Chapter 32 Valentina
THIRTY-TWO
VALENTINA
“Your guests will be arriving shortly, Valentina. Don’t you think you should get dressed?” My mother stands in the entry to my bedroom, a tentative smile on her face, her hand still wrapped tightly around the door handle. Ready to flee—like always.
What kind of daughter frightens their mother?
An evil one, obviously.
“I will,” I snap. What I really want to say is, what’s the point? No one coming cares what I’m wearing; they care what’s beneath the clothes. Most of them have found out, too.
“Can I help with your hair?” She takes a single step into my room, and I whirl from the window, crossing my arms.
I want to let her in, but I don’t know how. Letting her into my room means letting her into my life, but if she sees who her daughter really is, she’ll surely be filled with such shame, she’ll reject me. I know I would. No one wants a daughter as filthy and morally compromised as I am.
A waste of perfectly good silk and oxygen, that’s what I am.
But if she sees that, it’ll ruin her life. If she sees who I am, it’ll destroy her. And I don’t think I can bare being the demise of yet another person.
“I’ll be right down. Don’t you have any respect for my space? It’s my fucking birthday after all?” My voice rises with each word—I try to drown out the little girl screaming to be let out and held by her mom with each one.
My mother’s face falls, her golden eyes—my eyes—dropping to the floor in obvious disappointment. It’s more than I can stand. “Get out,” I snap.
She looks at me a final time, a question on her lips, before she shakes her head and retreats, closing the door firmly behind her.
I drop to the floor as the lock clicks, the fight seeping from my bones. My eyes ache with the need to cry, but no tears come. I’m all cried out.
The sun begins creeping down the wall, a single ray disappearing silently into darkness before I finally rise. My knees throb, back aching from being in the same position for so long, but I barely notice.
I strip down, throwing on my finest set of lingerie—it’s what people really came to see anyways—and slide a silken navy dress over top, carefully masking the slut beneath.
I freshen my makeup, just a touch of mascara and red lipstick is all I care about, and skip touching my hair.
It lays in well combed curls around my face—everyone always prefers it down.
As silent as possible, I step into the main room of the house, the party already in full swing around me. My twenty-first birthday, and no one here even knew I wasn’t present. The party started without me, and no one even cared.
I search the room for my father but find Mateo instead, looming in the corner surrounded by a circle of kids. Some of them are his age, but most of them are older—people who should be my friends but don’t even know I exist.
They talk and smile animatedly, the girls and guys fawning over him like he’s a king or something, and I’m instantly consumed with rage.
Why’s he the king and I’m the fucking nobody? He’s done nothing to earn it, short of being born with a penis and our father’s favor. I’ve paid the price—I’ll continue to pay it.
I stomp toward them, the circle of people barely making room for me as I push through. “Mateo, where’s father?”
His smile melts, eyebrows drawing together, as if surprised by my irritation. Why would he be surprised? He’s stealing my birthday, just like he steals everything.
“Uh, he’s not here. Mother didn’t tell you?”
My stomach bottoms out. I feel like I’m going to puke.
“What?” My voice cracks, and the chatter of the group finally stops. Yes, let’s stare at the freak about to cry over her daddy missing her party. Poor little rich girl.
Mateo steps toward me, and I step backward. “He had to work late. There was an important deal I was helping him with earlier, one he just couldn’t step away from.”
“You—you helped. What?” Tears threaten my lash line, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay. Helping father has always been my responsibility—my right.
“Yeah.” Mateo rubs the back of his head with his hand. “He thought it was time I start learning the ropes.”
“Did he—” I can’t finish the question. The memory of my first time going to work and helping Father sits like a boulder on my chest. Mateo looks more confused, his eyes narrowing.
“Did he what?”
I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s my fucking right to take over the company. I don’t know why he’d bother with you. You don’t even care.”
“Can’t you just enjoy your party for once and not be a miserable person?” Mateo’s seventeen, still a boy, but he thinks he knows everything.
He doesn't know shit.
“Fuck off,” I snap, turning on my heel. I pass the bar, not bothering with the alcohol—it won’t give me the buzz I crave. Instead, I head for the back door, straight to Mason, the only person who looks even remotely happy to see me at my own party.
Not because he likes me—although he likes sticking his cock in me—but because I’m his best customer.
I walk straight up to him, shooting him a look that has him pulling the perfectly wrapped joint from behind his ear and extending it with a wink. “Just for the birthday girl.”
I grab the weed from his spindly fingers and fight a shiver as he steps closer, throwing his thin arm over my shoulders possessively.
He chuckles as the group of guys around us stare in fascination—I’m the filthy rich girl known for being a bitch and a slut, hanging out with the known weed dealer.
He’s greasy and smells more often than not, but he’s the only one who helps me forget who I am, what I’ve been through. And for that, I keep coming back.
“Got a lighter?” I look around the group of equally slimy-looking guys, each one sporting a tattered t-shirt and holey jeans. Several reach into their pockets, but it’s Mason’s lighter that flashes first.
I suck on the tip hungrily, inhaling the smoke. It instantly coats my lungs, and within moments, the familiar buzz covers my skin. I lean into Mason, and he resumes his chatter with the group of gathered guys like I’m not even there.
I’m grateful for it.
I wish I wasn’t here either. I wish I wasn’t anywhere.
“Want to go home with me tonight? I’m better than Mason, and my weed’s higher quality.” The voice is hushed behind me, so much so, I can’t be sure it’s real. But when I’m met with dark eyes and floppy black hair sticking to his forehead, my blood chills.
“I don’t think so.” I lean farther into Mason, only to realize he’s no longer standing there. When did he walk off? Why did he leave me?
“You’re all alone.” He tsks, moving to stand in front of me, his shadow blocking out the waning moonlight.
How long have I been out here?
I become faintly aware of my finger’s tingling, my tongue heavy and dry in my mouth.
The guy steps closer, his putrid breath fanning across my cheek, and I turn my face to escape the odor.
“It’s dangerous being alone.”
“I promise, you’re the least scary thing I’ve faced,” I snap, refusing to look at him. As I glance over my shoulder, I realize the party has died down to nearly no one—how cliché.
No one notices if I’m at my own party, and no one notices if I’m the last one left.
Well, not the last one, but— “Looking for help? No one’s coming; you’re all alone.” The sentiment isn’t lost on me—I’m always alone—and just once, I wish someone else would care about the fact.
He reaches out his hand, roughed skin scraping against my bicep as he squeezes, yanking me closer to him.
“Get. Off. Me,” I bite out. I finally meet his gaze. “I’ll scream.”
Instead of having the desired effect, he only smirks. “Please do. I love a good screamer.” His mouth crashes into mine, and he tries desperately to force his foul tongue between my lips.
I thrash in his hold, gasping as I try to free myself. I swing with my free hand, but he grips it too, his teeth gnashing into my lip. I cry out in pain, stars dancing behind my eyelids. As he assaults my mouth, I become very aware of the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my stomach.
I have to get away from him.
Before I can escape, his heat disappears, and I stumble back. Opening my eyes, I’m met with the enormous shadow of my father, but instead of being grateful for it, I’m filled with dread.
“If you ever come around here again, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you hear me, you slimy bastard? Touch Valentina, and I’ll have you killed.” My father’s voice rages, and I cower, stepping backward, hoping to escape.
I’ve never been so lucky, though.
The guy races off into the night, his tail tucked between his legs, and for a split second, I wish I could run away with him. He might be the lowest kind of leech, but I’d take his abuse over my father’s disappointment any day.
The heated glare of my father scorches across my body, and I shiver beneath its intensity. “Really, Valentina?” His voice is barely a whisper, but it still cuts, far deeper than any knife could.
I run my hand up my arms, trying to brush away the goosebumps. “He was attacking me.”
“You can’t attack a slut.” My father’s gaze turns away from me, the shame in his words pungent.
My heart shatters, and I take a wobbly step toward him. “He was hurting me.”
“You hurt yourself. You’re responsible for letting every person use and abuse you. You should be ashamed.”
My mouth flops open, tears already spilling down my cheeks. I reach out, but he steps out of my grasp. “Father, I was just doing what you always told me to do.”
The back of his hand connects with my cheek before I can step out of the way, the sting burning to my toes. I stand frozen, in shock, as he turns away from me. “Don’t you fucking blame your sins on me!”
“But—I do what I have to, to help the company, the family,” I sob, my knees threatening to buckle. I run a tentative finger over my stinging cheek, the flesh already raised.
“You think anyone wants you now? You’re not a girl anymore. You’re a woman—a used up, disgrace of a woman with nothing to offer.”
I feel my throat closing, the lump there growing until my lips tingle.
My father finally faces me, rage and disgust warring on his features. “You’re a disappointment. And you’re of no use to me anymore.”
He disappears into the night, and as he retreats, I crumple to my knees. The silk of my dress tears as I hit the brick surrounding the pool.
I gasp for air, but none comes. I claw at my throat, drowning under the weight of my father’s words.
I should be glad—maybe now, my torture’s done. Maybe I can finally take control of my own life, my own body. But I know that’s all a fantasy.
My torture may be over, but so is my purpose. My father needed me, needed what only I could offer. And now, no one needs me.
I’m not good enough. Not even to be the whore.