Page 9 of Possession

They obviously want him healthy and fit. It makes sense. He’s worth money.

That’s why, even though he’s super lean, he’s not malnourished. That’s why he was tended by a doctor. That’s why I’m here.

That’s not the only reason I’m here. I’m also here because I was stupid enough to believe that Frank reached out to me because he … what, cared? Felt bad for the way he treated me? Was actually interested in me?

And all along it was because he planned to sell me. Fuckingsellme. Would he still have done it if he’d won his bet? Would he have taken me up to the balcony, offered me to Crowley for some extra cash? Does it even matter? The fact that he was prepared to do it, even as a backup plan, is enough.

Enough for what? To tell me I’m not even a person to him? It’s not like I didn’t know that.

Growing up, whenever I’d get home from school, I had to stay in my room. Weekends too.

What are you complaining about?my mom would ask.He doesn’t hit you. You have books and a computer. Don’t you realize how lucky you are? Just read or play your games. Use your headphones. Be quiet.

Stay in your room.

Be quiet.

Let us pretend that you don’t exist.

That’s why I started wrestling. It gave me a reason not to be home, plus it was physical. On the mat, Ididexist. The struggle made me feel, somehow, real.

I miss that. I haven’t come close to it since.

I’m still deep in my head, only half paying attention, when the door to the other room, a guardroom I guess, opens. Briggs emerges as the doctor descends the steps. They meet outside the cell.

Briggs crouches in front of the gate and fits a key to a section with a hinge. Eyeing the figure on the mattress, he opens the window. The doctor passes him a large first aid kit, which he shoves into the cell before locking the window.

“Come get the bag,” Briggs orders.

I hear the words, but they don’t really penetrate. I don’t move.

Briggs draws his gun and aims through the bars at me. My heart leaps, bringing me fully into the present.

I guess this is me getting a twisted version of what I’ve been missing. Because a gun, a cell, and me crawling across a cold concrete floor? All of this feels pretty fucking real.

And yet, I’m only able to half listen as the doctor starts giving me instructions. My mind keeps skipping away from the implications. I’ll have to touch him.

Maybe my inattention is obvious because Briggs warns, “He dies, you die.”

“What does it matter,” I mutter half to myself, “if he’s gonna kill me anyway?”

Briggs grins, clearly delighted to say, “Ah, but the Beast will do it fast. I’ll do it slow.”

I swallow hard against another twisted irony. I’ve thought so many times about how my life really isn’t worth living, but here I am in the worst circumstances I’ve ever been in, and everything in me is saying,No. I don’t want to die.

When Briggs and the doctor are gone, I look through the kit. What did the doctor say I need to do? Change the bandages if they bleed through. Something about the IV? There’s a new bag of fluids in the kit. Fuck, I don’t know.

Leaving the kit, I creep closer to the mattress. Before, I didn’t want to look at him, but now I feel compelled.

I stop outside of arm’s reach, not that he looks like he’s about to grab me. He’s lying on his back with his head tilted my way.

There’s no light in the cell itself, but there are lights outside of it, enough for me to see him pretty clearly. His eyes are shut, so instead of the predatory gaze I recall from the locker room, I see only long, thick lashes. His skin is darker than mine, and his hair is almost black. Even in the locker room, I noticed that hewas handsome, and it’s even more obvious now that his face is relaxed, now that I can really look at him.

His face is broad with prominent cheekbones emphasizing his hollow cheeks. He has a strong jawline and nice lips. Below the bridge of his nose, there’s a bump that says it’s been broken.

Who the hell is he? Why is he here?

I didn’t buy the story they were spouting before the fight. That was clearly part of the entertainment.

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