11. Saverio
11
SAVERIO
T he blade slices through her skin with ease, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. She suppresses any cries of pain, her breaths coming out in slow, measured exhales, her jaw clenched tight. I’ve always admired her for her composure, even now as she bleeds for me. With each inhale, her chest rises and falls rapidly, her eyes locked on some distant point behind me, refusing to meet my gaze.
As I stand before Lucia, I can feel the heat emanating from her body, her strength coiled tightly beneath a mask of calmness. Lucia may be strong, but she is not invincible. And today, I will make sure she knows it.
The flesh parts in a clean, precise line beneath the blade. I pause, savoring the sight of the dark red against her pale skin before resuming my work. Each cut is calculated and deliberate as I methodically widen the incision, exposing the small piece of plastic hidden between her bicep and tricep.
Lucia’s breath catches in her throat, and a small whimper escapes her lips, telltale signs that I’m breaking through her defenses. Her arm shakes, but she stands strong and unflinching, her eyes fixated on some distant point. A seething pain rages behind her stoic facade, but she refuses to give me the satisfaction of seeing it.
I slip the blade beneath the implant, working it back and forth to remove the built-up scar tissue. After what feels like an eternity, I feel a sickening pop as the implant finally breaks free, falling to the floor with a wet thump, leaving behind a bloody gaping wound in Lucia’s skin.
Hot tears stream down her flushed cheeks, a spark of emotion breaking through her defiance. Her jaw tightens, grinding against itself, while her free hand curls into a tight fist at her side. She battles to stay silent, but her teeth sink into her bottom lip with a ferocity that draws blood.
“This isn’t about control, Lucia.” I forcefully grind my foot into the implant, crushing it beneath the tip of my shoe. “This is about trust and loyalty. You betrayed me, and now you paid the price.” The pressure from my shoe increases, pulverizing the implant until plastic shards are all that’s left.
Lucia finally meets my eyes, and they burn with fury and rage. As I bring the switchblade to my lips, my tongue glides over the sharp blade, savoring the taste of her blood as I have savored every inch of her body. “You’re disgusting,” she whispers, tension radiating off her.
“Perhaps,” I reply, my voice laced with newfound amusement as I absentmindedly slip the knife back into my pocket. I gently place my hand on her back and guide her from the cozy living room to the hall bathroom. The walls are pale blue and adorned with small floral patterns. The scents of lavender and vanilla waft through the air, calming my nerves.
The unforgiving fluorescent light overhead casts a pale and unnatural glow on Lucia’s face, accentuating the tightness of her jaw and the determination in her eyes. She stubbornly clings to the belief that she can still emerge victorious from this never-ending battle between us.
I gently release her arm and turn on the faucet, the sound of rushing water filling the small bathroom. I wait patiently for the water to warm up before nodding towards the toilet. “Sit down.”
Lucia reluctantly closes the lid and takes a seat. Droplets of blood fall from her arm, splattering on the crisp white tiles below and staining the bathroom carpet.
Her arm trembles under my touch as I bring a warm, wet cloth to the surface of the wound. A sharp hiss escapes her lips, and her eyes flicker with raw pain for just a moment before she quickly masks it. But I can see the cracks in her resolve, the struggle to hold back tears. She reaches out and grips the edge of the sink tightly, her knuckles turning white as I carefully clean the cut. Her jaw tightens as I take the now-stained white cloth back to the sink, watching as the water turns red with her blood.
“Hold still, Dandelion,” I murmur soothingly as I carefully bring the damp cloth back to her arm, gently blotting away the fresh beads of blood that have resurfaced. Lucia winces in pain, but she doesn’t pull away. “Where’s your first aid kit?”
Lucia angrily points at the door, indicating it’s in the closet outside the bathroom.
Taking hold of her hand, I guide it to the damp cloth covering the wound, silently urging her to keep pressure on it. A few brisk steps and a few minutes later, I have the first aid kit spread open on the bathroom counter, my hands anxiously hovering over its sterile contents like a surgeon ready for a life-saving operation.
Lucia flinches as I gently remove the blood-soaked cloth from her arm, revealing a deep gash that oozes red. I quickly reach for a bandage and wrap it tightly around her wound, my hands moving with practiced precision. Lucia watches me with pained eyes, silently accepting my care despite the fact that I was the one who caused her harm.
Her lips curl into a snarl, and her voice drops to a dangerous octave. “I hate you,” she hisses through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing with an intense resentment that could set the world on fire.
The words hang in the air between us, thick and heavy like smoke that refuses to dissipate. I pause, my fingertips lingering on the delicate fabric of the gauze, absorbing the weight of her words. She’s not lying, not in this moment. I would bet my entire company that she means every syllable.
“I know,” I reply, my tone steady. “You should.”
Lucia narrows her eyes at me, searching for something that might betray a flicker of weakness or a hint of vulnerability. But she won’t find it.
This was inevitable, necessary even. Lucia needed to be taught a lesson for her defiance, for daring to challenge my authority. She may believe she holds the reins in this twisted game we play, but if she has to learn the hard way that I’m the one pulling the strings, then so be it.
What we have goes deeper than any punishment or suffering I could inflict upon her. Our connection is rooted in dandelions and unwavering devotion, darkness and light, a blend of opposing forces that neither of us can fully comprehend, let alone control.
I finish tying off the bandage, ensuring it’s snug against her skin, before letting my hand linger on her arm. The area throbs like a heartbeat beneath my fingers. “You can hate me all you want, Lucia. But this? Us? ” I reach up to grab her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “This isn’t something you can run from.”
She jerks her head away, breaking contact, but I hear her breath catch in her throat. The mask she’s so carefully constructed is starting to slip, and she knows it, but she’s too proud and stubborn to admit it.
I take a step back, giving her space. “I’ll leave you to clean up.”
As I leave the bathroom, I swing by the living room to grab the shattered fragments of the implant. I hold them in my hand as I head back to my car, feeling the jagged edges dig into my skin.
There was no other choice. My heart aches at the thought of causing Lucia pain, but she had to be taught a lesson. She needs to understand that from now on, my word is law, and her disobedience will not be tolerated.
She will carry my child whether she likes it or not.