Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

“I’d like fer you two to be in your room by nine o’clock every night, if ya don’t mind,” Sylvester says

I hear a soft click. My teeth snap shut, and mine and Enzo’s gazes collide, both full of surprise. “Did he…?” Enzo is already charging toward the door and turning the doorknob. But it sticks. “He fucking locked us in here,” he spits,

“Stronzo.”

Oh, Dante 🤣😍😂😍

“Be better than me, Enzo,” I bite out. He chuckles without humor. “Not very difficult to do.”

Ouch some more 😬

I'm instantly reminded that I'm trapped on a near-abandoned island with two strangers. One of them hates me, and is currently deep in the clutches of a brain demon. That's what my mom used to call nightmares when I was young,

“We're a team now, baby. Do what you do best and kill anything unfortunate enough to come near you.”

They may be harmless, but I'm not. And something tells me Sylvester isn't, either.

“I don't fucking trust him,”

“You realize that's the equivalent of saying that you have a stick up your ass. Or that in another life, you were a fire-breathing dragon and destroyed an entire village in a single breath?”

He shakes his head and stalks into our room, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and putting his chin in his hand as he contemplates the meaning of life and why the sky is blue.

The first is a photograph of a younger version of Sylvester smiling down at a blonde baby girl in his arms.

“Does it hurt, baby?”

Who needs a goddamn radio when my hatred for men could signal an alien race from an entire galaxy away?

Maybe it’s because it’s just so damn beautiful here. Or maybe it’s because, amongst the darkness, I’ve found a safe haven.

“I’m just saying, obsession comes with some serious side effects. Might want to keep that in check before you turn into a murderous psycho.”

It would be a form of justice if he slipped and hit his head on a rock. Natural selection, bitch.

I’ve never been good at confrontation. Throwing up the peace sign and moonwalking out of the vicinity is my go-to response.

“You got a problem with it? Don’t see yer name written anywhere on her,” Sylvester retorts. “I won’t just write it, I’ll carve it. Take your hand off her, or I will do it for you.”

“Lo uccido,”

“It means I’m going to fucking kill him, Sawyer.”

I’d do it again. I’m the only one allowed to touch you, bella ladra, and I’m the only one who will cause you pain. Capito?”

“The bookshelf. It's a shelf that you put books on,” I clip. “Where did you get your audacity?”

I’m overflowing with frustration from the entire male species. I’m pretty sure women can live just fine without them, yet here they are, still plaguing Earth like cockroaches. A definite hiccup in evolution.

“You’ve made that clear, baby, and it’s so fucking unfortunate for you that I care about what happens to you.”

“It’s because it’s not good enough, Sawyer. You’re not good enough.”

Oh. DAMN! That one even hurt me!

“I… heart attack,” I gasp. “You’re not having a heart attack,” Enzo responds dryly. “Dying,” I wheeze. “Need the water police. Call 911.”

Then, “Did she just say water police?” “Ignore her,” Enzo grumbles. “911 isn’t even the right number to call.” “Well, did she hit ’er head or somethin’?” Enzo sighs. “I wish I could say yes. But that’s just Sawyer.”

If he thinks I’m a nightmare, I’ll be the worst one he’s ever had. I’ll be the one keeping him up at night for the rest of his life, waking without me there but always yearning for me. I’ll let him have me one more time, only because he’ll regret losing me after.

“Why did you get to be God’s favorite?” He stares down at me with a savage expression. “You can ask him yourself when I take you to see him.”

“Oh God,” I cry, trying to keep my voice down but failing miserably. “Can you see him, baby? Ask him for forgiveness.” “Why?” I pant, another high-pitched moan nearly swallowing the word. “Because you worship me now.”

How is it that my hatred for how she makes me feel is somehow shifting, and now I’m hating the way I make her feel?

“You're right. I've been scared my entire life, and I've been touched my entire life. It'll never hurt when you touch me, but it hurt that you were no longer safe.”

“So, I made you feel what you made me feel? I won't deny that I'm the villain in your story, baby, but please don't insult me by acting like you didn't hurt me first.”

Vuoi sapere cosa vedo?

“What did he do?” I ask, though my voice doesn’t sound much different than a growling dog.

After the shipwreck, I had told her that she was weak. But I realize now that I was wrong. Being scared and weak aren't synonymous. It takes strength to keep getting back up after constantly being knocked down.

“I’ll think on it. But the room is spinning, and I can't see my thoughts right now.”

“Don’t ever think of yourself that way. And don’t ever think that I will, too. You’re so much more than the people who have hurt you.”

“No more running, baby. I want him to come looking for you just so I can have the privilege of ending his life for touching what’s mine.”

“You were always destined to be mine,” he says.

“Lead him to me,” he says,

“Bring him to me, Sawyer. I’ll take care of him. I won’t let you get away as she did.”

Did that hurt, baby?

È una maledetta bugiarda,

Mi sta facendo uscire pazzo, porca miseria.

“Cazzo, che cazzo hai fatto?”

“I’ll get you to smile one of these days,” she murmurs. “Maybe you should do it one time before I die.” “You’re not dying.” “You sure? I think I hear Jesus talking to me.” “Then you’re definitely not dying. Jesus would never talk to you.”

She snorts, then groans. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just your voice I’m hearing, and that’s my sign I’m going to Hell. You are the devil, after all.”

If I’m the devil, she’s fuck...

“I fell,” Sawyer explains sheepishly, shrugging her shoulder. “’Tis nothing but a flesh wound.”