Page 16 of Stone’s Cage

Stone continues. "Are you telling me it wasn't? Fuck you, I'll walk. I'll walk away from the fight."

Suddenly, Shreves flashes a smile. "Okay man, okay. One it is. Still mine," and he starts to unlace his belt. I can hear the leather sliding out from the belt loops. What's he doing?

Stone takes a step towards me. "I call it, I get her."

Shreves stops with his belt. "You wanna be in violation? I could put a BOS on you. Now." He leans forward.

Stone looks around at everyone else in the bar. "He wants to chop it up? Only Shreves's rules apply? Threatening a beating on site?"

Confusion seems to sap the group of its potency and Shreves actually steps back. In this moment Stone says bitterly, "She's mine," and grabs me by the arm and starts hauling me out of there.

After standing still for so long and trying not to let my legs shake, I stumble and nearly fall when he drags me up the stairs to the street. His jaw is set and he's still not speaking or looking at me. His grip is like a vice on my arm and it tingles as he pulls me along. We hit the back door, on the street, and Stone moves us fast. We are halfway down the block before Shreves, and a few other guys from the bar splinter on the street and start yelling obscenities, but all he does is turn the corner.

I'm absolutely terrified. That one on the dice means something, that he's going to do something.

I start pulling and trying to escape. For a moment he releases me but before I can run, he's got a better grip and is jerking me down the street. It's nearly dark and the broken, stained clock at the corner building has one hand swinging straight down like a Dali painting.

"Shut up," he whispers in my ear fiercely. "You're okay. I'm not going to do anything to you. Stop fighting me."

But it's like my body is locked in a fight or flight response and I am doing both. He grabs me again, this time with both arms and hoists me over a shoulder. I'm kicking, kicking hard and some land, but he just keeps moving like a train at top speed striding down the broken cement sidewalk like this is a totally normal thing. It takes just a few minutes for the shouting to fade and then he tries to set me back down. When I move for a second attempt at escape, he sighs and lifts me again, this time to the other shoulder.

By the time we get to his apartment, the evening traffic sounds just muffle my own shouts and he opens the door with one hand.

As he steps inside, he yells, "Stop it!" as I twist up and almost whack my head on the ceiling. He drops me unceremoniously to the floor.

He's breathing hard now, and I realize I've probably kicked him in the stomach more than a few times. He grips my shoulders and gives me a shake. "Stop it! I was saving you from yourself."

As soon as he let's go, I take a step back and start in on him. "What the hell is going on? What was that all about?"

He's shutting his blinds all over the apartment. "You have no idea what you got yourself into."

A strand of my hair floats in front of my eyes and I shove it back. "I know what I want," I yell, though not loud enough. "I want to be in the Hooks."

Done with his shuttering, he faces me, shaking his head. "I want to know exactly what you're doing. Because this is bullshit." He says this so quietly, so deadly, that for a moment all I hear is my heart thudding in my chest. "Do you know what happens when you roll the die?"

"You don’t know anything about me." I want him to know that I almost relish a beating, if that's what I'd get. I want the shit kicked out of me. It was my fault my brother was walking across the street that night. My fault he's dead. My fault he was caught in crossfire between the Hooks and the Wyrms.

Stone's quiet voice continues. "They don’t beat you. It’s a sex-in. The number you roll is the number of guys who get to rape you. You roll a four, four guys rape you. You rolled a five," he jerks his head. "You actually got a five. That means Shreves and four other assholes would have had you on that bar."

My legs are water, jelly, boneless, I feel a sudden drop as blood drains from my skull. A wave of nausea suddenly stains the back of my throat with bile and I watch as the floor seems to fly up to meet my face.

Stone catches me. Maybe it's the ebb and flow of adrenaline, hanging over his shoulder, my near faint, but everything comes up. The little food I've had today splatters on his arms and I am so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything, for kicking him, not trusting him and I keep saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," and now I'm crying. He leads me somewhere but then when I try to stand, the nausea flows again and this time, mercifully, my body just decides to shut down. The room spins for an ugly moment, I look up and try to say his name, and then, with my heart racing in my chest, the blackness wells up starting along the edges of my vision and I fall into a deep, terrible abyss.

I must only be out for a moment because now I'm sitting on the toilet lid with my head between my legs. Stone runs water in the sink and then he lifts my head, holding my chin in his hand, wiping my face with a cold, wet washcloth.

"You're okay," he says. Over and over and he's so gentle, I'm afraid I will start to cry again.

"Can you sit up?"

I try to smile but my lips tremble and I have to wipe both eyes with both hands.

"Here," he says, gently pushing me back to a sitting position. "Swish this around in your mouth and then spit into this one." He's holding out two little plastic cups, one with mouthwash and one empty. Moving to take them both, my tears run hot and heavy when I understand he will hold them for me. I do what he says and then he wipes my mouth.

"I'm sorry," I say, hiccupping a little trying to suppress a sob.

"Sorry for what? You're doing fine."

"For lying to you."