Chapter 15 #3
The bell rings again, and I flinch. Cruelty disguised in a civilized metallic ornament.
I close my hand around the syringe, the plastic biting into my palm, then slip it into my pocket.
I am not crazy. This is not…normal. One isolated incident could be acceptable, but this is going on top of years of neglect, obvious deals made with dangerous men, hush-hush conversations, and slaps to my face.
Tristan is right. I need to get out of here, or Mara will find a way to get rid of me, and I am sure her way will be much more painful.
The bell rings sharper, and I groan internally, drops of lava starting to bubble in my inner volcano.
How does it feel to be angry? Is that it? I could almost… No. I can’t.
I look left and right, flexing and unflexing my hands. Punching a pillow would be most agreeable, but I need to get out before I do, because you cannot fight fire with fire, and I refuse to express any sort of violence. Shaking my shoulders, I let out a long exhale through my nose.
Come on, you can do this.
You are not alone anymore.
You have Tristan in your corner.
Closing the door, I’m aware of the syringe in the pocket of my high-rise jeans, thankfully hidden by the length of my navy blue sweater.
“Took you long enough,” Mara spits, hands on her hips, wearing a silky blush blouse above a mid-length chocolate skirt.
There are pearls running along her neck, and beige heels topped with a crisp red lip and her usual updo.
Valeria and Emily are still sleeping, so this is just the two of us.
A sudden urge to ask Mara about the syringe tugs at me, but I quickly remind myself of Tristan’s commands.
Lay low, stay on schedule, don’t make her suspicious.
She sighs, as if I am the object of all her worries.
My shoulders relax at the reminder that she will be out most of the day, far from Dad.
I am not sure anymore how safe he is in her presence, and I will make sure to add more doctor and nurse appointments when she is here, and be there myself when they are not.
That leaves only the evenings when I am at work, but I know for a fact that Mara will be sound asleep by then, since her beauty sleep matters more than achieving world peace.
It will be a stretch, but I will make sure to always be around, or have someone caring for Dad there in case…
In case evil truly exists. That is it, isn’t it?
I wish it didn't, but my world is starting to accept the possibility of its existence, disguised as family.
And with it comes the need to protect my father, since he cannot protect himself.
So I will clean, sure. But now, more than ever, I will also keep an attentive eye.
“I need you to go to the dry cleaner. An idiot at the club poured wine on my dress, the polka one. Also, I want the house to feel fresh when I come home tonight. There’s a smell, vinegar or something.
I don’t like it. Make it go away.” I nod, words boiling on my tongue.
“The girls’ bathroom needs a deep clean, and I want you to clean our hairbrushes too.
It’s disgusting.” An unusual image of me punching her right in the face with the sole of a shoe hits me.
What is happening? I have never had such thoughts.
Yet I have never questioned her morals or how she treats me until now, and now…
a veil has lifted, or someone gave me glasses, and I can finally see.
Her orders, requests, and complaints sound rather different now.
Insulting, debasing, rendering me not only a servant but a subhuman; her attitude toward me dismissive and rude, as if she deliberately wanted me to feel inferior.
“Anything else?” I sign, hiding my anger, a comeback stuck right in my throat.
“Well,” she sneers, coming closer, a strange smile fading onto her face. “If you do well today, Ella, I might have a little surprise for you next week.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“One every little girl spends a lifetime dreaming about.” Could it be…
the ball? No, she wouldn’t. Would she actually invite me, along with the girls?
Never in years has she wanted to associate herself with me, so why now?
Is it a trap? “I’m off. Try not to disappoint me again,” she snaps before exiting. I clutch the edge of the sink.
Why am I having such a hard time trusting her? Is she genuine or manipulative? And why do all my triggers go into alarm mode in her presence? Shaking my head, I sigh, a knot of words and confusion filling my head. So I do the one thing I know will make it all better.
Me: Everything has been going wrong since you left last night. I miss you.
He answers right away, my phone vibrating as an incoming call appears.
A call?
Did he forget that I can’t speak?
“Hey,” he says, clearing his throat as if calling each other was one more step into this relationship we had no name for.
“I know we can’t technically talk, but I thought I could try to make you feel better.
Snap your fingers at the mic once for yes, twice for no.
” I smile, his care transpiring even through the line, and snap my fingers once.
“See? We just have to be creative. I’m in and out of meetings.
I wish I had more time to talk to you. Did you talk to your dad?
” I snap my fingers once for yes. “Good. And…?” One snap.
“I’ll have the flat ready.” Words of appreciation rush to my fingers, but I cannot say anything, frustration and gratefulness resting on both of my shoulders.
“We’ll discuss the details tonight together after your shift.
Is that okay with you?” One snap. “And just for the record, I miss you too.” I let out a sigh, and he catches it, his voice so deep and low it murmurs against my ear like his lips.
“If I had more time…” He pauses, talking to someone next to him. “I’ll be right there.”
Then he lowers his voice to me again. “The things I would tell you right here, right now, to make you forget all your worries.” He hisses in a breath.
“Take this day, and the very few ones coming, as the last ones where you will do chores and live under this roof. Sooner than you think, everything will be better. You will go back to studying, and your dad will have the best care possible. You have my word, Ella. Your safety and happiness are my priority.”
My breath quickens, blush rising along with unshed tears.
Is this man truly falling for me? No one ever did, but it feels…
It feels like something so close to love.
I want to believe him so much it hurts. Could this soon be the end of this dreadful life?
There is a clinking sound of metal behind the line, along with steps, voices, and the rustling of paper.
Where is he? And why is there a subtle touch of hurry in his voice?
It is not the calm composure I am used to.
“I’m in the middle of something, Ella, but I promise to take care of you tonight and…” He pauses. “We’ll make a plan, together.” The last word hangs, as if it is the first time he is confiding in someone else about his strategies.
“Sweetheart, I really have to go, but can you please snap your fingers? I’m going to lose it if you don’t answer.
” Snapping my fingers once, I close my eyes, looking over the dirty dishes filling the sink since the girls are too lazy to put everything in the dishwasher.
“I’m going to hang up right now. The thing I’m doing is…
It’s for us, Ella. Trust me. I’ll explain everything tonight.
I promise you.” I snap my fingers again, and he waits a second longer as voices grow louder in the back, an invisible interlocutor on the line pressuring us to part.
“I…” He stops. “See you tonight sweetheart.” And with that, he shuts the call as if he does not want to do so at all.
A single tear drops on the porcelain sink, and I picture a sudden image of taking all those dishes and throwing them on the perfect checkered black-and-white floors, expensive plates breaking into a million pieces, irreversibly damaged like what… Like what she did to me.
Breathe.
Tonight, everything will be better. He will make it better. Everything is about to change. I can feel it from my toes to my fingers. Yet I cannot help but wonder.
Will something come in the way?