Chapter 6
The sound of people laughing jolted me awake, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of the alley.
"Oh, the princess is awake!"
"I told you it was survival instinct."
My head dropped, and the sight in front of me made my thoughts freeze.
Roadkill and his friends were standing in a circle around me, their smirks carving deep piles of dread into my chest. It was never real. I was still in the alley.
It had been a fever dream. The old man was never here. Why would I think of him in a moment like this? Why would my brain conjure him up, of all people, when I was in such grave danger?
Roadkill crouched, his face close to mine. "Look, Bella, you're lucky we're gentlemen. We don't teach unconscious girls lessons. But now that you're awake…" He grinned, eyes flickering with malice. "Let's continue where we left off."
Panic surged through me, and without thinking, I bashed my head into his, making him stumble back. I scrambled to the ground, diving through the narrow gap between his legs. My knees scraped against the rough pavement as I crawled towards the opening of the alley, my heart thundering.
"Grab her!"
No. No. No. Let me go. Let me go!
Hands gripped me roughly, yanking me back. The sting of slaps across my face sent stars dancing in my vision.
"You stupid bitch," Roadkill spat, his voice laced with venom. "You think you're better than me? Better than us?"
I choked out a laugh, my chest heaving. "What if…" My voice cracked, but I forced it out. "What if I told you…the truth is…I am better than you?"
His face twisted with rage, and he swung his fist hard against my chest. Pain exploded through me as blood pooled in my mouth, its metallic tang coating my tongue.
"Hold her down!"
I thrashed, but they pinned me down, their weight crushing my arms into the ground. Roadkill's hands moved to his belt, his fingers working the buckle.
And then I saw it. A silhouette.
It stood at the end of the alley, shadowed but unmistakable. Something about the figure, its aura, sent a chill through me. Familiar. Too familiar.
"I told you, V." The voice was calm, unnervingly so. "This is not the place for you. Just say the words, and I'll make them stop. Come with me. Come home."
My lips parted, but before I could speak, pain blazed across my cheek. The belt. He had used his belt on me.
"Come with me, V."
"Hold her down!"
Stop. Stop. Stop.
"STOP!"
My eyes snapped open, my body jolting upright. The sudden movement sent searing pain through my chest, forcing me to double over, gasping for air.
I was no longer in the alley.
I shuffled over to the edge of the bed where a mirror was perched on a small table. There were no scratches on my face, no cuts.
It was a dream.
It had to be a dream. But the ache in my chest, the metallic taste in my mouth, and the lingering weight of those hands, they felt too real. Too vivid to dismiss.
I stared at the duvet covers, fingers brushing the unfamiliar fabric.
The rich, velvety black curtains cloaked the room in shadows, their weighty presence a stark reminder, this wasn't my room. This wasn't my house.
The air carried the heady scent of Egyptian oud, warm and intoxicating, seeping into my senses. It pulled me from the edge of panic, though its richness felt almost invasive.
Warm.
The door creaked open, and my gaze locked with his hazel eyes that held the kind of steady assurance that said: You're safe now. I'll protect you.
It was him. The professor.
He stepped inside; his movements calm but purposeful. His navy-blue shirt clung to his frame, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the tension in his forearms. His presence filled the room with an authority I couldn't ignore.
He crossed the space between us and knelt by the bed, pressing a warm hand against my forehead. The touch didn't startle me. If anything, it steadied me, though I could barely manage to move.
"I told you, Ara," he said, his voice low but firm. "I told you to stay away from those idiots. What if I hadn't been there? Or worse, what if I'd come a moment too late?"
My chest tightened as his words settled in. So, he had been there. It wasn't a dream.
Which meant…the belt never struck me. The silhouette from the alley, that wasn't real. That was just my mind spinning the memory into something darker. Just a nightmare.
His hand lingered, grounding me, and I lifted my head slightly. But a sharp, stabbing pain tore through my stomach, and I sank back down with a groan.
"But you came, didn't you…old man?" I croaked, my lips curling into a faint, teasing smile.
The corners of his mouth twitched in response, though the concern in his eyes never faltered.
"You keep calling me that like I'm an ancient being." His voice softened, a faint exasperation breaking through the edge of worry.
"Well…" I muttered, smirking weakly despite the pain. "You are a paedophile though."
"Back at this again?"
I groaned again as the pain surged, cutting our banter short. His hand steadied me once more, and I let my eyes close, grateful for the warmth of his presence in the chaos of my thoughts.
No.
I shifted slightly, the ache in my stomach sharp but manageable now. As I adjusted, something else drew my attention. The soft fabric clinging to my skin wasn't mine. My clothes were gone.
My breath caught in my throat as I looked down at the loose cream-coloured blouse and matching trousers. They were clean, far too pristine for what I'd been through. My heart raced, panic clawing at me.
He wouldn't.
I whipped my head towards him, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You changed my clothes?"
His brows shot up, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. "Seriously? No. Not after that event."
Before I could press further, the door opened again, and a woman stepped inside. She looked to be in her early forties, with sharp, intelligent eyes and a poised demeanour. Her dark hair was pulled into a neat bun, and she wore a simple black dress with a white apron.
"This is Lena," he said, gesturing to her. "She's the head maid. She was the one who changed you. You were in no condition to… well, to handle anything yourself."
Lena nodded politely but said nothing, her presence calm and professional. "He cares for your safety, miss."
I sank back into the bed, the tension easing slightly. He hadn't done it. That was a small relief in a whirlwind of chaos.
He stood then, brushing his hands against his trousers as if readying himself to leave.
"I need to step out for a bit," he said, his voice carefully measured. "There's something I need to handle."
"No." My voice came out hoarse but firm. "I want to go home."
He paused, glancing over his shoulder before turning fully to face me again.
"I've already spoken to Asvika," he said, mentioning my best friend. "She knows what happened, and she understands the situation. You're not leaving until you're better. You need time to heal, Ara."
How did he do it? How does he know about Asvika?
The weight of his words pressed against me, but I didn't have the energy to argue. Instead, something else clawed its way to the surface.
I sat up straighter, ignoring the sharp pang in my chest. "You have him, don't you?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly. "Zach. And his friends. You've caught them."
He stopped in his tracks, his back to me. Slowly, he turned his head, just enough for me to see the hard line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders.
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Ara, it's—"
"Tenfold." I cut him off, my voice sharper now, anger bleeding into every word. "Make them suffer tenfold. Every hit, every bruise, every moment they made me feel powerless. Tenfold."
He turned fully then, his hazel eyes locking onto mine. There was a flicker of something in his expression, hesitation, maybe even concern.
"You don't mean that," he said softly, though his tone carried more uncertainty than conviction.
"I do." My voice was cold now, steady in a way I didn't recognise. "Make. Them. Suffer."
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of my words hanging in the air between us.
Lena stood quietly near the door, her gaze unreadable. I leaned back against the pillows, the ache in my body drowned out by the fire in my chest.
Let them suffer. Tenfold.
Suddenly I pushed myself up slightly, ignoring the stabbing ache in my ribs. "Wait," I called out just as he reached the door.
He stopped, his hand hovering over the doorknob. Slowly, he turned back to face me, his hazel eyes sharp and guarded.
"What now?" he asked, exhaling heavily. "Don't tell me you've decided to demand I make them suffer twentyfold instead."
I shook my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips despite the storm brewing in my chest. "I still don't know your name."
His brow arched, amusement flickering across his face. "Why? Don't you like calling me 'old man' anymore?"
"I'm serious." My voice was firm, but my gaze softened as I met his eyes.
For a moment, he simply stared at me, as if debating whether to answer. Then he let out a low sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Dominic," he said, his voice steady but quiet.
I repeated it in my head, letting the name settle in my mind. Dominic. It suited him more than I expected.
"Dominic," I said out loud, testing it on my tongue.
He looked at me, his lips twitching as if fighting off a smile. "You're going to miss calling me 'old man,' aren't you?"
Then, I smirked, leaning back into the pillows. "Doesn't mean you're off the hook, though. You'll always be 'old man' to me."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Figures."
Turning back to the door, he glanced over his shoulder one last time. "Rest up, Ara. You've still got that sharp tongue, but your body clearly isn't up to speed yet."
As he walked out, I muttered under my breath, "Old man suits you better anyway."
A faint laugh echoed from the hallway, and for the first time since waking up, I felt a strange sense of comfort in his presence, even if I'd never admit it aloud.
He saved me.
I guess I could lay my stubbornness aside for a few days.
Dominic. Hehe.