Way Down I'll Go

That Swells with Silence in the Soul

It was all around him. He tried to open his eyes and realized that he couldn't. It was dark, but he could sense light behind him. The little air in his lungs was leaving him and he desperately searched for the surface, only to find that he couldn't move. He was being held down.

Just when he felt consciousness slipping from him, the force on the back of his head clamped down on his hair and yanked his head upward. Air clawed its way into his lungs, bringing droplets of water with it. He choked and sputtered, but was thrown to the floor before he could catch his breath. As he lay gasping, his right eye opened just barely. He tried to open his left but found that he could not.

"Pick him up," his father's voice rasped maliciously.

The hand returned to his hair and he grimaced as he was pulled to his knees. Pain soon replaced the shock of asphyxiation, and the events of the evening returned to him. This was the second time he'd been awoken from unconsciousness by having his head shoved in a bucket of icy water.

"Ready for round three, little man?" 

The voice was gleeful as its accompanying hand gripped his hair and then pushed his head away. He almost lost his balance, but pulled himself back just in time. Sucking in a breath at the pain it caused his ribs, he tried to clear his mind, to leave the room, but found he could not. Pain, exhaustion, and the futility of his situation raged through his blow-addled brain. The shaking from cold and fatigue slowly became a silent sob that wracked his 7-year-old frame.

"Lift his head up, Vinnie." 

His father's voice once again cut through him.

The hand return to the back of his head, jerking it backwards. A small gasp escaped the large form holding him upright.

"Holy shit, Carl! The little fucker's crying."

It was true. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, but the rogue tear had slipped from his eye, leaving a betraying trail down his cheek.

His father came close to his face, inspecting the traitorous tear. A rough finger wiped the liquid from underneath his eye and rubbed it together, bringing it to his father's lips.

"We're gonna have to fix that, boy."

Vinnie held his head to the side while his father produced a dull, rusted knife. Finding the beginning of the tear track at the middle of his cheekbone, the knife dug into his skin and scraped diagonally down its path until it ended beneath his jawline.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't cry. The entire world had narrowed to a single, burning line on his face.

"Alright, Carl, let me have my fun with him. Before he goes into shock."

"He's all yours, Vin."

The hand tightened its vice-like grip on his hair, dragging him across the floor toward the bedroom. As the black edges of unconsciousness approached, he realized it would only be a matter of minutes before a bucket of ice water dragged him back to this hell.

_______

Jo awoke, gasping for air, expecting the familiar burn of water flooding his lungs. Instead, he inhaled the sweet, spring breeze that had entered through an open window, gracefully lifting the translucent curtains on its way in. He collapsed from his elbows onto his back, panting as the shadows of his past were chased away by the sunlight filtering in through the white panels of fabric.

A hand reached toward his face from the other side of the bed and he flinched violently, grabbing its wrist.

"Jo."

Rachel's voice was calm and gentle, but Jo could see the pain in her eyes. It took a moment to register that he was causing it. He released her wrist and scrambled away from her, his breath coming in labored wheezes.

"I'm sorry. Rachel, I'm so sorry."

"Jo."

She sat up next to him, tear tracks heavily lining her face.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear." 

He ran a hand over his face in frustration and guilt. 

"I should go."

"Jo," she said a third time.

He looked at her. She raised her hands slowly, deliberately, and reached for him. He couldn't stop his trembling and when she pulled him into a hug, he could feel her trembling, too.

He didn't know how long they sat intertwined amidst the tangled sheets. All he knew was the scent of her, the feel of her hands rubbing soft circles into his back, the sound of her hiccuping sobs as she tried to pretend she wasn't crying. Too soon, she pulled away and took his face in her hands. Her thumb traced the scar on his cheek and he tore his gaze from hers, bowing his head as his face burned with shame.

With insistent fingers, she lifted his face to meet her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Jo."

Finally daring to touch her, he reached up to wipe the tears from her face. Her eyes closed with his movements, and then she leaned forward and placed her lips on his.

It wasn't the first time Jo had been kissed on the mouth. A thousand repulsive images flew through his mind at the contact, and then in an instant, they were gone, and there was only her.

As Jo tasted the lavender and honey of Rachel's lips, a small piece of his soul awoke from its comatose state and began to breathe again.