I start to chew at the tape and climb over the ropes.

Stuart doesn’t talk to me again, even when I offer him gum. He takes it and looks in a different direction, never meeting my eyes. We change in silence.

Finally I speak, "I didn’t mean it."

He shrugs.

It's his way of saying that it's alright.

I slap him in the arm, "Meet you in the parking lot."

His crazed look reappears, "It's going to be the best one. I know it."

I shake my had, "I just think if we give her more time…"

"No. She's not getting better, man. She's stuck. I was stuck. She needs this. Dr. Bradley may be ‘Fifty Shades of Cray’ but she knows her shit."

I snort and nearly say something horrid, but I know he still feels grateful. I wish I could. I wish I was able to be appreciative for everything she did for me, but I can't. She made me hold the gun, she made me say it.

I sigh, "I'm going to make sure everything is ready. I'll see you after Michelle leaves."

He winks and strolls out of the room. I can see the swagger and know my sympathetic stare is still bothering him. He over does his manliness when anyone sees his weakness.

I walk up the road to Columbus Park and lean against the chain-link fence. No matter how hard I try to fight it, I remember him the first time I saw him. He was lying about his age to UFC fight and getting beat to shit on purpose. His face was a bloody pulp. It makes me sick thinking about it—the crazed look on his face and the way he looked like he was having the time of his life. Jane led me into the crowd, looking out of place amongst the greasy and filthy patrons of the underground fights. She looked like a linen napkin in comparison to them all, clean and tidy and straight and anal. She leaned into my neck, whispering over the sound of the fists pummeling the crazy-looking guy in the cage and the screams of the crowd. She breathed the words into my neck, "He's like you."

His swollen eyes found mine through the chain-link walls. I watched as a grin crossed his lips and the final blow hit. He screamed as he went back. His nose had to be broken. He dropped to the ground, suddenly looking so small. The winner held his hands in the air, jumping up and down. It was then that I saw the real Stuart. He stood up, smiling through the blood that coated his face and started the real fight. Like the Hulk in comics, he needed to be angry to really fight. He needed to fear you to beat you. He needed something to drive his fists in anger. He could scrimmage but not fight for real, without anger.

His fists fought fast and hard, not needing a break but driving forward. He was much smaller than the guy he was viciously beating but it didn’t matter. The man had believed he held the upper hand. He didn’t understand what a real fight was to Stuart. To win, he must come from behind. He must be chained to a wall, beaten and injured in ways people don’t recover from. He must see his dead brother lying next to him, still chained to the wall but getting smaller every day. He must feel every lash of the belt in the hand of the janitor who took them from the schoolyard. Only then, can he touch that part of himself and rise above the pain. Only then, is he a champion in his own heart.

Stuart didn’t wait for the shock to stop silencing the crowd. He stepped past the unconscious man, walked from the cage and down the hallway. Jane took my hand, leading me after him into the dark tunnel where the change rooms were.

We sat in awe and awkward silence as he showered and sobbed. I imagined him in there, huddled and desperate to be clean again.

I knew that feeling. I knew that filth.

She was right. He was like me.

We have been together since and we will be together until we die, hopefully on the same day, like we had promised each other all those years before.

My hands almost bleed where I grip the fence and stare out at the barren field and dirt they call a park. It feels like my insides, undeveloped and barren, but loaded with potential.

I sigh when my phone rings and see it's her.

"Hello."

I can hear Jane smiling with anticipation when she speaks, "Hello, Eli. You all ready for tonight?"

I stare at the chain-link fence and nod, "I am."

"I need you to be your usual cold and confident self. But use an Australian accent when you speak. It's a trigger for her. In hypnosis she suggested it was an issue for her. I played a recording of a woman speaking with the accent and nothing happened, but when I played the man speaking with the accent she panicked slightly. It's just another tool to break her." Her voice stops being so chipper when she speaks again, "I will need a near-sexual assault. I believe that's loomed over her head the entire time, and somewhere inside of her, I think she feels inadequate that Randy never touched her that way."

I grimace, "Jane… Jesus."

"Eli, he raped and murdered every little girl he came in contact with, apart from Emalyn and Sarah. Deep down, I believe she wonders why he never did. She no doubt wonders if something is wrong with her for him to have left her alone."

I close my eyes, "Something is wrong with you. No child would think that."

"You have no idea what a child will consider affection after years of neglect. Well, I guess that's not entirely true, is it?"

My tone goes to the dark place, "Fuck you, Jane." I hang up the phone; I can't hear any more of her hateful digs.

The Aussie accent is fine, but I will not try to hurt her further than she has already been hurt. She is a damaged girl. I shudder and turn to walk up the road to where I parked. I don’t feel cold and confident. I feel like I'm in that damned hole and I'm watching her try to find the corners of the wall where she's sitting in the dirt. I feel scared and lost. I need her hand in mine so I have a reason to not be lost again. I need her to need me too, beyond being her benefactor.

I drive to Jane's office and sit in the parking lot, adrift in thought and mental preparation. Seeing Jane's building makes me feel dirty, instantly.

Stuart pulls up in the SUV. He doesn’t look at me, he parks and stares at the building too. His treatment was the first one I participated in. I had drunk the Kool-Aid and believed the pseudo science behind it. I still believe, just not for myself. For Stuart's I was excited to watch a human being be healed by being submerged into the environment they had escaped.

I had thought because I survived mine, I could survive his.

I was wrong.

I gave up on him, walking out in tears and agony. He understood why, but I felt a type of shame I hadn’t in a long time. He wasn’t the first person I had given up on when things got hard.

Sitting here next to him, I vow silently, no matter what she needs, I won't give up on her. I failed her once.

I climb out of the car and get into the truck with Stuart. We sit in the silent vehicle for a few minutes, not needing to talk.

Finally, he speaks softly, "You have to be strong, Eli."

I nod. I can't say that I will be, I don’t know that I'll ever be strong.

"If she isn’t completely broken down, ruled and afraid, she might not crack." He turns and gives me a smile, "It was hard to watch me crack. You sure you got this?"

I hate how excited he is. I sigh, "I don’t have much choice. If she doesn’t get better, I won't either. She's my only chance at redemption."

I see his eyes fight the tears in them. For the first time he's being honest with himself. He nods, "You never walked out on me, dude. I couldn’t watch some old man…" He gags and takes a breath, "Hit you either."

My eyes water, "We don’t know what she's seen or been through. Jane thinks she knows everything. We don’t know what's in there."

Stuart shakes his head, "We're all the same. Scare the shit out of us and we comply. I don’t know about her, but me and Sam learned early on that we got beat less if we just let it ride."

My stomach curdles. I shake my head, putting my hand up. He stops himself from whatever he's about to say. He takes deep breaths. He never says Sam's name. Neither of us said their names ever. I've gotten better than him at it, but in my case, Em died in an instant. She didn’t starve in front of me slowly.

He clears his throat, "Try to stay in character for her. We have weeks before Michelle gets back."

I pat him on the arm, still not taking my eyes from the building, "See you on the other side, brother."

"Yes you will," he grins and nods, "Don't hold back either. I want the full, fiery temper."

I snort, "You're still such a sick bastard."

He licks his lips and winks. I climb out and walk up to the building. The elevator makes me shudder, but I know she has cameras. She likes to watch me be afraid or hesitate. She likes it when I'm uncomfortable. She wants to be the one I turn to in my needs. She wants me.

In a sick way, I like that. I like to watch her squirm in return. If I didn’t fucking hate every ounce of her, we would be quite the pair, taking turns being on top…being the one getting fucked.

She makes me cold and confident.

I step into the elevator, clenching my hands, imagining the feel of my girl's hands in my grip. I fold my hands behind my back, poking a finger into the corner to remind myself the corner means it isn’t the hole in the ground.

She beams at me as I step off, trying to avoid her gaze as my heartbeat is pounding from the small space.

"Still angry with me?"

I don’t satisfy her with a response.

She smiles wider, "You know I provoke you to help you in this role you're going to play. It won't be easy."

"Nothing ever is with you, Jane."

She points, "You asked for my help with this one."

I nod, "I don’t regret asking you, I just wish there was another way. I thought the treatments she was having would help her remember some of it. It's been years, Jane, and she hasn’t budged."

She shakes her head, "She won't go into the dirty house. She won't open her eyes and take a look, even in hypnosis. She is blocking it. We need to put her back there on purpose. She needs the filth and disturbing torment and instability of it all, to remember it." She crosses the room, holding herself rigidly, with her chest out.