“You saved yourself, that’s how you got free,” Enzo says encouraging me despite me never having asked a question, trying to pretend like my life isn’t the mess that it is—trying to give me some sense of encouragement.
My eyes glisten with the tears. I didn’t cry for six years—hardly a single tear fell. And now, I feel like I can’t shut them off for the stupidest of reasons.
“No, I didn’t save myself.”
“Then, how did you get free?”
I’ve already told him, but he wasn’t listening, or he needs confirmation that the words I spoke were true, and I wasn’t exaggerating.
“I was deemed broken. It was a game to them. Jarod wanted to break me, and then the men had no use for me anymore. Jarod said I could be free if I broke, so I broke. And then they dumped me on a park bench.”
Enzo curses
