24. Mara
24
MARA
A squeak pops from my lips when a heavily slurred voice behind me says, “Why are you wandering the dark corridors of the servants’ quarters at this time of night, sweetheart?”
This is why I should have listened to my intuition when it cautioned me to leave the conversation Ark and I desperately need to business hours.
After deliberating our exchange for an hour and wishfully hoping Ark would return, I hobbled halfway to the underground parking garage before I allowed my heart to talk over my fears. It told me it was rude to leave without first telling Ark of my plans and that discussing our relationship during work hours was injudicious, considering the basis of my heart’s pleas.
It wants Ark as badly as his eyes displayed he wants me when he spoke those exact words.
I also want the chance to prove I can protect my daughter. I’ve fought for Tillie all my life, from the moment she was conceived, so Ark’s fears aren’t valid. I will protect my daughter better than my parents protected me, and that shield will grow tenfold with a man like Ark at my side.
The walk down the long corridors that weave throughout this building wasn’t pleasant, but I made it without a twinge crossing my features.
My strengths are greater than I’ve made out, and it is time for Ark to learn that.
I want him to know the real me. The good and the bad.
I just wish I’d had the courage to use the main access point of his apartment when the slurred voice returns. “Did you hear me, sweetheart?” My pulse is thumping so loudly that I don’t realize he is directly behind me until his alcohol-laced breath fans the back of my neck. “I asked what you’re doing down here.”
He spins me to face him, his grip aggressive. I give him a tight smile when his eyes finally make their way from my breasts to my face, and then square my shoulders, willing myself to look anything but frightened.
“I w-work here.”
My bravery is all an act, and the elevator attendant who glared at me weeks ago knows it. “You w-w-work here?” He rolls his bloodshot eyes, making way for maliciousness. “This ain’t no fairy tale, princess. And he sure as fuck ain’t no prince.”
I shouldn’t know who his last sentence refers to. Over three dozen men are residents of this building, but the way his eyes slit further while looking past my shoulder announces who his disdain belongs to. Ark’s office door is only mere feet from where we stand.
I shy away from the unnamed man when he attempts to curl the wayward strand of hair Ark fixed into place earlier around his finger. His expression appears disappointed until he notices my trembling thighs. He looks like the type who prefers his women more scared than satisfied.
“Do you know he got me fired?” A sneer hardens his features, making them even uglier. “Supposedly, he didn’t like the way I looked at you.”
“No-no, I didn’t kn-know that.”
He pffts me as if I lied. “I’m not surprised he noticed me watching you. You’re really pretty.” He wets his lips, his greasy tongue’s slither enough to flip my stomach. “But from what I’ve heard, he’s done with you now. Kicked out with barely a scratch on ya.” His eyes are once again on my breasts. “Guess he’s nicked up enough for the both of you.” I flinch as if he struck me when an evil smile stretches across his face. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll keep the marks to a minimum. Why spoil a perfect canvas before the masterpiece is fully unveiled?”
One step and I’m gone. I sprint to Ark’s office before pushing through his door as if his privacy is null and void when it comes to me.
When I notice the office is barren of a soul, I race for the main entrance door, my sore ankle a thing of the past.
As my hand circles the antique doorknob, I’m squashed against the door firmly enough for my lungs to squeal. A tattooed hand pins my head to the door while another clamps my thigh just below the hem of my uniform.
“No… pl-please,” I beg, thrashing and screaming, mindful silence never wins and having far more to live for this time not to fight.
Ark’s greenish eyes pop into my head two seconds after Tillie’s baby blues, but the stranger’s hand slides higher before I can add them to my defense.
Whiskey puffs from his mouth as his fingers dig into the fleshy part of my thighs. His painful grip flashes up horrible memories and churns my stomach with nausea.
While fighting with everything I have, I plead for him to stop, and scream the words I once held back to reduce the severity of my punishments.
Nothing stops him. He continues to steal the air from my lungs as ruefully as his demoralizing attempts to strip my confidence.
I won’t let that happen. I was a child back then. I was half their size and weight. I can’t use those excuses this time around.
“No!” I scream, refusing to go down without a fight. “Get off me!”
A mere inch from my panties, his hand is suddenly yanked away, and a breathy grunt emits from his lips.
I’m too shocked my pleas worked this time around to move, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize what is happening.
A fist connecting with the bridge of someone’s nose over and over again can’t be mistaken, much less the stern rumble of a man bristling with fury. “What the fuck do you think you were doing?”
I twist my head toward the snarled voice, gasping when I spot Ark towering over the man who was endeavoring to assault me. Blood is gushing from the ex-elevator attendant’s nose, and a dark shadow is already circling his left eye. However, they’re not the cause of my shock.
Since Ark is facing away from me and only wearing a towel, I can’t miss the mottling of scars covering a majority of his back. They’re textured and silver, meaning they were most likely done years ago, but painstakingly extensive. They go from behind his left ear, across his shoulder blade, and down to the waistband of the towel hanging precariously off his waist.
Are they the reason he calls himself a monster?
Is he afraid Tillie will see his scars and believe he is no longer worthy of me?
It dawns on me that we’re not the only people in the room when Ark’s eyes shoot to the side, and he shouts, “You were meant to keep the building in lockdown!”
“He isn’t meant to be here,” Rafael replies, his wide eyes bouncing between Ark, my attacker, and me. “Someone must have let him in… He must have…” He stops, shakes his head, and then starts again. “I fucked up. I’ll fix it. I will make this right.” He tugs the ex-elevator attendant up with a deadly tight grip on his arm and hoists him in my direction, doubling the shake of my thighs. “Apologize.”
“For what?” he asks, abhorrently confused. “Getting a little rough with a prostitute he no longer wants?”
Rafael firms his grip, forcing the man to yelp.
“Apologize, Paarth!” he demands again. “Before that pathetic whimper is the last noise you ever issue.”
Paarth’s eyes widen like he is aware Rafael’s threats aren’t idle before he strays his wet eyes to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Louder!” Ark demands, scaring me with his menacing tone. “And say it like you fucking mean it.”
Paarth’s slur comes out sounding like a sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you were… That he was… I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“What the…” Rafael wordlessly urges me to move away from the service entrance door when the wet patch on the front of Paarth’s pants dribbles to his feet, wetting his shoes. “Did you seriously just piss yourself?” An accent that isn’t solely Russian annunciates parts of his ridicule. “You sure as fuck better hope they can extract your putrid scent from the carpet, or you’ll have more than words with Ark’s fists this evening…”
I miss the remainder of his reply when he pushes my attacker through the narrow opening of the servants’ entrance.
I’m in such a daze several long seconds pass in silence.
The scent of Paarth’s urine is overpowering. It has me on the cusp of vomiting. I’ve only sampled one scent more rancid—my speech therapist’s cum.
With my mind too trapped in the throes of my past, I’m confused when Ark asks, “Did he hurt you?”
“Wh-who?”
He hesitates to approach me. He double-guesses his decision a handful of times before he eventually mutters a cussword under his breath and moves closer, his steps fast and with confidence.
After taking in the buttons on my shirt and noticing they’re untouched, he lowers his eyes to my thighs.
“The blood.” He swallows as if his throat is burning too much to speak. “Is that from…” He can’t finalize his question, and I’m glad. My mind is so far from the present I may have given him the wrong answer. “Come. I’ll call a doctor.”
“No,” I shout too loudly. “No do-doctors, please.”
“Mara.” He sounds genuinely petrified and so incredibly guilty. “You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m no-not.” I drag my hand across my thigh, wiping away the droplet of blood my attacker’s nails caused my skin. “It is barely a sc-scratch. I’ll be fine.”
I wobble unsteadily when memories surface faster than I can shut them down.
Those were similar to the words my father said to my mother when she found the bruises and grab marks Dr. Babkin left behind the first time he raped me.
It isn’t that he didn’t believe me, more that he was happy to use Dr. Babkin’s marks to hide his own felonious acts.
Confident I am seconds from being sick, I issue Ark a weak smile before racing through the exit Rafael used moments ago.
Ark shouts for me to stop, but I can’t. I’m too trapped in the horrors of my past to keep my secrets to myself, and I don’t want their ugliness to change how he looks at me.