The Carrero Contract - Finding Freedom (Book 3 of Contract Trilogy)

5

"What?" it's that knee-jerk reaction of a response and he visibly closes up as he turns to face me. Caught out. Shutting down to deadpan when cornered.

"You went there? You were in that shithole? Why?" It's an accusatory tone, spat at him in response. I swallow hard, blood running cold at how much worse this is getting, and slowly I try to sit on the edge of the table, my legs turning to jelly and giving way on me. Forgetting about the box and weakening to lightheaded, that this night just keeps getting worse.

I didn't think it could, and yet he has this great habit of proving me wrong. Alexi in Hackney, in the place I lived. The squalor and shame of that run-down shithole.

Oh, God.

Alexi seems restless and paces away as though he too is having a hard time reeling in a reaction or his thoughts and feelings. This feels like one very long night of large confessions and major traumatic events. I want to lie on the floor and die.

I swear this better be a nightmare and I wake up to find none of it is real...well maybe the first part could still be.

Maybe he thought I went back? I have no clue why he would go there at all. I don't like it one bit. It's one thing to read about the poverty I existed in, it's another thing entirely to see it for yourself. Even I would never go back to that rat hole. I can't even imagine what he thought when he walked into that rot riddled tiny flat in one of the worst areas in the borough, especially after all this time abandoned.

"I haven't told you everything ... I'm not sure I should." He walks across the room then comes back towards me again, too much nervous energy and he cannot look at me. He is emanating so much energy it's like an instant anxiety trigger, and suddenly I don't want to know anymore. My instincts are telling me it must be worse than the books, worse than him being there. I don't think my nerves can take any of it, but not knowing will be worse, and my head will run riot and twist itself insane with questions.

I don't want to know but I need to know.

"I think you owe me a million explanations tonight, Alexi. If you want me to stay, then be honest with me! Stop letting this all filter out in a drib-drab motion and just get it over with. I don't think my nerves can take much more. It surely can't be worse than ..." I wave my hand in the air in an encompassing motion, meaning 'this, everything' hoping to God I'm right.

He throws me a look that says, 'I bet it can', and my stomach drops to my toes like a lead weight. Not sure what it is he wants to tell me, and suddenly afraid of what could be worse than my past being in his possession. Maybe I should have just stayed in the elevator and left after all.

Alexi walks past me to the kitchen, so I'm left perched on the coffee table with lack of mobility, and he pulls out a glass to pour himself a drink, motioning with a look to ask if I want one too and I nod. Something tells me I need a stiff drink if he thinks it's bad enough to warrant one.

Mr cool and controlled has done a bloody runner, and this guy is making me antsy as hell.

A million things are running through my head and yet I draw a blank on what he could have to tell me that's worse than knowing everything about Lisa. That's the worst in my eyes. Second is standing in that place.

I detailed everything, and I mean every single thing I lived through. Rape does not make for good reading when written by an eleven-year-old on the verge of a complete breakdown. I bleached my body until my skin bled in a bath hot enough to melt my skin. I felt so filthy and used. At eleven I understood what had been done to me. I should never have known that kind of thing at such a young age.