Page 71 of Delivered to the Devil

Fuck.

Glancing down, I realize my fingers are digging into the skin on Rebecca’s arm. I immediately loosen my grip, only to see a blue hue on her milky skin.

I stare at the bruises my hand made, then down at the many bloody cuts. It may not be my hand holding the knife, but when it comes down to it, I’m the one who made those cuts. I’m the one who led Gabor to her, the one who broke into her apartment so he could use her, and the one who spread her out on this bed, knowing what Gabor would do.

“Looks like I’m done here,” Gabor says, though he doesn’t seem to notice anyone but himself and the bloody girl in front of him. “What’s next?”

I stare at him, watching as he takes in the bloody canvas of Rebecca’s back like a manic artist who has just finished his life’s work. His eyes light up as a new idea seems to pop into his head. It’s like time has slowed down and I’m watching him in slow motion as he jumps off the bed, sets a foot up on the mattress, and lifts Rebecca’s foot. But the moment he presses the knife to the unmarred piece of skin, the world becomes a turbulent chaos as time takes on a staggering speed.

In a matter of a second, I dart off the bed, close the distance with two long steps, and punch my fist into Gabor’s face.

Gabor staggers back, and time slows back down to the eerie slow-motion as I watch him aim his murderous eyes at me while clutching the knife in his hand. The moment he lurches forward, I consider letting him dig the knife into my gut and put an end to this nightmare, but I catch the faulty logic in my thoughts just in time. Letting him end me wouldn’t end her nightmare.

I step aside, just enough to avoid a knife in my gut, but not so much he’ll miss completely. Humiliating Gabor like that would be a grave mistake that would cost someone their life, and the most likely person is Rebecca.

“You’re dead, Janos,” Gabor says, holding up the knife as he backs out of the room with eyes so wide it looks like they’re about to pop out.

His angry steps thud through the hall, and then the door slams, leaving a whirring echo in the dead silence of the room.

Pointing a finger toward the direction he just went, I mouth an uncompromising ‘Out’ at Kadri. The man doesn’t speak a single protest for once. It’s the first time he’s seen Gabor like this, and I’m sure he’s afraid the man will return and end all three of us. He doesn’t know it’s empty words spoken in the heat of the moment. At least when it comes to me.

He hurries off, and I dart to Rebecca’s side and sink to my knees beside the bed.

“Rebecca, come back to me,” I say as I cup her cheek, stroke her hair, and shake her shoulder. And thus starts the longest five days of my life.

CHAPTER 35

“Bonneville”

by Leprous

Rebecca

Everything hurts.

My entire torso throbs, my throat is like sandpaper, and fatigue has settled deep within my weary bones. It takes effort just to shift on the bed as I try to find a somewhat comfortable position, but no matter how I turn or twist, a wound always presses against the mattress, and the simplest of movements stretches the cuts on my body.

Breathing shallow gulps of air, I try to distract myself from the pain by watching Janos. He’s asleep in the red chair, head resting against one of the wings and his chest moving up and down with his deep breaths. But watching him stirs up too many emotions that seem to shudder through my body, so I end up turning around and burying my head in the pillow as I try to stifle a cascade of whimpers.

Bandages cover my back, stomach, and chest, but I can’t feel whether it’s patches or roller gauze wound all the way around my torso, and I’m not about to cause myself more pain by lifting the comforter to investigate. Nor am I sure I want to see.

I have no recollection of getting the bandages. The last thing I remember is the sound of a fist hitting flesh and angry voicescutting through the void, but the memory is hazy, and I can’t make sense of it. The only thing it tells me is that it was still night when it all stopped, so I must have been out for hours since bright daylight is now filling the room. But not even that makes much sense because I feel like I’ve gone days without closing an eye. Exhaustion is a bone-deep ache in my body.

Something flickers in my mind, and I realize I haven’t slept much at all. A painful memory sends a shudder through my body, searing through my many wounds. My face tightens as I suppress the urge to cry out. The memory has nothing to do with Gabor or the knife, yet my entire system reels as it recalls the pain. I rack my brain to find an explanation, and it’s like adjusting the antenna on an old TV, hoping to tune in to a clear signal eventually.

Finally, I catch a few flickers: Janos sitting on the edge of the bed, my screams tearing through the night, and my skin burning like he was pouring acid into my wounds. My stomach roils at the memory—the same way it kept doing all night. The pain kept going on and on forever, yet the memory remains patchy, and I think I must have passed out several times.

Or maybe my head is making things up. Janos would never hurt me like that.

But then the pieces fall into place. Janos did cause me pain, but not to hurt me. I remember the scent of alcohol, his pained apologies, and swipes of fabric across my torso. He cleaned my wounds, one by one. I was so drained I could barely keep conscious, but every time I drifted away, the burn of the antiseptic pulled me right back.

He tried easing the pain by talking to me and making me focus on him, but I couldn’t hold his eyes for more than mere seconds, and nothing could abate my screams. Even so, just knowing he was there helped. If he hadn’t been, I would havestayed inside that black void and probably never have come out, but he made me want to keep fighting.

I whimper and wince as I turn back around, badly needing to see him. I want to scream when I finally settle on my other side, but I know it would only aggravate the pain, and I don’t want to wake Janos.

Once again, an intense mix of emotions rises. But there’s no hate or blame despite everything he’s done. Most of all, it’s gratitude, aching longing, and so many deep emotions that I feel for him.

I know he’s as trapped as I. His loyalty binds him in place, and I can’t blame him for that, and so I can’t find it in myself to hate him aiding Gabor’s sadistic games. His only option to avoid it was to not show up and all—make someone else do it—and that would be hurting me even worse than doing it himself.

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