Taken In

Chapter 65

Breo's POV

I begin to run home immediately, before the text can completely register in my mind, before the weight of its contents crushes every ounce of rationality I have within me, but I already feel like I'm failing- as my legs begin to falter, almost buckling beneath me as I stumble up the porch stairs. I barely make it to my front door, erratically breathing as I try to steady my fingers, dropping the books I surprisingly kept hold of until now in one motion as I hold my right hand steady with the other, placing the keys in the door and then shutting it behind me swiftly.

Standing still for a moment I close my eyes, hearing nothing but my heartbeat in my ears, alongside sporadic gasps for air that forcefully escape my lips, the noxious rhythm of the two synchronising in tandem- before it all comes back to me.

The motel bathroom, my jaw, my legs, my arms, my body, my baby. I shut my eyes tightly, as if they are able to close the gates of those memories, but the darkness only makes them more vivid. He's going to hurt Javi, and he's going to hurt him because of me. I finally lose all resolve, sliding downwards against the door, landing gracelessly on the hardwood with my knees to my chest as I rock back and forth, trying to think of something, trying to conjure up a solution, an answer, one that won't require what is asked of me. I promised Javi I would never leave like that again, no matter what, no matter the circumstances- and I foolishly agreed, thinking that Nathan would never come back, thinking that what happened at the motel would be enough to pacify the anger he has towards me, but it wasn't, and now the only person who cares about me is in danger.

My silent tears turn to whimpers, and then I begin to weep, wail, blubbering and hopeless, suffocating on my own hot tears, I don't know what to do.

At first I felt disbelief, part of me was so deluded that I couldn't fathom it really being him. I thought maybe the police couldn't catch him and he went back to San Angelo, or perhaps he left the country. Some nights I'd lay awake and think, deceiving myself with false and unfeasible fantasies, anything to convince myself he couldn't hurt me anymore. I thought maybe he was sorry but didn't quite know how to say the words, so he went home and decided not to contact me again, or he found a new job in a different state and moved entirely. Then as the nights went on and my worries engulfed me, my delusions would become more impractical- I imagined my parents felt so bad for what he did that they begged and begged for him to leave me alone, or he got into a car accident, only in this vision he is unharmed- the only ramification being the loss of his long term memory. He becomes someone kind and peaceful, unaware and unable to fathom the pain and humiliation he caused another human being, because he is simply so loving that he believes it's not in his nature.

Then my anxiety would turn nauseating, twisting my insides until I felt like I was being suffocated from within, and it would force me back into reality- to realise the most likely outcome is not that he has gone away or feels sorry, but that there's a replacement. An innocent person, enticed with the sweetness of his words, the gentleness of his touch and the conviction of his promises. Someone so broken that she feels indebted to him, just from the very thought that another human being could view her as someone who could be, should be loved.

And when the facade fades, when the constant kindness turns to some, and then none at all, she'll stay, because in her mind the shift in his affection and newfound affinity to violence isn't a result of manipulation, a glimpse of who he truly is, but evidence of her shortcomings, and she'll feel guilt for turning a man so loving into someone who pours hatred and fear into her entire being, and she'll take every hit, every punch, every kick because she feels like she deserves it. She'll allow him to use her, scar her, scorch her skin, tear her limb from limb, in the hopes that he'll see she's doing this for him, out of love, out of hope that whatever she has done to make him this way will be forgiven, and he'll become the person he promised he was. She'll be someone plagued with the same fate as me, only this time she can't run away, because that's how he lost me, and he won't let that happen again.

Maybe someone sent the wrong message, or I was the wrong recipient- but even I know that's not true, and what hurts most is the more time I spend deliberating over these trivial thoughts, trying to make sense as to how or why he found me, or what he'll do to me if I go- the less time I have to truly think about what I want to do, or what I have to do, to make sure nothing happens to Javi.

The fear that flows through me suddenly becomes frustration, then guilt, as I continue to try and soothe the burning sensation in my chest, the heat spreading upwards towards my throbbing head. Javi has done so much for me, why am I so afraid of doing what I know will keep him safe? I'd do anything for him, no matter the cost, but my willingness to atone for the mistake of leaving Nathan doesn't make me any less scared of the outcome. He will kill me, and he won't have any mercy on me, but why should he? I took the most important thing he had away from him.

I close my eyes again, and watch as as a flurry of white swirls swoosh through the darkness, gently connecting and contorting around a small bead like creature in the centre, as if the tiny being were radiating light itself, its slight resemblance to the human form being its sole distinguisher from a smear on black paper or perhaps a blob of clay. So tiny it didn't even get to begin, only end.

My eyes focus on it for a moment, as it slowly grows limbs, features, features that look like mine, or maybe his, I don't know- and then it smiles at me, he or she smiles, in its perfect angelic form, an embodiment of true purity and innocence, my baby.

I failed him, failed both of them, and now I once again understand the unfiltered anger he holds towards me, wishing to enact the same violent acts he intends to administer on me to myself. There's no other way to compensate for such a loss.

So the pain he'll inflict will be slow, methodical, sadistic, until the agony fills my body and overwhelms my soul, or worse, he'll keep me.

The phone vibrates again and I wince immediately, allowing the flashing device to fall from my grasp, clacking gratingly against the floor. I cradle my head with my hands, clenching my jaw in distress as the vibration continues, realising it's a call and not a text. The ringing continues and I raise my head slowly, turning to see a name across the screen I least expect, it's Pedro.