She can't take it anymore. She has to tell him.

Maybe if she knows if it's normal, she will be able to handle it.

And if it's not normal, Jorge will throw Amery out.

If he doesn't kill him, at least.

Somewhere, deeply inside her body, she hopes Jorge does kill him. Not only because she wants that man dead, but because it would make her feel... protected. Like Jorge actually cares about her, and has proved it by doing that for her.

On the other side, she wants to be the one to kill Amery.

So she climbs out of her bed, late at night, and tiptoes over to Jorge's room. Her legs tremble a bit from the previous events, and her chest feels tight, but she continues.

"Jorge?" Whispering, the girl knocks on the door, then enters.

He's still awake. The tiny lamp on his nightstand is on. His glasses are on. Fumbled paper that must be a crossword puzzle is in his hands.

He looks up at her voice. "Oh, hi, Hija. Qué pasa?"

What's up?

"I need to tell you something," she begins. When he pats down on the bed, she hesitantly sits down. "Or rather... ask, I guess."

"Oh?" He puts his puzzle away. Removes his glasses.

He really is listening for once.

He has... grown.

"Is it normal..." she trails off for a moment. After so many times of trying to tell him, this is it. This is her chance. So she takes a deep breath, and speaks again. "Is it normal for Amery to..."

She searches for the right words, ones that won't be stuck in her throat for once.

"...for him to come in my room at night?" She asks, eyes on the bedsheets.

"Come in your room at night?" Jorge straightens. "For other reasons than putting you to bed?"

Slowly, Siren nods. "He... he touches me. He says that it's a secret and that I can't tell anyone and that it's normal—but it feels wrong. He touches me in a way that makes me uncomfortable and it hurts a lot."

She finally looks up to meet Jorge's eyes. Instead of the concern she hoped to see, irritation is written all over his face. "Don't make things up. Amery is here to protect you. You're just having bad dreams."

Her eyes widen as they get watery. "Why would the same dream repeat for who knows how many weeks—months?!"

"You're safe here, alright. Now go back to your bed."

The words cut deeper than any of Amery's touches. "He hurts me," she repeats. "Jorge, he hurts me. It's real. He—"

"Siren," Jorge warns. "We'll talk about this."

Something inside her softens, but she still feels at unease. His eyes have become... colder. Almost like Amery's gaze.

He wraps both of his arms around her, tightly. When she tries to pull away, his grip tightens. "Jorge... I don't think I— I don't want to—"

But he doesn't let go. He just pulls her closer, her cheek pressed against his chest. "You need to learn to keep quiet, Siren. Just like Amery told you."

Her breath catches in her throat. "No, please, don't—"

꥟

Completely drenched in sweat, the girl shoots awake.

You're just having bad dreams.

That was the bad dream.

She takes in her surroundings. It's just her room.

Just her tiny little room that has started to feel like a cell.