Return by A.M. Sexton Page B

trapped in. He blinked at me, then turned back out
the window, as if he couldn’t remember what was behind him. He
recoiled sharply from the sight, almost falling into me in his
haste to get back into the room.
    “What happened?” he asked, his voice breaking.
“What’s going on?”
    “You wanted to jump.”
    “Jump? But I…” He winced, clapping his hand to
the side of his head as if to hush that trigger that pulled him
south. “Holy Goddess, Misha. I could have died.”
    “I know.”
    “It hurts. It hurts so much. I’m losing my
mind!”
    He broke into tears, and I held him, fighting
my own aggravation. Even now, the hook kept tugging. I could feel
him struggling with it as he cried, sometimes huddling against me
for comfort, at others trying to push me away in order to escape,
mumbling over and over again, “It hurts. I have to
leave.”
    “Shh,” I soothed, trying again to hold him
against me, even as he fought to break free. “I know it’s hard, but
you can’t go. We have to stay here.”
    “I’m trying!” He shuddered as another sob ran
through him.
    I rubbed his back, making soothing noises. I
wondered if this was the first time he’d ever felt pain that wasn’t
tied to sex, because whatever the Dollhouse had trained him to do,
it was clear that there was no pleasure associated with the hook in
his brain.
    His sobs finally subsided into soft hiccups,
and he sighed against my chest. “It’s easing up now, but it won’t
last. It’ll be stronger when it comes back. It always
is.”
    “We just have to last until
morning.”
    We fell silent for a moment. I thought maybe
he’d fallen asleep, but then he spoke again. “Tie me
up.”
    “What? No, I can’t do that.”
    “Please, Misha. I think it might help. If I
can’t leave, then my brain has to stop, right?”
    He looked up at me hopefully. Moonlight fell
across his wet cheeks. His eyes were red and swollen. I had to do
something, but I wasn’t sure tying him would help. Then again, I
had no other solutions to offer. I was exhausted, and it felt like
it was only a matter of time before he escaped. If we could only
get through the night, I felt sure there must be a solution. I’d
talk to Gideon again. I’d beg him to operate.
    “All right,” I sighed. “I guess it can’t hurt
to try.”
    I used our clothes, because we didn’t have any
rope in the bedroom with us. I used my shirt to tie his ankles
together, and his slave drape to bind both of his wrists to the
post at the foot of the bed. He could still lie on the mattress if
he wanted to, although he was reluctant. He chose instead to sit on
the floor. “It’s better if I stay awake,” he told me. “If I fall
asleep, the hook makes me move before I’m fully
conscious.”
    “Then I’ll stay awake with you.”
    I settled into the armchair against the door,
determined not to sleep, although I was yawning again within
minutes.
    “Tell me about you,” Ayo said quietly. “I
don’t know anything, really.”
    It was a strange realization, but true. It
felt like we’d been through hell together, and yet I’d never really
told him how I’d come to be working as Donato’s whore.
    I talked for close to two hours. I told him
about my mom, although I left out the horrid details of her death.
I told him about Anzhéla, and about growing up on the streets,
about learning to pick pockets. Part of me was ashamed to have to
confess to being a thief and a spy. But I wouldn’t lie to him. I
wasn’t sure how much he heard anyway, through the pain of fighting
his program.
    Eventually, he went quiet. His breathing
became soft and regular. A glance showed me that he’d fallen asleep
with his head laying on his bound hands.
    I settled deeper into the armchair, determined
to stay awake, hoping we’d weathered the storm.
    I didn’t mean to sleep, but in the end, I did.
I woke again in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of
knocking. Not a hurried knock, like on a door. But a slow,