Page 31 of Curse

When I can finally stand, I shuffle carefully toward the barely open door, using the bed for support.

The voices outside are clearer now. Franco’s tone is sharp, but I can’t make out the words. I freeze when I hear Matti’s voice—low, seething with barely controlled anger.

“If you cared about your sister, you’d stay the fuck out ofthis.”

What is it that Matti wants Franco to stay out of? Why is he even talking to Franco? My mind spins with confusion.

I press my forehead against the cold steel door, trying to steady myself. There’s no knob like a normal door, just levers, latches, and deadbolts. This place feels like some sort of prison.

Franco’s voice floats to me again, softer now, almost pleading. A wave of fear crashes over me. Is Matti holding us both prisoner?

The thought sends chills racing down my spine. Despite everything, I can’t shake the instinct to protect Franco. Is he hurt? Guilt washes over me for blaming him earlier at the law office. Whatever his faults, he’s still my brother. I can’t lose another sibling.

Matti’s voice breaks through the fog in my mind, breaks through the barrier of whatever wall or door is separating us, sharp and chillingly clear: “I will end your fucking life.”

The vertigo hits again like a gust of wind, and my knees suddenly feel watery and weak. I crumple to the floor and press my cheek against the cool concrete. It grounds me, even as my thoughts begin to spiral.

Through my haze, I hear scuffling, grunts, and muffled voices, but I can’t make out what is being said. Everything is spinning, and my hearing is as cloudy as my vision.

I don’t know how much time has passed when strong hands lift me off the floor. My eyes flutter open, and I find myself staring into Matti’s face. His expression is tight with concern, but his voice is harsh. “Why are you out of bed?”

I turn my face into his chest, too weak to argue. His warmth envelops me, and for a fleeting moment, I don’t care if he’s mycaptor or my savior.

“Fuck,” Matti mutters under his breath as he carries me out of the room. Fear pricks at my skin. Where is he taking me? Is he bringing me to Franco? Is he going to kill us both?

The air becomes humid and stifling as we pass through another door. I force my eyes open and take in the surroundings. The walls and ceiling are stainless steel, reflecting the harsh light from a single bulb encased in a metal cage.

Matti sets me down on a cold metal chair, and I realize we’re in a giant shower. Multiple shower heads line the walls, and large drains are embedded in the stark white tile floor. The room is clinical, a place designed to wash away more than dirt.

My voice trembles as I blurt out, “Are you going to kill me like you killed my sister?” The words hang in the air, and I freeze, cursing my inability to shut the fuck up. If he wasn’t planning to kill me before, he is now.

Matti stands with his back to me, the silence between us stretching unbearably, then he turns on the water, letting it run until steam rises. “Siena, you were almost killed today by a fuck who won’t be alive by this time tomorrow. I brought you here because I thought you’d want to wash off… whatever he did to you. Not to mention, you were just on your second disgusting floor of the day, and you have open wounds.”

That doesn’t exactly answer my question, but he speaks like someone who’s used to giving orders, not explanations.

“Can’t the doctor do it?” I ask, touching the back of my head gingerly. The memory of getting the stitches is hazy, but I had assumed that the doctor would handle everything.

Matti’s eyes snap to mine, his tone firm. “Absolutely not. It’s not his job to touch you beyond what’s necessary. Nowstand up.”

I hesitate, irritation flaring. A doctor isn’t allowed to touch me, but Matti is? “I can do this myself—”

“Raise your arms,” he interrupts..

Something in his tone compels me to do as I’m told. He grips the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head in one swift motion, leaving me standing in my bra and underwear.

A chill courses through me despite the warmth of the room. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to shield myself from his gaze.

“Turn around.” Matti’s voice is softer, but still commanding. I can sense his eyes raking over my body when I turn, stopping with my back to him. When I look back at him over my shoulder, he averts his gaze.

A murderer and a gentleman? Who the fuck is this guy?

“I need to wash the abrasions that came in contact with the floor, and your hair, especially where the stitches are,” he mumbles, the words sounding more like a challenge than a reassurance.

I nod, uncertain and off balance.

He steps in close behind me. “Uncross your arms.”

Again, I do as directed.

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