In the Arms of the Enemy’s Brother
I watched as he carefully placed the blade against the rope, making sure it stayed away from my skin.
He started cutting slowly. The sound of the rope being sliced was soft, almost quiet, but I could feel the tightness easing with every movement. The pressure on my wrists started to fade little by little.
Then the rope came off. My arms dropped forward immediately, heavy and weak, like they didn’t belong to me anymore. My wrists burned, the skin sore and red, marks left behind where the rope had dug in. I rubbed them without thinking, but even that hurt. Before I could say anything else, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him tightly. I held onto him like I was afraid he would disap
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