Amo

The dust slowly settles. The broken wall behind me cracks, as if it's about to collapse.
Amo lies there, breathing with difficulty, but her eyes are still open. There's no fear in them. There's something else there.
She smiles slowly.
“…So that’s how it is,” she says quietly. “You really can’t stop.”
Rudo stands over her, breathing heavily. His hands are shaking, his fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles are white.
He looks down, but his gaze is unfocused—as if it’s not Amo in front of him, but something inside himself.
"Shut up," he says curtly. "You don't understand."
Amo turns her head slightly, as if this movement is difficult for her.
"I don't understand?" Her voice is calm, almost mocking. "Then why are you angry right now?"
Rudo looks away abruptly.

• Enough talking.
  "You liked that smell, didn't you?" she continues. "The smell that makes you lose control."
  For a second everything freezes.
  Rudo takes a step back as if those words hit harder than any blow.
  “I’m not…” he stutters. “I’m not like that.”
  Amo looks straight at him.
• Everyone says so.
  Cleaners emerge from the shadows. Their presence is immediately felt—cold, oppressive.
  One of them stands between them.
  “That’s it,” he says. “That’s enough.”
  Rudo grits his teeth.
  — Take your hands off.
  "Rudo," the second cleaner grabs him by the shoulder. "You're crossing the line."
  He twitches, but is held back. Rudo's gaze returns to Amo—angry, confused, full of contradictions.
  Amo exhales quietly.
  “See?” she whispers. “They’re not afraid of me. They’re afraid of you.”