RISE: THE PREQUEL NOVELLA TO THE SIN AND SECRETS COLLECTION

by Shanna Swenson

  Marco scoops me up into his big arms then and I rest against his solid chest, wrapping my arms around his thick neck and burying my nose into his shoulder. I inhale his scent, a sweet reprieve from the sharp woodsy one I’m used to. I sniffle as he lays me down on my bed and protest when he starts to pull away.

  “No, please don’t leave me,” I desperately plead and grab for his shirt.

  “Little dove, you know I’m not allowed on your bed.”

  “He won’t know. I won’t tell him. You won’t tell him. Just until I fall asleep, please?” I beckon to those blue eyes that remind me of a summer sky, back when I was a child and free to enjoy life as I saw fit. “Please, Marco?” I whisper.

  He sighs heavily, a man in turmoil, before finally coming back to my side.

  The mattress sinks in as his big frame settles onto my large king-size sleigh bed and my tears begin to subside as I let his comforting aura encompass my senses. I’m merely an inch away and look back into his face.

  Marco isn’t overtly handsome, he doesn’t have a baby face. He’s not “Brad Pitt handsome” by any means—he’s far too rugged. But he has a subtle allure about him that’s undeniable. Perhaps it’s those eyes that I find myself getting lost in. He touches my face again and I smile. I’m flirting with a dangerous line by having him so close, I know, but it doesn’t stop me from reveling in the solace I take in this moment, so I push the envelope. I brush my nose across his, just a brief touch, a craving for a softness I never get from my uncle.

  He visibly shivers. I look into his eyes. There’s a hunger there I’m familiar with but it’s different too. His eyes reflect desire, a desire my uncle’s black eyes never have. Vince’s eyes mirror possession, dominance, and punishment—there’s none of that here in Marco’s. I separate the distance between us and tilt my head up, my lips falling to his in the briefest kiss. A thank you for the tenderness he’s shown me over the years. A gesture of warmth in this cold world we both have been plunged into.

  The lips against mine are soft—nothing like what I’m used to—supple and unhurried. They pucker, kissing me back, but not with the urgent fierceness I’ve come to know and hate. I pull away, surprised by this newness and frown, confused, into Marco’s face.

  He gives me a crooked grin in return and responds with, “Eden, my little dove, you shouldn’t kiss me like that.”

  I don’t need to ask why, for I know the answer. I nod and ease back to my pillow, laying my dark hair across it as Marco’s big palm cups my cheek once more. His thumb begins to stroke my cheekbone, easy and soft, like a butterfly kiss and I close my eyes, my mind at ease.

  He murmurs sweet nothings to me as slumber begins to take me, “Sleep well, you’re safe tonight.” I’m fading into sweet abyss with my dark knight, logic and worry and fear evaporating from me, when I think I hear Marco’s soft voice whisper in my ear, “One day, and soon, he won’t ever be able to hurt you again, my little dove.”

  I’m in the library the next day, hiding in my usual spot, my mind engrossed in a book—a world where I can ride dragons in a place called Westeros, and be a Khaleesi, where I’m in love with a man who reminds me of Marco. I giggle bashfully at the words on the page and tuck my legs in underneath me, shoving my hands in my hoodie as I rest my back against the bookshelf.

  Mrs. Stewart finds me and gives me a smile as she approaches. “Well hey there, Miss Perelli, how are you today?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Stewart. I’m okay.”

  “Want some tea?”

  I nod my head. This woman has been like a grandmother to me and I love when she dotes on me. She walks off to get me some hot tea, and I think about the relationship we’ve had over the last several months. I come here when I can get away for “studying”, although I don’t actually study here, I catch up on my reading, mostly during my last period. It’s the one place I can hide as opposed to being social; this is where I feel the most comfortable, among the smell of old books and the quiet—immersed in a fictional world where thumping music, getting naked for shady men, and being forcibly overtaken by my uncle doesn’t exist.

  When Mrs. Stewart comes back with a steamy styrofoam cup, I take it gratefully and she sits next to me on the floor. “How are you feeling today?”

  She asks me this each time she sees me and as always I bow my head, unable to tell her the complete truth about it, which always bothers me since she’s such a nice lady. I want to be able to tell her, but my uncle scares the shit out of me and I know I can’t confide in anyone, for his abuse will only worsen and his reach, as I’ve seen, is almost everywhere. No, I lie, keeping my dark secrets as always. “I’m fine.”

  “That book is a bit racy for a girl your age.” She smirks as she sees the book I’m reading. She has no idea what this girl has been through; this book is a walk in the park compared to my daily life. I simply shrug along with a blush, hoping she doesn’t think less of me based on what I choose to read.

  “Where’d you get that cut on your lip, Cordelia?”

  My eyes widen; I thought it would have begun to heal by now, but I realize as I pull the cup away from my mouth that it’s bleeding once again. I immediately place my thumb against the corner of my bruised mouth.

  “Did someone hit you?” Her clear blue eyes seek mine, and I panic. How the hell did she know? Didn’t I put enough makeup on today? “It’s alright. You can tell me.”

  I make up a quick lie. “My lips are just chapped, I didn’t have my—”

  “Don’t lie. Your lip is swollen. Someone hit you, didn’t they?”

  I frown and begin to fiddle with the zipper on my book bag. “Mrs. Stewart, I can’t—”

  “You can talk to me. You can confide in me. If someone is hurting you—”

  I shake my head, tears filling my eyes, but I hold them back. I know I can’t tell her. It doesn’t matter how much I want to vent, my uncle has too much power in this town. I lie again, to save her more than myself. “I just got in a fight with one of my classmates, it was nothing.”

  “You’re kind of a loner, aren’t you, Cordelia?”

  I nod. “Yeah, she was calling me names.”

  “What did she call you?”

  Again, I think quick. “A nerd. She saw me with a stack of books and—”

  “Oh, honey, don’t let people make you feel bad for enjoying an escape.” Her smile is bright and I smile back, taking in her soft, wrinkled face with it’s delicate features; her wide-lensed, red glasses and white, curly hair.

  “I didn’t feel bad. I love to read.”

  “Me too. It’s why I work in a library.” She opens her arms.

  “It’s so nice and quiet in here,” I sigh, happily.

  “Is your house loud?” She gives a soft chuckle.

  I simply nod. I don’t elaborate, for I can’t. Even when the music is gone, the memories of what I’ve been subjected to—the rape, verbal abuse and beatings—are deafening, even in a lonely house with dead silence. Not to mention hearing my uncle’s shady goings-ons, watching the abuse he’s subjected on the other girls at the club, and what’s been done to those who’ve dared to cross him; my young mind has been damaged, my spirit broken.

  “Well, you’re always welcome here, you know?”

  I nod again and thank her, sipping my tea. I look over to see two girls I recognize from school, Magnolia and Everleigh; they’re in my math class. They are both lovely brunette girls, as different as night and day. They giggle as they take some books to a table. I envy them; their friendship and uncomplicated lives. They appear so happy, their friendship so solid, and I flash back to my innocence; before I knew what sex was, before I knew what having a man’s rough hands on me felt like, before the pain and despair—when life seemed so easy.

  “Do you know them?” Mrs. Stewart asks.

  I nod again. “Magnolia Giordano and Everleigh Greene. They go to school with me.”

  “Ah, yes, I’ve seen them here before. Are you friends with them?”

  I shake my head. I
don’t have any friends. Not anymore. It’s too complicated. My uncle wouldn’t allow it first off, and even if he did, how would I be able to hide all my dirty secrets from them? The bruises, the mental and physical abuse inflicted on me? There would be no overnight stays, no parties, no going out to the movies, out to eat, or to sporting events of any kind. He can’t control me outside of school, home, or the club he aptly named “The Devil’s Playground”, so he keeps me caged up; a bright little bird in his controlled cage, always watched, always within arm’s reach. He flashes me around his club, showing me off, so proud of his little dove, but in close quarters, he’s an abusive monster, he thrives on possessing me, in every sense of the word.

  “Well, Mrs. Stewart, I must go,” I say and frown as I glance down at my watch. I’ll be late if I don’t go now and I don’t want to have to explain myself to my uncle.

  “Remember what I said, Ms. Perelli,” she adds and takes my hand. “I’m here to talk if you ever need me.”

  I smile at her and nod. Oh, if she only knew. The shame of my predicament, and what she would think if she knew what I’ve had to do, is enough to make me wish for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

  Marco steps up about that time. He gives me a look. I know. I just thought the same thing. I nod at him and Mrs. Stewart takes a step back, his menacing presence enough to rattle her. She’s wise to be afraid of him. She grips my arms as I stand to move toward him. “Cordelia,” she falters. I can see by her frightened eyes that she’s wondering if it’s Marco who’s done this to me.

  My eyes give nothing away as I smile at her again and hand the book over to her, for God knows, I’m not allowed to have books at home. “Thank you, Mrs. Stewart, for everything. I’ll see you soon,” I reply, hoping to dispel some of her fears.

  If only my own could be dispelled so easily.

  I pull my bag to my shoulder and follow Marco out of the library, all the while wishing I could stay in Westeros, at Hogwarts, or even Forks—anywhere but in the dreaded inferno of Lucifer, for the flames of Hell burn hotter with each day I’m forced to dispose of my soul there.

  Blurb - Everleigh