Page 19 of Mayflower

“Easy,” that same female voice says. Not Maddy’s. Gentle but strong hands push me down to lie straight.

The light illuminates a room with bare walls, sort of a bunker, and multiple cots crammed into two rows, though I don’t have a chance to see who is sitting on them because two silhouettes block my vision.

“He’s bleeding out.” That’s Ali. His familiar face flickers before the slits of my eyes that I have a hard time keeping open. “We need medicine. And a doctor.”

“Easier said than done,” the female voice snaps. I recognize her. Candy.

Oh, wow, of all people.

And of all places, we ended up in a brothel. How does Ali know about this fine establishment?

“Jesus, like we need more problems right now,” Candy murmurs, then snaps at someone else. “Molly, get me the medical kit.”

With the scissors in her hands, she cuts my shirt open.

“Shit, sweetie. That’s bad. Molly! Hurry up!” She turns to me again. “You are almost too late.”

I need to hold still. The pain from my wound is unbearable. Everything is swimming before my eyes. But I am yet to go through the worst.

"I need a needle and a thread and antiseptic,” Ali says calmly.

“A sewing kit and vodka!” Candy snaps at someone. “I’ll do it.”

And there it is again, the memory that chases me even when I’m barely conscious.

My foster father towering above me while I’m tied to a chair. I have a busted lip, but there’s something else. Blood is dripping into my eye, and my forehead hurts from a nasty split.

He takes a swig from the bottle, then licks his lips. “Gotta learn how to be a man,” he slurs.

He pulls out a needle and thread, then splashes vodka right from the bottle into my face, making me scream in pain as the liquid burns my broken skin.

"Let's patch you up, Mathew-boy.”

I sink into darkness again. Voices around get muffled. My body burns. It hurts to breathe, but I pry my eyes open and see Candy still by my side. Another female face is next to hers. And Ali, his beard the darkest spot in my vision.

Candy takes a bottle of vodka and splashes the liquid on my wound.

“Aaaaargh!” I grunt before I can stop myself. “Fuck,” I hiss, my body engulfing in flames that jerk me fully awake one second, then make me so dizzy from pain that I want to fold.

“Stay with me,” she says as she pours some vodka into a glass and dunks the needle and thread in it.

Stomach clenched, I grunt through my teeth, “You know how to do it?"

Candy takes a syringe and injects something into my muscle, the pain slightly subsiding right away. “I’ll improvise. Got better options? The doctor is probably drunk. And it’s nighttime. I won’t send anyone outside until morning.”

I shift my eyes to Ali.

He stands with his hands on his hips, staring at me calmly. Where did he learn this calmness? Through prayer? I make a mental note to tease him about it.

“You need something to bite on so you don’t bite off your tongue?” Candy asks.

I shake my head. I’m barely breathing as it is.

Ali steps up. “I’ll do it. I’ve done this before.”

I smile. “Who would’ve known, Ali Baba?”

Not sure I actually said it out loud or if I am hallucinating, because his expression doesn’t change. I wonder if the nickname I gave him offends him. I wonder why he followed me into the jungle or how he knew about me meeting Skiba there when it wasn’t his shift. I wonder why he disobeyed the orders to stay away, why he jeopardized his own safety for me. Why—of all things—he even bothered? Ayana is just a job for him.

---