by PJ Vye
He couldn’t lie. Even a man in prison is allowed conjugal visits. But a man in prison wouldn’t meet a girl like Sunny in the first place.
Mataio hesitated, willing himself not to turn back to her. He put one foot in front of the other though and by the time he’d reached the train station he knew where he was heading.
No matter her new passport was due in a few days. He would get her current one from Judd, and he wouldn’t be able to stop him. Mataio knew he would do anything.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to.
Rule No. 8
No Freedom
Thirty-One
SUNNY
Sunny rolled onto her stomach and pushed her head into the pillow.
“What was that?” came her muffled voice. After a few seconds without breathing she lifted her head, took a gasp of air and smashed her head back again.
Why am I so stupid?
She knew he wasn’t attracted to her. She knew she liked him more than he liked her. She knew it wouldn’t affect him in anyway—she’d just given him an easy lay—let him use her for sex. Would she never learn? She had to stop letting men treat her like a doormat.
What if he does like me? He said he did. A pesky thought wouldn’t be crushed, even though Sunny knew a man’s actions were far more reliable to believe than his words.
But he said I was incredible. He said he didn’t deserve me.
Such easy things to say. Much harder to prove. Proof might have been sticking around long enough to hold her after coming inside her. Proof might have been asking if he should wear a condom or withdraw so she wouldn’t get pregnant. Proof might have been waiting for her to come first. Proof might have been anything other than getting out of the bed and walking away without a single word.
She slammed her head into the pillow again. Stupid. Stupid Stupid.
Should she go to the chemist and get a morning after pill? She’d only just gone off contraception this month. It would be so unlucky. Still, she couldn’t take the risk. She’d go to the doctor today and get a prescription.
Maybe she should just ask Mataio for one. That would be easier. At least in some way he’d be contributing—even if it was after the event. He should take some of the responsibility.
If it wasn’t so unlikely, Sunny would have thought he’d had no experience with sex at all. He’d entered her, almost as if by accident, and the look on his face, like he’d never felt anything like it in his life. She couldn’t deny it had been a huge turn on, and if Tulula hadn’t walked up to the door…
She let her mind linger a while there, his body covering hers, his mouth and lips and tongue. She’d felt so cherished in those moments, like she was the only girl he’d ever really kissed before. Like the world could have ended and all he would have noticed was her. She knew it was unhealthy to think about it too much. She needed to get herself together, ready for the apathetic act she’d have to put on when he returned.
She sat up in bed and looked at her clothes on the floor, the memory of him undressing filled her head and she fell back down onto the pillow again.
Why did he run away?
She wanted to hold him so badly. Her whole body ached, wanting him beside her. When he’d got out of bed and put his clothes back on, she’d asked him where he was going, but as he walked out of the room, she realised she hadn’t asked it out loud. Only in her head.
Frustrated, she kicked her legs about, and the bed creaked wildly. No wonder Aunt Tulula had come to see what the noise was. The bed sounded like a rusty trampoline.
How would she explain it to her? She shouldn’t have to. She wasn’t her aunt. Let Mataio tell her what that was. Sunny sure as hell didn’t know.
She started kicking again but stopped when she heard footsteps outside coming towards the house. Mataio?
A loud knock on the front door dashed her hopes and she curled into a ball and ignored it. A few seconds later the knock rang out louder than before.
A voice called out, “Hello? Anybody home? This is Carl Higgins from the Channel Nine newsroom. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”
Thirty-Two
MATAIO
16 days to go
The stairs rattled loudly as Mataio took them two at a time to Sunny’s apartment. Judd opened the door before Mataio knocked and the disappointment he saw indicated maybe Judd had thought it was Sunny.
“Mate,” Judd said, his mouth turned into a slow smile as he held open the door for Mataio to pass.
“I lied,” replied Mataio as he cast his eyes around the benches and tables in search of her passport. “I know where Sunny is, and I need that passport.”
Judd’s lips dropped at the edges but stayed high enough to give him a pained, clown look. “What?”
Mataio didn’t feel the need to repeat himself and stood very still and waited for Judd to react. Mataio would walk out of this room with it in his hand, no matter what the consequence.
“I don’t have her passport. Why would I have it?” said Judd.
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Judd’s sneer disappeared completely, and he tilted his head to one side. “I think maybe she’s got you believing some story. What else did she tell you?”
Mataio saw it then—the permanent reminder of his own childhood experience. That second where the charm ended, and the real man began. The man below the surface that only the closest family members got to see. The man who could be the friendliest neighbour on the street but at home could shove his wife against a door for putting the wrong knife in the dishwasher. The man who’d tell the liveliest stories at a party but chase his son around the house to belt him for not finishing his carrots. The cold, steel like expression crossed Judd’s face like a mask had lifted and Mataio cursed himself for staying silent for so long, all those months below in the laboratory, hearing it and doing nothing. He’d done it again, not protected someone he cared about in order to protect himself. Had he learned nothing after all this time?
An old familiar coldness filled him and his arms clenched at his sides. Mataio took a long breath, relishing in the power he felt, not backing down from it this time. He knew Judd wouldn’t give him anything that he believed belonged to him. Sunny, in Judd’s mind, was his property and he would fight for her.
Mataio would fight too. He’d blown The Rules anyway. Roughing him up a bit would be easy—Judd was solid, but he was lazy, slow and sloppy.
“I need her passport now, Judd. I’m not going to ask again.”
The two men faced each other, Mataio’s face determined and self-assured, Judd more uncertain. Judd could perhaps see he was out of his depth with the black, stout Samoan man standing in front of him. Judd’s cheek twitched and his eyes flicked towards the door.
“I’m just going to have a look around for it then,” said Mataio, and moved past Judd into the living room, giving him a slight nudge as he passed.
Judd found his voice and moved to make a clear path to the door. “You need to get out, mate.” ‘Mate’ sounded bitter and tight. “Now.”
“As soon as I have the passport,” Mataio repeated, as he pulled up the couch cushions and searched through the dresser drawers. He moved into the bathroom and checked the cupboards, cursing he hadn’t asked Sunny where he might hide something like this. A memory of how he’d left her, naked in La’ei’s bed—flushed, soft and beautiful made him catch his breath a second and he looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. What had he done?
He pushed the memory aside with the strength of mind that only twenty years of deprivation gives you, and moved into the bedroom, upending the mattress in one easy lift. Judd stood in the doorway, his chin set, his eyes deadly with anger.
He didn’t try to stop him.
The wardrobe smelled of Sunny and this combined with his frustration sent him flying towards Judd, the front of his shirt in his hands before he knew it.
“Tell me where it is, you piece of shit. I’m not leaving without.”
Judd
did his best ‘go fuck yourself’ expression but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“She’s messing with you mate. She’s using you. The bitch stole from me. Took all my money. I’ve got nothing left. She’s not getting jack shit from me. You can tell her that.”
Mataio pushed his nose into the puffy face of his adversary and said in a quiet, measured voice, “Whatever she took from you, wasn’t enough, Mate. You lied to her, yelled at her and treated her like a housekeeper. You don’t deserve her, and you certainly don’t deserve any of the money you kept from her.”
“Fuck off,” Judd said, trying to pull away.
Mataio felt a surge of hatred at the rotten streak he saw in the man, the bit that he kept just for Sunny. The bit of himself, the blackened sourest bit he hid from the rest of the world so they would think he was a nice guy.
Mataio saw it and knew Judd for what he was. He heard the screams in his mind, the pleas, the crying, the desperation all come back to him as vivid as if it had been this morning—the power imbalance that makes a man think he can rule his home by his rules.
Mataio shoved Judd hard and he teetered but managed to stay upright. How could he protect Sunny for a few more days without getting her on a plane today? The frustration got the better of him and he took three long strides and smacked Judd in the mouth.
“Tell me.”
“Jesus Christ, you hit me, you son of a bitch.”
“I’ll hit you harder if you don’t tell me right now.”
Mataio stood over him and Judd acknowledged the reality of the situation as he wrestled with his back pocket, one hand still holding his face, and tossed the passport onto the floor beside them.
Relief poured through Mataio as he scooped to pick it up. Judd pushed his knee up to make contact with his face but Mataio was too quick and flipped Judd’s leg with his hand and he crashed to the floor, a loud crack echoing on the floorboards.
Mataio checked the passport was Sunny’s, shoved it into his back pocket and left Judd moaning on the floor behind him.
Thirty-Three
TULULA
Tulula arrived at the front door in time to see Sunny leave La’ei’s bedroom tucking a t-shirt into her jeans.
Having Sunny stay in La’ei’s room had been strangely comforting to Tulula these last few weeks. Hearing movement in the room, an energy in the house she hadn’t experienced in a long time. La’ei was the same age—Sunny had become the fair version of her. Tulula liked her company.
It hadn’t been the first time she’d put an ear up to her door to hear what happened within. But that had been twenty years ago when a teenage girl and her male cousin needed to be supervised—a closed door inspired un-God like behaviour and Tulula had been strict on the girl. Little good it’d done.
This time, her ear to the door, she couldn’t mistake the sound of the rhythmic pattern of the old springs and had made a hasty exit to leave them to it. She wasn’t unhappy, just surprised. She had begun to think Mataio didn’t have the gene that made him like girls. She’d smiled as she’d walked away, considering the possibilities.
Now, she looked at Sunny’s disheveled hair, her disappointed eyes with no sign of Mataio and wondered what she’d need to do to get him to behave better.
Ipo barked incessantly at the door and Sunny pushed him aside to open it a fraction. “We’re not interested. Bye.”
She pushed the dogs nose back and slammed the door shut, then turned to Tulula. “It’s a News crew with cameras.”
“It’s so late. What do they want?” asked Tulula, a sudden dread gripping her. Change never fared well and she’d already felt the tide turning with Junior.
“I don’t know. Not going to ask.”
Another loud knock on the door made both women jump and for a split second they smiled at each other’s reaction.
A voice shouted, “We’ve heard about the experimental weight treatment being tested here. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Go away,” yelled back Tulula. “You have the wrong house.”
Sunny gave her a quick nod with one eyebrow raised.
“Is that Tulula Euta?” came the voice behind the door.
He squeezed the vowel in a typically Australian way and her name sounded foreign to her. She couldn’t trust these people.
“Where’s Mataio?” Tulula whispered.
Sunny shrugged slowly, misery on her face.
So Mataio had gone and disappeared on the poor girl. Why wasn’t she surprised? Mataio could be so self-absorbed. Probably didn’t even give the girl a second thought as he buttoned up his trousers and left her in bed alone.
To the door she yelled, “We don’t have anything to say to you. Please leave or I’ll send my son out and you don’t want to mess with him.”
“Is that the bed-ridden son that weighs 300kg or the other son who is really your nephew Mataio Brinn? We’d like to speak to either of them if they’re available.”
Tulula flung open the door and pushed the security door against the tall, suited man who shuffled back to let her out. He hadn’t expected her, and he straightened his tie and lifted a microphone as the woman beside him lifted her camera onto her shoulder.
“Get off my property. Right now,” yelled Tulula, flinging her hands and shooing them like a pack of chickens.
“Tell us about the experiment, Tulula. Does Dr Brinn plan to publish his results? Is Junior Euta likely to make a full recovery?”
The reporter stopped moving and the lady pushed her camera closer into her face. Tulula retreated back inside the house and closed the screen. “I’m calling the police.”
“If we can’t get your story, we’re going to look for it elsewhere. Bernadette has already told us everything we need to know. The next step for us is the Therapeutic Goods Administration. What do you think they’ll tell us Mrs Euta?”
His pronunciation of her name irked her more the second time and she slammed the wooden door so hard it didn’t engage and popped back open.
“If they go to the TGA, Mataio is screwed,” whispered Sunny.
Tulula didn’t quite understand what the TGA was, but assumed it had something to do with Mataio and his medical license. What did she care about that? He made his choices. But Junior wasn’t better yet, and if they took Mataio away…well she needed his help a while longer. “What do we do?”
“We should get them to wait,” whispered Sunny, her eyes scanning the floor. “We need some time to think.”
“Mataio needs to get himself out of this mess. It’s not our problem.”
“It will be if this story breaks.”
“What do people care about our business? Just send them away. It will all blow over if we say nothing.”
“I don’t think it will, Tulula.”
“Of course, it will,” she answered, already wiping her hands of the whole thing on her apron and moving towards the kitchen. She wondered if Mataio would be home tonight.
Sunny followed her into the room. “You don’t understand. People are obsessed with weight. If they think there’s a workable alternative to dieting, well, the world will go crazy for it. This is a big deal. And I’m pretty sure the guys at the front door will be nothing compared to whats to come—if this gets out.”
“Do we have any apples? I might make a snack,” said Tulula, her head in the fridge. If she fed Sunny, she might stop talking. Sunny loved her cooking. After Mataio’s indifference and Junior’s gluttony, it had been a refreshing change to have a guest who ate and enjoyed her food without picking at it or swallowing it whole without tasting it first.
“Tulula, this is serious.”
It took a minute for Tulula to realise Sunny wasn’t talking about the lack of apples. “Well, what can we do about it? Best to leave it for Mataio to deal with. He’ll know what to do.”
“So, I don’t suppose he told you where he was going?” Sunny asked and leaned against the table casually. Tulula sensed it wasn’t an easy question for her to ask.
; “No. You don’t know?”
Sunny shook her head and turned her back. “I guess we just have to wait.” Sunny checked her watch. “I’ll go see if the reporter’s gone.”
Tulula made a mental note of the things she needed at the supermarket tomorrow, then decided there were too many to remember and wrote a list.
Sunny’s scream made her drop her pen.
She shuffled outside as quickly as the arthritis in her feet allowed to find Mataio with two arms outstretched holding the reporter against the house with one hand around his neck and the other on the camerawoman’s ear, bent back in a way that made her obey. Her camera lay on the ground at her feet and Ipo barked up furiously at them all.
Sunny had her hands on Mataio’s back but she was powerless to stop him. Mataio had that look on his face she hadn’t seen for a long time. The angered, evil glare that declared war on injustice with a fierceness that had always scared her.
Sunny looked scared too as she pleaded, “Mat, let them go. This isn’t helping. We’ll work it out.”
Tulula wondered what Mataio’s plan might be, now he had them immobile and within his control. He couldn’t stand there forever. And the reporter had started to go a little blue in the face. Anytime he struggled against him, Mataio held him tighter.
The reporter couldn’t speak and eventually gave up.
The woman spoke with a New Zealand accent. “Listen Bru, we shouldn’t have touched her. We’re sorry. Let us go and we’ll be out of your hair. You don’t want assault charges on top of everything else now do you?”
Mataio yanked her ear a little harder and she yelped.
“Mat, please let them go. They barely touched me.”
“Who are they and what do they want?”
