could make up a lie. Maybe if the water was hot enough, it could take away some of the cold that seemed to refuse to leave her body. Maybe if she let her blood out, some of the cold would flow out too.
“You’re a special girl, Sadie”
“You’re a special girl, Lia.”
She could barely feel the heat of the water or the cuts or the sting of the water hitting the cuts. Maybe if she let the water fill up the room, she could drown in the hot and the cold would go away.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, burning and bleeding in the water, before she could finally feel anything beside the numbing cold. The cuts hurt now and the water burned; but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Let it hurt. Let it burn.
Penance.
She didn’t know when or how she left the shower, and she definitely didn’t know when or how she’d changed into the spare clothes she always kept hidden in the drawers below the sink. All she knew was that one minute she was dying in the water and now she was on the ground, cold and changed and hearing an incredibly annoying sound. It took far too long for her to recognize the sound as knocking. Crap.
“Ok, ok, I’m coming. Have a bit of patience will you?” She tried not to let her voice shake. She tried not to let her hands shake as she unlocked and opened the door. She couldn’t say she was surprised when it was Dean.
“Lia–”
“What do you want, Dean?” Her voice was harsher than she intended but it didn’t seem to matter right now. “Aren’t you still mad or something?”
“No, Lia. I’m not mad.” True. “I was never mad at you.” True again. He could never just lie, could he. His face was soft, the slight furrow of his brow meaning he was worried or concerned or whatever other emotions crap Michael would definitely know far better than her. His voice wasn’t a lying calm or sweet, it was just him. It was only the truth in his words that convinced Lia to let him in. He stepped through the slight opening she let him have. She locked the door. He can’t come in. They can’t come in. No one can come in if it’s locked. She locked it again.
“Then why are you here?” She watched as he looked around before sitting on the ground: an invitation she knew far too well. He knew she wouldn’t sit down if he was standing, especially not now. She stared at him for a moment before sitting down too.
“The shower was on. Then it stayed on.” She didn’t answer. He waited a moment, then continued. “I’m worried, Lia.” She scoffed.
“Why? I’m fine, Dean.” It was all lies. That was all she knew how to do, it seemed.
“You escaped a cult. For the second time.” She flinched, and his voice softened. “I just– we haven’t really talked. Since then, I mean. And I know you’re not ok, Lia. It wouldn’t have been ok for anyone and certainly not for you, and I– it’s not ok, Lia. Nothing about this is ok.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need your help.” She wanted to curl up next to him like she did when she was fourteen. She couldn’t.
“You don’t have to do this alone, Lia.” His tone was almost pleading.
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.” She traced the tiles of the floor. Once in a while, a piece in the grout would scratch at her finger and she’d be reminded she was alive.
“You shouldn’t have to be.” She felt his hand taking hers. It was gentle. An offering she didn’t have to take, yet an offering she couldn’t refuse.
“I wasn’t lying,” she started after a pause. “About you not being able to make me better, I mean.” She stared at their hands, at the way his grip tightened the slightest amount. He didn’t respond so she continued. “He said I was special.” She didn’t know which man she was referring to. Both, probably. “He said he’d never hurt me. And when he did, he said it was my fault.” She tried to ignore the way her voice broke at the end. She tried to ignore the way her eyes burned and the memories flooded back with the fire of the far too familiar shame.
“What did he do.” His voice was dark and dangerous, and Lia was sure that if Holland Darby was here right now, he wouldn’t be able to leave this room alive. Dean wasn’t asking a question either.
“The same thing they always do.” She shrugged, looking up but not quite looking at his eyes. “For a moment, I– I felt like I mattered to someone. And I tried, Dean. I promise I tried. I tried not to, I promise. I tried, but for a moment it still….” she trailed off, eyes unfocused. She could almost see him, almost feel him. “It was just like before again.”
“I believe you. I know you tried–”
“And when he drugged them, I pretended to be drugged too. He came into the– he came into the room. And I was nine again.” She closed her eyes, begging his face to leave her mind. On some level, she knew that she was telling Dean something she vowed she never would. On some level, she knew she was in a safe, locked bathroom, but it didn’t seem to matter. “He didn’t– he didn’t do anything to me. Not like that.” She looked up, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. “I was new, and we both know he’d never do anything to his new victims.” She let out a bitter laugh.
Dean didn’t respond. But he squeezed her hand.
“But I– I heard him. With the other girls. Kissing them, and–” she couldn’t bring herself to say any more. “While they were drugged. And I wanted to run or kill him or do something but I– I couldn’t do anything. I just, I couldn’t move. It was like I really was drugged, I guess. Then he– he came over to my bed. I didn’t think he would, but he did and I thought I was going to have to ruin the mission because he would–” she broke off, taking a shaky breath. You’re safe. He’s not here anymore. “He didn’t kiss me. He barely even touched me, he just combed through my hair and touched my face and positioned my hands like I was some doll and then he left but I couldn’t– I couldn’t–” She felt the tears spill out.
“It wasn’t your f–”
“And after that I just– I couldn’t sleep. So I snuck out and started making a map. Do you know how hard it is to map a place you can barely see while having to constantly fear literally anyone seeing you? But I guess I’ve made maps of places before, just not on paper. Back then the map was just in my mind.” She didn’t have to explain when and where “back then” was. “But I needed to do it right. For Sloane, for– for everyone.” For the girls in the cult. For herself. “And the whole time, I just…. kept remembering. I felt like a kid again.”
“You still were a kid. You still are.” His voice was the voice he used to use when she had flashbacks or nightmares or panic attacks or whatever else she had when she was younger. A voice she hadn’t heard in a long time because she got better at hiding it all. And somehow she was next to him now and he was here again.
“I just kept remembering everything.” Her voice was a whisper now, almost like any volume above that would break her. “Everything.”
His words, her words, his touch, his voice, his breath, the thorns, the chains, the dark, the cold, the penance, the clothes, the hole, the rooms, the beds, the lies, the truths, the–
“Hey, Lia,” a voice broke through the murky fog. “Lia, can you look at me?” She could barely make out the words. She looked up anyway. “Ok, that’s good? Can I touch you?”
She didn’t know who was talking and she didn’t quite care. The cold was coming back. On some level, she could feel familiar arms wrapping themselves around her body. On some level, she could feel herself shaking as she cried and gasped for breath. On some level, she could feel the tiles of the floor and the warmth of her brother. On some level, she could feel the stinging in her cuts as she scratched them through her sleeves. Yet the only thing she could really feel was the cold.
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that before she could breathe again.
“Dean.” She managed to get a single word out – the only word that mattered.
“I’m here, Lia. I’m here. It’s ok, I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not leaving, I promise.” She tightened her grip on his hand like it was the only thing keeping her afloat. And in a way, it was. “Did the nightmares start again?” She didn’t answer for a moment.
“They never really stopped,” she managed in a whisper. “I just figured out how to not sleep or memorize everything that happened so I’d feel the same way every time or find a way to escape it or–” Lia stopped, feeling Dean stiffen the slightest bit, and for a moment she was afraid he would leave. Or tell her it was her fault. Or do something. But he was Dean, so he didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt, and she wanted to cry again. The only thing she seemed to do these days was hurt people and mess everything up.
“You seemed like you had a lot to do. I didn’t want to bother you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“No, Lia. No. Don’t apologize. It’s my fault, not yours, ok? I’ll always have time for you, ok? You’re not bothering me. You could never bother me. I’m sorry, Lia. I’m sorry I did something to make you feel like you couldn’t tell me. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you need to and deserve to do it all by yourself.”
The break wasn’t an extravagant affair: there was no scream or yell or sob or grand motions of any sort. It was a quiet sort of snap. The kind of snap that led her to bury her head in her brother’s arms and cry in the silent way she always did. The kind of snap that made her want to die right then and there. The kind of snap that didn’t come from the bad things that haunted her every move, rather from the one good thing she had ever known.
“It was worse,” she finally continued. “This time. It was worse this time.” She blinked and he was right there again. “It started normally. I knew this one, I knew how it went. And then he became Darby and everything was wrong and I–” She blinked and he was gone. “I didn’t know how to survive this one.” Dean was quiet, his hand moving in circles on her back. “They just kept switching. It was the– it was the thorns then the chains then the hole then the basement then the rooms then the maps then the clothes then his voice and face and touch and breath and it was all–” she took a shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut and willing the room to stop spinning. “It was all too much. It was all wrong.”
“I know.” He combed through her hair, the way he always used to do when they were younger. “Come to me next time, ok?”
“I don’t want to bother you anymore.” Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. She sounded like a fragile, broken ceramic doll and she hated that.
“You won’t. I promise you won’t.” Not a lie. He was so warm and she wanted to die all over again. She didn’t know how long they sat like that before Dean broke the silence again. “Can I see your arm, Lia?” She froze, the words slowly sinking in with the pit of guilt and shame and fear. No no no no no– she rolled up her sleeve, carefully and slowly. Dean took a pack of bandages from his pocket.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he covered the cuts and scars. He was so gentle – so delicate. Lia didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve anyone as good as Dean.
“Listen to me, Lia. It’s not your fault. None of this was your fault, ok? And you– you don’t deserve this, ok?” He pushed her sleeve back down and continued combing through her hair. It took her far too long to realize that he had come prepared.
“How did you…. how did you realize that I….” she didn’t want to finish saying it. She knew Dean would understand anyway.
“I heard the shower was on. I texted you, and you didn’t respond. I called you, and you didn’t pick up. I knocked on your door, and you didn’t answer. And the shower was on the whole time. I knew you were in there, which means something happened. And considering it’s,” he checked his phone, “four AM, it must have been a nightmare. And the shower was on for a long time, so it must have been a bad one. I didn’t know you had them so often, though.” His voice trailed off.
“Tell me what you profiled about me. This time.” Her eyes were closed, but she could almost feel the panicked gaze she knew he had in his eyes. He paused for a moment before relenting with a sigh.
“You were scared. You were losing control and you needed it back. You needed control over who hurt you and when and how, and you needed control over your own mind. Some part of you knows that this won’t work, but you still do it anyway because nothing else will ever work. You need this. You need him gone, you need all of them to be gone and there’s no other way to do it. You didn’t want to burden anyone anymore. You think that everyone is too focused on someone else and you don’t want to burden them with you too.” He hesitated for a moment. “You don’t think anyone cares about you, and certainly not enough to want to help. You think you’re unlovable, like there’s something inherently wrong about you. You think you’re ruined, beyond repair. You’re angry because it’s easier to be angry than to be scared or sad. You’re angry at a lot of people, but you’re mostly angry at yourself. You think you deserved it, and you think it was and is all your fault.” He held her closer. “Lia, you’re wrong.”
“Am I though?” She sounded so goddamn weak and fragile and she hated it. She could almost hear them now, telling her to stop being a baby. But Dean wouldn’t do that. Dean would never do that.
“Yes,” he responded, “you are. You’re not wrong about a lot of things, but you are wrong about this. We love you, Lia. I love you. Nothing will ever change that. It wasn’t your fault and you didn’t deserve it. I care. You’ll never be a burden to us, and certainly not to me. I will always have time for you, and you deserve to not have to do it all alone. And I know you don’t believe me, but that’s ok. I’ll remind you every day if you need me to.” She opened her eyes and met his. She could read nothing but the truth.
“Ok,” she whispered. She felt like she was thirteen again, curling up next to her big brother as he tried his best to chase the demons away. She didn’t realize how much she missed that. She wanted to stay in that moment forever, in their own little bubble isolated from the world with all of its monsters.
She wasn’t ok. But maybe she didn’t have to be not ok alone.