6. Lucia
6
LUCIA
H e isn’t gone long.
My aching neck is craned toward the rope on my right wrist, my arms uselessly yanking, when the door to Tall’s apartment slides open.
It’s loud and sounds like heavy metal, a door more fit for a factory than for an apartment. When it bangs shut, I flinch at the sound and whimper as I jerk more forcefully at the rope.
I can’t see him because his bed is in a space near the ceiling, almost like a room, but there isn’t a wall separating us, so I can hear everything he does. Metal sliding to engage locks. Keys rattling as he drops them. His boots thumping on the floor by the door.
When his footsteps start toward the ladder leading to his bed, I halt my movements, my shoulders stiffening. But he doesn’t go to the ladder. I strain to listen as he walks beneath me, and think I hear glass bottles rattle as a refrigerator opens.
Minutes go by while I listen to Tall busy himself in what must be his kitchen, and the more I listen, the drier my mouth feels despite the gag feeling wet. I can feel my thirst in every part of my throat, my throbbing head, my lips, and my belly. Hunger is there as well, but it’s unmatched.
I close my eyes and clench my fists, hating myself for what I’m about to do.
Luka , I try to yell through the cloth, but it’s muffled nonsense. Luka, please . I pause and listen, as if he’ll respond with a ‘ coming darling.’ As if he really forgot I was up here. As if he cares about my needs.
Heat bursts to my face thinking about my needs , and what Tall did to me earlier.
I thought his friend had been cruel. I thought he’d humiliated me.
But what Tall did…
I don’t understand why my body reacted the way it did to his touch, but his cruelty was worse than any pain he could’ve inflicted.
It wasn’t enough for him to take his pleasure, to use me, humiliate me. No, he had to make me hate myself too.
When I hear him climbing up the ladder, I turn my face away. Suddenly, I’d rather die of thirst than to see him.
He walks around the bed into my line of sight to set a bottle of water, along with a plated sandwich, down on his dresser. I don’t turn my head away again, tempting as it is, but I don’t meet his eyes either, not even when he pulls my ruined panties from my mouth. I stare straight ahead, my tired jaw clamping shut.
“ Ouch ,” Tall says, the bed shifting as he sits. “And here I was thinking you’d be happy to see me.”
I don’t respond. I’m learning, maybe too slowly, that he and his friend are both full of jokes, and I’m at the butt end of them all.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what your favorite flavor of ice cream is?” My eyes shut as the back of his hand caresses up my arm. “How will I ever be able to empathize with you otherwise?”
“You’re a psychopath,” I say, although my voice is weak and broken. “You’re not capable of empathy.”
He chuckles, confirming my theory. When a tear leaks from my closed lid, he smears it with his thumb. I open my eyes just in time to watch his tongue swipe the liquid. It isn’t enough to see my pain. He has to taste it too.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His head tilts. “I thought I was a psychopath?”
I close my eyes again and try not to cry, not to give him any more tears to drink, any sobs to hear as serenades.
Tomorrow . Tomorrow, I will try again with Arseni. I will look for his weak spots, and I will find them because I am a survivor . I’m not weak. I will not just wait for them to kill me. I will find a way back to Mario and continue with my new life. I will be fine .
But tonight, with Tall… I will just have to endure it. Because there is no humanity with this man to search for, no hope for compassion. If I am a mouse and Arseni is a cat, then Tall is a mousetrap. He’s a soulless, mechanical device meant to kill. To think otherwise would be pathetic.
“Come on, Peach, don’t be so sad. I brought food, drink, company . I thought I’d undo your binds, let you have a shower. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”
I don’t respond. Yes, it does. I needed water hours and hours ago, and my body feels grimy after sweating all day. It makes me think of Mario, if he’s washed away the day yet, if he found water long ago. I hope he’s okay. Even if I’m not.
But even though what Tall is offering sounds appealing, it’s soured by the knowledge of why he’s offering it. He wants me energized so I can be more fun for him sexually. He wants me clean for the same reason. It’s the last thing I want to give him.
“Peaches and Cream,” he sings, nudging my side as he drags out the cream .
My cheeks feel tighter as I sneer. “I told you my name. The least you could do is use it instead of mocking me.”
Tall’s half grin lowers as he studies me, like he’s debating on something. Punishing me? Will he spank me like Arseni did? Or are his punishments much worse?
Piper’s face flutters into my mind, the image of her purpling complexion and bulging eyes so startling that I flinch.
The two men said they would share me, but Tall has proven what happens when he gets angry. He could kill me with one hand, probably will eventually once Arseni decides he’s also through with me.
When my eyes lower to his hand, I tense.
“I wasn’t paying attention when you told me your name before. Tell me it again.”
His voice sounds calm, and despite me searching for anger in his tone, I find none. Still, I don’t trust it.
“Lucia,” I say without attitude.
“ Lucia ,” he parrots, my name rolling off his tongue like a dirty word. “Would you like me to undo your bindings, Lucia ?”
I stare at the ceiling as I nod.
Tall starts on my right wrist first, and as soon as it’s freed, I push my dress over my waist to shield the part of me no one except Tall has ever seen. When all my limbs are loose, I sit up on the bed, looking down at my flushed chest.
“Here.” He hands me both the plate and the water before sitting down on the edge of the bed.
Resting the plate on my lap, I guzzle the water, my mouth pulling in huge gulps without needing conscious thought. My stomach turns when the bottle is emptied, and I wrap my arm around my gut, lowering the plastic to my knee.
Tall takes the bottle from me and seems to wait for me to start on the sandwich, but I know if I do, it’ll only end up on his pillow.
A couple minutes pass before he takes the plate from my lap as well then stands and holds out his hand. “Shower?”
His words stick into my mind, telling me I’m filthy. He isn’t being kind. I know this in my soul.
I shake my head.
His hand falls to his side. “Oh… You actually think it’s up to you.”
A shaky breath skates over my lips as I lower my chin to my chest.
“ Come , Lucia.”
When he holds out his hand again, I reluctantly take it. It’s warm. I don’t know why I’m surprised by that, but I am. Maybe because I always thought sharks were cold blooded.
He helps me from the bed, his grip firm but not overly tight, then guides me to the ladder that leads to the rest of his apartment.
He climbs down first with the plate and bottle easily balanced in one hand, and as soon as his feet touch the dark wood floor, he extends a hand to beckon me down.
Swallowing, I start down the ladder and try not to think about what he can see under my dress without me wearing any underwear. It brings up a memory of me when I was a girl, so young my recollection is hazy, only coming in a tiny scene, a sliver of what happened really. I only know the story because I had nightmares that lasted for what felt like too long, and years later when I brought it up to my older sister, she told me what happened.
When I was a girl, I was difficult to potty train. So difficult that it wasn’t until I was four that my nanny, Alma, finally succeeded. But it was apparently a huge challenge, and because I kept wetting myself in my underwear, she stopped putting them on me underneath my dresses. One day, my father noticed.
I don’t remember much. Like I said, it’s only a sliver. I remember my father’s screams, so loud they hurt my ears even as I hid in the storage space beneath the reading nook, only fragmented beams of light coming through the splintered wood. My hand shook as it rubbed a cobweb off on my leg, and to this day, the feeling of spider webs makes my heart race.
I never saw Alma again.
Tall’s large palm envelops my rear as I reach the last few rungs, wiping away my memory and making me freeze. He squeezes before snaking his hand beneath my dress to survey me bare.
My lips part, but I try not to gasp at his touch. Instead, I stay still, my knuckles white grasping the ladder.
Abandoning my rear, he steps closer to me and wraps his arm around my waist like he’s going to pull me off the ladder, but when his fingers graze the raised flesh above my right hip, he pauses.
“What’s this?” he asks, fingering the flesh.
I don’t answer.
Was my dress not pulled up high enough before?
Did he not already see it?
Would he recognize my family emblem if he had?
Tall waits a few moments before letting out a hmm and ripping me from the ladder. My feet barely brush the ground as he drags me to the doorless bathroom.
Leaving me in the entryway, he turns on the shower. He lets the water flow over his fingertips before adjusting the temperature. When he turns back to me, I drop my eyes to his chest.
He pulls off his shirt, showing me the same muscular physique as he had earlier, and I have the same thought as I did then. How could a body so well cared for, with muscles so well-defined, repulse me so much? What kind of man must you be to have that effect on a woman?
Tall chuckles like he can read my thoughts. “Well? You don’t plan on showering in your dress, do you?”
His belt jingles as he undoes his pants then shrugs them off.
I don’t move.
“Lucia, I’ve already seen your pussy. Don’t be so shy.” There’s a smile in his voice. For now. I wonder what it takes to make him angry.
Even at that thought, I don’t move. If he forces my dress off, fine, but after earlier, after what he coerced out of me… I won’t dare remove my clothes for him.
“Come.” He crooks his finger at me, but I don’t move.
“ Lucia !”
I jump at his harsh tone, my toes and fingers spreading. Once my heart restarts, I scurry his way, panting and shaking while I stand in front of him.
He pushes my hair back, exposing my shoulder to air that feels colder than before. But the cold isn’t why I shudder.
Tall runs his fingers down the side of my neck, then back up in what could be a caress or a threat. I’m too afraid to look at his face to read which it is.
He does it for me, though, lifting my chin with a single finger so he can look into my eyes, a subtle smile tugging his lips.
“You’re very beautiful,” he says, gently, like a lover or a serpent. He moves his eyes to my trembling shoulders. “Even when you’re shaking… Especially when you’re shaking.” His eyes meet mine again. “But I’m afraid if you don’t get in that shower right the fuck now, the water will run so cold, you’re shaking will start to annoy the piss out of me.”
I hunch steadily as the false charm leaves his voice to be replaced by his cruel humor. But it isn’t really humor. It’s a warning. Take off your clothes, get in the shower, or else.
“I won’t undress for you,” I say, fighting the urge to step back. I keep close track of his hands in my periphery in case they strike. “If you want my clothes off, you’ll have to remove them yourself.”
His smile widens just before he laughs. “Really?”
Instead of answering, I just turn my head away.
“What about when I want you to open your mouth for me?” he asks, planting his thumb to my closed lips. He presses until I grant him access and allow his thumb to tap against my teeth. “Will I have to do that myself too?”
He only waits a second before moving his thumb and fingers to the outside of my cheeks, where my molars are. He digs in his fingers until my eyes widen and I open my mouth against the pain he brings me, only to be met with more pain when he continues his assault, my mouth wide open now.
“Because if I have to, that’ll be very painful,” he says, matter-of-factly, like he isn’t bruising my cheeks as he talks.
When he lets go, I cover my hand over my mouth, like that would stop him from digging his fingers into me again if he wanted to. He doesn’t, though. His attention moves to my dress, his hands yanking the material up and roughly pulling it over my head. My arms lift to try and accommodate him.
The material of my bra scrapes my bouncing breasts as he jerks it up over my head next. Once it’s on the floor and my arms are free, I cover my chest, my face blushing. Somehow, I’m more nervous about my exposed breasts than the other parts of me he’s already perused.
He strips from his boxers and doesn’t allow me but a moment to collect myself before he takes my arm and hauls me into the shower with him. The glass door bangs shut with a quick jerk.
My eyes close as warm water cascades over my face and head, and I stand stiff and hunched in the stream. I keep my breasts covered even as the wet hair clinging to my face begins to make my skin itch. Because I can feel him. Standing behind me, watching me.
First, it’s just his presence that I feel, but then his warmth is at my back, his chest brushing up against my shoulders, his hand curling around my waist, his length, hard and hot, pressing against my spine.
He uses the hand not cupping my waist to gather my hair over my shoulders and smooth back the strands from my face.
Something pops, like the cap to a bottle. I look behind me as he squeezes liquid into his hand. Without a word, he turns my head forward, back under the spray, and starts rubbing shampoo into my hair.
My arms tightly wrapped around my chest loosen ever so slightly as Tall starts massaging the shampoo into my scalp. His erection shifts when my spine begins to straighten, making me stiffen all over again.
“It’s just a dick,” Tall says, sounding unfazed. His voice doesn’t show his obvious arousal. “It isn’t going to bite you.”
Once he’s finished with the shampoo, he turns me to face him so he can rinse my hair. I don’t open my eyes as his fingers move through the strands, subtly tugging at my scalp, leaving little tingles of pleasure in their wake. My neck feels so vulnerable with it bent like this. It would be nothing for him to end me right now if he wanted to.
He abandons my hair in favor of barred soap that he lathers his hands with. I hold my breath as he runs his palms over my neck first, then my shoulders, halfway down my arms, back to the bar to lather his hands again.
He repeats on my stomach and back, never making me uncross my arms, but I doubt he’s steering clear of my breasts out of kindness. More like he’s saving the best for last.
And I’m right.
The rest of my torso finished, he looks me in the eyes and waits, not uttering a word. It wouldn’t be necessary.
His head tilts when I don’t comply with his silent wish. Staring into my eyes, he positions his sudsy fingers into the same spot behind my molars he found before. My hands are lowered before he ever needs to squeeze.
Letting out a soft chuckle, he spreads soap over my breasts, igniting sharp sensations at the feel of his palms grazing my nipples. They harden on contact, lighting up for him as the other part of my body had, and although Tall must know it, he shows me mercy by not mocking me. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at his chest while he fills both his palms and lifts gently, then squeezes.
I shudder out a breath.
“You have really nice tits,” he whispers, leaning until his lips brush my ear. His tongue flicks my lobe as he lets his hands slide down my sides. He pulls my lobe between his teeth, and I think he’s about to bite when he reaches the same patch of raised flesh he found earlier.
Now, as if remembering his curiosity, he freezes.
His teeth scrape my ear as he pulls away and lowers to his knees, taking the bar with him and lathering his hands.
I was hesitant to look at him before, but now I watch him closely. I search his face for recognition as he lets his eyes roam over my right hip while running the soap over my leg. When he squints, I cover the emblem with my palm.
“Is that a brand ?” he asks, confusion and disgust mixed in his tone. He peers up at me through narrowed eyes. “Were you branded ?”
Blood rushes to my cheeks, but I force myself not to look away. Not to let this man, this psychopath make me feel ashamed of my life before he took me. He’s great at making me hate myself, but this goes too far.
Defensiveness flares, and I find myself backing into the waterspout. “It’s my family’s emblem, not a brand like I’m some animal . Don’t judge a culture you don’t understand, you—you arrogant American .”
“It’s Mexican culture to brand your family emblem on yourself?” Tall laughs, but it’s stilted, like he’s more confused than he is amused. “ Really ?”
Mexican culture .
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t recognize my family’s mark.
For a moment, a long, drawn out, infinite moment, I consider telling him. This time if I offered him money, it wouldn't be a lie. Sort of. I really would tell my father I’ve been taken, and he would come get me, but Tall wouldn’t receive a dime, only a bullet if he’s very, very lucky.
And I would never see the outside of the gate again.
My father will triple his security. He’ll lie, tell me it’s meant to protect me, to ensure no one ever hurts me again , but I’ll know the truth. Those guards aren’t there to keep anyone out. They’re there to keep my two younger sisters and me in.
I might as well be dead. Isn’t that what I told Mario when asked if I was sure about leaving home? That if I stayed there, I’d always be a prisoner? That my life may as well have never existed at all? That I’d rather face the dangers of the world than to stay in the castle, having never lived at all?
And yet, for an infinite moment, I consider doing just that. Telling my captor, convincing him to take a ransom, then going back home just to grow old and die.
When Tall goes to move my palm, I try to hold it still, my mind solidifying as the moment passes.
Never. I will never go back.
So Tall must never know.
He pries my hand from my hip and holds my other away when I go to cover it again. Squinting, he shakes his head like he isn’t seeing it right. “Is that a snake wrapped around machetes? That’s your family emblem?”
I try to twist away from him, but he holds me still. “ All right , all right, I’ll stop. Damn, calm down.”
I don’t realize how heavy I’m breathing until he says that. I close my eyes, try to slow my breathing and focus my attention on it instead of the burning emblem on my hip. It’s supposed to be a warning for any man who dares to touch me before my father chooses a husband for me, and even once I’m married, it’s a silent threat. This is who I am, where I come from, and in a sense, who I belong to. Beware .
It was done out of love. My father held my hand the whole time and didn’t scold me for crying. As intense as the pain was, it was the fear I had in the time leading up to it that was the worst part. I’d watched my older sister go through the same when she received her period, and because I’m six years younger, it meant I had six years to anticipate my turn.
I’m tense as Tall finishes washing me, his touch firm but not rough. When he washes between my legs, he’s surprisingly quick about it, only sawing his hand a few times before he moves on to my feet.
When the water shuts off, marking the end of his intentions for me, I let out a sigh and hang my head with relief, letting water drip from my chin.
He opens the shower door and grabs a towel before wrapping it around me, then he kisses my head and forces me to look at him.
Staring into his eyes, I note for the first time how blue they are. Like the river I watch from my balcony some nights, wondering what it feels like to be caught in its current. Wondering how exhilaratingly alive someone must feel to let its chaotic flow carry them.
This man is heartless and cruel, but looking at him now, having thought about home, he looks less terrifying. Maybe because I know that no matter what, one day my father will find me, dead or alive. I almost pity this fool.
“Ready?” He asks, nodding toward the shower door.
I want to ask for what? The question is on the tip of my tongue.
But at the same time, I’m not sure I want to know.
Swallowing, I nod.