Page 78 of Brutal Husband

Then he holds up both hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! She’s your wife.”

No one comes to his aid, despite the fact that I seem like I’m on the verge of killing him. It’s not this stranger’s fault that I’m locked in here away from Rieta. If he’s in here, we’ve got the same problems.

I collapse back onto the bench and push my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I lost my temper.”

No one knows where I am. Worse, no one knowswhoI am. The only person in the world who cares about me is in Paris on our honeymoon, believing that the man sharing her bed is me. “I’m Nero. Don’t believe anyone if they call me Luca.”

The man looks annoyed with me, but picks up his spoon and goes back to his breakfast. “If you say so, Nero. I’m Bogdan.”

“What do they do with us here?” I ask.

Bogdan regards me with narrowed eyes and adjusts his T-shirt. “You’ll see.”

I do see, almost straight away. We perform exhausting physical labor, breaking rocks into gravel. It’s work that could easily be accomplished by machines, but the point isn’t the gravel. The point is to break us. That night, I fall into bed completely exhausted.

The next day is the same.

And the next.

And the next.

The food they give us isn’t enough, and it’s disgusting, but I force it down, knowing I have to keep my strength up.

In moments when the guards aren’t listening, I seek out the other English-speaking inmates and whisper to them of escape and rebellion. This isn’t a real prison, and these people have no right to keep us here. They’re the ones breaking the law, and we have every right to leave.

The first man I speak to shrugs me off. “Why would I escape? Out there, I am a dead man, and so are you.”

I get the same response from everyone I try to convince. The people who are imprisoning us aren’t the guards. It’s the ones who sent us here, and it’s those people my fellow prisoners fear.

If no one will help me, I’ll escape on my own. When we’re moved around the prison, I study every door, window, and corridor I can see. I memorize the layout of the place and hunt for weak spots.

One morning, my interest in my surroundings becomes too obvious, or I’m not walking fast enough. Without warning, a guard slams the butt of his rifle between my shoulder blades, nearly knocking me off my feet and sending me stumbling.

When I turn around and face my attacker, the cold disdain in his eyes reminds me so much of Luca. I’m stuck in here, and he’s out there, living my life with my wife.

I lose all self-control and launch myself at the guard with a roar. It doesn’t even occur to me that he’s holding a weapon and could gun me down. Luckily, I move so fast that he hasn’t got time to aim. He crashes to the ground with me on top of him and I start beating him with my fists. I’m so angry that I can’t even see what I’m doing. There’s a red mist in front of my eyes, and all I want to do is kill.

The other guards pull me off him, and then I’m being kicked by half a dozen booted men. Their rifle butts slam into my body as they swear at me in a language I don’t understand.

I’m dragged into the exercise yard and tied to a post. My clothes are ripped off and the cold bites into my flesh. I’m so dazed by the beating that I’m barely aware of where I am.

Suddenly, there’s a blaze of fire in my back. I don’t understand what’s happening until the third lash hits my flesh. I must have fucked that guard up because the whipping goes on and on until I pass out.

I’m left there to bleed and freeze and swim in and out of consciousness.

It takes me weeks to recover and be able to move without gasping in pain. Every day, every second, my resentment grows, and I fester on my mistakes. I should have grabbed that guard’s gun from him instead of letting my temper take over. I should have murdered every single guard in the place and then walked out of here leading the prisoners to freedom. Now it’s too late. Every single guard knows I’m a troublemaker and is on edge around me. If I go for their guns, they’ll shoot me.

I need something to focus on to keep myself sane. I can’t give up before I find a way to escape, because I am going to get out of here. I’m not dying in this place and leaving Rieta with my brother.

After a few weeks, I’m able to get my hands on the things I need. It’s not much, but it takes all my negotiating skills and half my rations for a week to get my hands on the precious items: a paper clip and a blue pen, half used. I sharpen the paper clip wire into a point against the stone wall of my cell and dip it into the ink. Then I stick the needle into my flesh.

It takes me several nights because I go slowly. I want it to be perfect. A daisy slowly appears on my arm, with a dozen petals and a delicate leaf. I admire it as it grows, turning my forearm this way and that. I think about my smiling bride holding a bouquet of daisies, and she feels near to me once more. Now I have a tattoo on my body that Luca doesn’t have. He took my life from me, including my ink, but this ink is mine.

Rieta is mine, even though she doesn’t know I exist. Every time I look at the tattoo, I think of her, and I know I will find my way back to her.

The tattoo keeps me calm for a while, but soon the taunts of the guards and grinding exhaustion and despair eat away at me. Hearing one of the guards call me Luca makes me lose controlagain. The guards have me on the ground before I take more than two angry steps toward him.

After that, I’m put in solitary for a long time. It’s a freezing, windowless cell, empty of everything except a bucket. The light ebbs and flows under the door, and I lose track of time.

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