Hellena
I hate the taste of alcohol that still lingers on my tongue. I don't even know why I thought it would be a good idea to sneak into his office to steal one of his bottles.
After brushing my teeth again, this time more insistently, its taste is still there. I might just eat the whole tube of toothpaste at this point. I put my hair back in a bun, and after making sure I look decent, I return to the room.
I flinch and take a step back as I bump into his lazy gaze fixed on me.
"You should stop doing that. Haven't you heard of knocking on the door first?"
He's completely relaxed, lying on the side of the bed, which I've sensed for some time he uses. I just needed real proof. And it seems he was smart enough not to let himself be caught red-handed.
Every time I promised myself that I wouldn't fall asleep until I caught him entering the room, I ended up waking up at dawn with an empty bed. The only thing that changed was the pervasive presence of his perfume.
"I knocked, but you didn't answer," he smiles at me.
"There is an unwritten rule that you should know: if you knock on the door and there is no answer, normally you should not enter."
His smile widens, letting out a small grunt.
"What are you doing in my bed?" I wipe out an imaginary crease at the base of my pajama shirt.
My cheeks heat up when I realize that my night outfit, until tonight, consisted only of panties and a T-shirt. Tonight instead, I thought it would be wiser to get ready with a pair of pajama pants as well.
He raises a curious eyebrow at me.
"Are you having memory loss? Did you forget what I said earlier? I'm going to sleep here," he says, settling even more comfortably on the pillow.
I tense my jaw. Although sometimes I am overwhelmed by all the hormones that swarm through my body, specific to my age, I am not going to share my bed voluntarily with the man in front of me.
"That's not going to happen!" I declare, clenching my hands into fists, trying to gather my courage.
He doesn't seem impressed by my reply, which annoys me even more. He snorts a bored smile and continues to stare at me from under tired eyelids.
"It's getting late, Freckles. I think you should rest," he suggests, winking at me before turning to the side, presenting his back to me. "And just to remind you, it's not the first time we've shared the same bed. You're safe, trust me."
But at least then I wasn't aware of it.
I make a frustrated sound and kick the floor, but he doesn't react. Glancing around, I fix my eyes on the couch.
"Aren't you better off using the couch?" I inquire, looking at his figure out of the corner of my eye.
He mumbles something, hard to decipher, but that's it.
"Alright. I'll sleep here then!" I argue with the air, throwing myself disappointed onto the uncomfortable mattress of the sofa.
A muffled sound catches my attention, and I turn to look at the bed.
"Get into bed!" His command slices through the air, each word carrying a harsh edge that sends an icy chill down my spine.
I don't know how he got to my feet so fast. I look him up and down until our gazes meet. He penetrates me with a forgetfulness that is hard to describe. And for the first time since I've been around him, I'm really scared.
Yes, it may be intimidating to think that I'm in the house of the Marquez family, under the close watch of one of its members, but what I feel now is completely different.
I'm not intimidated by his power or his name.
I'm scared by the way he looks at me. The same look I often see in my father's eyes. A look that leaves no room for protests. Because the punishment that follows is far too harsh to be worth the effort.
He leans towards me, way too fast, sending me back to my memories. I wink and shrink into the corner, taking a deep breath as I start counting.
It's going to end soon. Relax.
"One, two, three..."
Sometimes it's over by the time I reach ten, other times it's a hundred. Or until I pass out and forget to count. It all depends on how stressful the day has been for him. How many failures he's endured, or how many drinks he's had after work.
A muffled sound interrupts my counting, snapping me back to reality. Opening my eyes, I find Victor kneeling before me, confusion etched across his face. His arms brace against the edge of the couch as he continues to scrutinize me.
"Tell me this isn't what I think. For his sake, tell me that I'm overthinking things right now." His concern softens his tone, but I feel a wave of shame wash over me.
I hadn't realized I was counting out loud, and now I feel exposed, vulnerable under his gaze.
It was easier with my father. He couldn't hear me. Not even when I was begging him not to hit me. Not even when I promised to listen.
My father never heard me.
"How often did he do it?" His question hit me like a hammer.
"Only when I deserved it," I whisper with a lump in my throat.
It was a lie. It happens often, but I've gotten used to it.
I didn't tell anyone this secret. My father would have killed me if I did. He was on the verge of doing it many times, for much smaller things.
"What's the most you have counted?"
I avert my gaze, knowing that whatever he sees in my eyes right now, it's not good. Or maybe I no longer dare to see myself reflected in his eyes.
I don't like to think of myself as a victim when I know I deserve everything I get. Dad offers me a heaven, compared to the hell I should be in now. I ruined his life. And I deserve his punishment.
"Two hundred and sixty... seconds."
I feel him rise to his feet, and out of the corner of my eye, I see his shadow marching across the room.
"He's a dead man!" he hisses through his teeth with palpable hatred.
I feel the oxygen in the room getting heavier with each passing second. I shouldn't have told him. I wasn't supposed to.
After an overwhelming silence, during which nothing could be heard except Victor's restless footsteps stomping around the room and my agitated heartbeat, I manage to force my body to get up from the couch. I try to ignore his presence as I sit up in bed, as I normally do, and turn off the light.
Suddenly, there is silence. Even in the middle of the night, I can feel him staring at me. I shrink in the middle of the bed when I discern the footsteps approaching my side.
His hot palm touches my arm, and I pull back by instinct, my memories still lingering in the back of my mind like fresh ink.
"Calm," he gently whispers to me, his words a soothing balm. "You're safe here, even if it doesn't seem that way. I'm beginning to see it wasn't just the outside world that was a threat to you."
With each word, his anger grows palpable. "You don't know me at all. When you do, you'll realize that I'm anything but a victim."
A bitter smile escapes me. I flinch again when I feel a gentle touch on my forehead. His fingers brush a few strands of hair away from my face.
You are finally safe.
It's dark, and I can only see a few rays of the moon slipping through the wooden shutters of the window. Yet, I feel as though Victor can see me well enough.
"The more I get to know you, the more I regret not killing him sooner."
Then, something warm and soft touches my forehead.
His lips.
The same lips I felt earlier. And that I want to feel again.
Because I don't want to lie, that was the most penetrating kiss I've ever had. It was the first time I felt that spark of attraction that I had been hearing and reading about. Which even Sofia was telling me about when it came to Yago and why she was ruining her life by choosing him.
And as scary as this unknown feeling is, it intrigues me so much and I want to discover all its sides. I want to feel it deeper. I want to see how far it can take me.
I feel needles under my skin again as Victor's lips leave my forehead. The illusion of the kiss remains imprinted on my skin for another two seconds, then it's wiped away by a cold breeze.
"I won't let them hurt you ever again."
He takes my hand in his and forces me to relax my fist, then releases me. I didn't realize that I had grabbed the sheet from under me, in my fist. I didn't even realize how tense I was.
His body rises from the mattress, and I feel it return to its original shape. I hadn't even noticed he was sitting next to me.
"It's late," he whispers again. "You need to rest. If you need me, I'll be in my room."
After a moment of silence, I hear him walking away. My heart sinks in my chest, and I feel like a tangled knot of strange sensations is blocking my trachea.
"Victor!" I call out, my desperation evident in my voice.
In my head, his name came out smooth and velvety, but in reality, I knew it sounded like the moan of an animal in the claws of death.
Silence.
The footsteps stopped.
"Stay..." I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "You make my nights bearable."