The answer seems simple when I think of it that way.
“I’m sorry,” I whimper immediately, and the words don’t hurt so much because the reason why I concede and say them at all is in my arms right now.
“I can’t hear you,” he seethes in my face.
He’s still holding my hair tight and I cringe against the pain. It feels like, if he pulls a little harder, he’ll tear off my scalp right along with my hair.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. Tears of pain blossom in the corners of my eyes.
“Do you like my face?” he muses, taking advantage of my new meekness.
I can barely hear him over Phoenix’s screaming.
“Shush, little bird,” I say to my son, rocking back and forth in the chair. “Cálmate. It’s okay, it’s okay…”
“Shut him the f**k up!” the blonde guard screams at me.
A tear falls down my cheek and land
