by G. D. Madsen
The soft cotton T-shirt falls out of my hands before I manage to put it on. The thunder strikes, instantly darkening the bright and sunny room. The roar of water from the bathroom erases any other sound, and I falter, but David catches me.
"Are you alright?" he asks, helping me back to the bed. "You almost passed out."
I manage to nod. "I am probably just hungry." I am not lying; my stomach would be howling wolves if not for the panic attack.
"Did I exhaust you?" A devilish smile plays on his lips. "I better feed you because I intend to continue." David's gaze trails up my body and lingers on my naked breasts. His Adam's apple rises and falls a couple of times before he diverts his eyes back to my face. "Let's shower, and then roam the fridge."
I am unable to move. "You go first. I will shower later."
David hesitates, but after I assure him I would not try to get off the bed before he returns, he runs his fingers through my hair and walks into the bathroom.
The air reaches my lungs at last, fear of water retreating with the speed of a turtle. I understand David would never drown me, but the recollections of Silvio's torture immobilize my whole being. Showering is a necessity I cannot avoid, although the running water freaks me out.
"I'm sorry," I say when David comes out. A towel around his hips exposes his lean muscles glistening with water droplets, his wet black hair highlighting the blues of his eyes. All of a sudden, I forget what it was that kept me from joining him.
He presses his lips to my forehead. "Don't be. You will be better after you've eaten. I'll prepare some breakfast while you shower."
I get off the bed, fighting the urge to pull him onto it instead, because, honestly, this very moment I am more horny than hungry.
Five minutes later, when I step into the kitchen, I find him pouring coffee into the cups standing beside the plates full of food on the black marble countertop. "Oh, here you are." David grins. "You're fast."
I manage to smile, climbing on a soft bar stool opposite from him. "I am not a big fan of long showers. Not a huge fan of water either, except for this lake and its cold waves around my ankles. Can we go for a walk after breakfast?"
"Anything you want. We can even head all the way to the diner and buy you another milkshake or five, like yesterday."
I laugh, and I cannot stop. "They will think I'm crazy. Do you think I'm crazy, David?"
He steps from behind the isle and cups my face. "Yes, you are crazy, and I love it! What you don't know about me, love, is that I am just as crazy! And I am helplessly crazy about you." He points at the bulge in his jeans and shrugs his shoulders. "All I want is to spend every second in bed with you, but first, as promised, I am going to feed you and take you for a long walk on the beach."
"Like a puppy?" I tease, one eyebrow arched to imitate his earlier expression.
David brushes my eyebrow with his thumb. "An adorable one, indeed. My big-eyed puppy."
∞∞∞
Waking up in David's arms again does not freak me out. A lazy smile twists my lips as I carefully untangle myself from him and get off the couch where we landed. We spent hours walking and talking about everything but the dark secrets between us.
The sunset colors the entire vast living room and kitchen area orange. The cream-colored couch looks painted now, and David's resemblance to a bronze statue in this light is remarkable. The lure to run my hands down his sculpted naked body is all too tempting, but the call of nature wins me over. I pick up his shirt, discarded on the floor by the entrance, and head to the bathroom.
On the way back, something catches my eye. Through a semi-open door to what resembles an office, a photo of a beautiful woman draws me in.
It is quite an old photo, so I guess the woman in it is David's mother. There is almost no doubt about it, as their eyes share similar hues of the sky. It is a work of art, her hair-do, various braids crossing and crisscrossing each other, and disappearing under a blue headpiece. Her face reminds me of Nefertiti's bust. There is something majestic and magical about her.
I return the frame to its original spot and study another photo on the console by the window. It is the same woman, only years later, her hair still halfway hidden under the blue scarf. A man much taller than the woman hugs her from behind, a smile radiating from his face. Although David resembles his mother the most, it is obvious the dark-blond haired man in the photo is his father. They share the same athletic stature, distinct jawline, and mouth – the lower lip slightly fuller than the upper one.
The couple in the photo looks so happy together, beaming at the camera, or maybe at the boy behind it, as I am almost certain, David was the photographer. I cannot help but equally smile, as I put it down and turn to leave.
Before I walk out, a thick paper folder, with a picture, partially sticking out, draws my attention.
I know this room. I specifically remember the damn desk and its carving that left bruises on my thighs. A wave of disgust churns my stomach, but I open the folder, willing to learn why David has the photo of Silverstone’s home office.
Is it because of what I did in there? Does David know?
Wait! Does this have something to do with my questioning? After Silvio's raging lesson of obedience, all I wanted was to get out of his reach, so I never dared to ask him what the police wanted from me.
I pick up the folder, but my shaky hands are too unsteady, and it slips out when I try to turn a page over.
Papers scatter all over the floor.
"Damn it!" I curse and squat to collect everything, guilt for snooping around taking over the curiosity. There is a photo of a woman attached to another file, but I refuse to read it. David chose to trust me, and I should try my best to justify that decision.
The remaining few sheets of paper and a photo lay under the desk. I crawl to collect them and sink into the black hole that opened on the floor beneath me as I stare at the image of all too painfully familiar canvas. Every stroke and every detail of this bloody piece of art is forever imprinted in my brain.
There is a date in the corner of the photo. I have to look at it twice to make sure my mind is not playing tricks on me.
This is not possible... "What the hell?"
"Exactly! What the hell?!" A loud voice rumbles through the room. "What are you doing in here?" David storms toward me and yanks the folder out of my hands.
"Was this your plan all along?” He throws the folder back onto his desk and grabs my arm. “Fuck! I've been a complete idiot! I should've known better than to believe the innocent act."
I struggle to stay on my feet when he forces me out of the office and nearly drags me down the hallway into the living room.
"No, David," I try to explain, but he does not seem to hear. "I wasn't spying, I'm sorry... I only wanted to see your mother's photo, and when I put it back, I—"
"Don't you fucking mention my mother!" David lunges at me, his fingers digging deep into my shoulders. "She was a saint, not a slut like you, eager to screw everybody around."
His words are like a punch to my stomach. Worse… They are spears stabbing my heart. All those sweet songs he sang to me, all those promises, all those kisses – they were no more than empty words.
Never in my life have I felt betrayal this hurtful, not even when Mauro turned against me. I lived in hell for years, but at least Silvio never pretended it was paradise. He crushed me every day of my life, but it never hurt so much as being betrayed by the man who promised me a fairytale.
I could try to plead for him to listen to me, but then again, why would he care about what the slut has to say?
I stand mute, facing a raging fury that is David. I am done begging. I am done crawling on my knees in front of men. I am done being a slut!
"Get out," he speaks through gritted teeth, his tone cold and dark like the marble of his kitchen. "Get the fuck out of my house and out of my life!"
Despite my best efforts, tears flood my eyes, and I run, unwilling to let David see them. Seizing my bag by the d
oor, I charge into the twilight, leaving the noise of breaking glass behind me.
I run until I cannot breathe anymore, until I cannot recognize where I am anymore. It is almost pitch black, since the moon cowards behind heavy clouds, reluctant to witness my misery.
It doesn't matter. Father will know where to find me. I open my bag, take the phone out, turn it on, and lay it next to me as I lean against a tree, pulling David's T-Shirt over my knees – the only reminder of him that still keeps me warm.
Headlights blind me sooner than I could have hoped for. I remain on the ground, still hugging my knees. The car door opens, and he walks to me, lights flickering in his polished shoes.
He is waiting.
I should have killed myself, but I was always terrified of pain. What an irony... After all the torture I endured, I was never able to inflict pain on myself; but tonight I succumb to an agonizingly slow suicide to end this throbbing ache in my chest. Not by my hand, but a willing suicide, all the same.
I slowly rise to my feet and look at Silvio, directly into his eyes – the eyes of my executioner – and for the first time, I am not afraid.
A powerful strike knocks me down. Silvio grabs my hair and hauls me into the car, my knees scraping on the asphalt beneath.
No plea escapes my mouth. I lived my entire life begging, I refuse to die the same way.
He shoves me into the limo, and I land on its floor, inches away from another pair of polished shoes. Mauro is trying to subdue his tears when I look up at him, and I see it in his eyes – he told Father everything about David.
Mauro betrayed me again.
There's been only one man in my life I feared enough to beg for mercy, last shreds of my dignity traded for the chance of less pain, but tonight as the limo takes us back to his lair, as father and son take their turns on me, I cry.
But I do not beg.
∞∞∞
A splash of freezing water jolts me back from oblivion. Silvio stands above me as I lay on the cold cement floor, chained like a dog, shackles tight around my neck.
Silvio kicks me in the stomach, but my cry of agony is no more than a gurgle. "You forgot whom you belong to, little whore! You will pay for it with your life, but only when I decide to end it, do you hear me?"
I do hear his voice. I register his threat, but I feel nothing. Numb and empty. I am not even freezing any longer.
The water turns pink on the floor, but my heart is bleeding heavier than my wounds.
A broken shell is all that remains of me. Only, it was not Silvio who broke me.
Is this what love feels like?
When I first called David, I asked myself that question. I guess now I have my answers. Love hurts more than hours of torture.
A single tear runs down my cold face and falls into the puddle of blood beneath my cheek. Another wave of icy water jerks my body. "If you believe we are done, you're in for a big and nasty surprise."
My brain refuses to listen to any more of his threats. It shuts down. I am sinking deeper into the floor with each gurgled breath.
Indistinct voices reverberate all around...
Another surge of pain...
Faces of monsters and men flash through my mind...
The woman from the photo...
Silvio's raging eyes...
Mauro sobbing and wailing above me...
Everything gradually fades away...
Is this how dying feels?
Chapter 11
David
It took an excessively long time to get wasted on red wine, but it seems the hangover is a thousand times worse.
The instant I attempt to sit up, an empty wine bottle drops off the couch, the noise thrashing my exploding head, and rolls under the table. Or what’s left of it.
Brownish red stains taint the light floors and furniture, the crack in the TV is gaping like a black hole, the pieces of broken bottles and shattered coffee table glass shimmer in the bright sunlight. My phone is blasted to bits all over the floor. I vaguely remember throwing it at the wall after I finished ranting on about my sad-ass life over the phone to Lucas.
He is the only one who can understand me. After all, Lucas was forced to stay away from the woman he madly loves for nearly five years. I never considered love like theirs likely, until I met Lavinia.
These two days turned my life upside down. I was ready to believe her... I would have believed her if not for her reckless snooping while I was asleep.
I growl, lifting myself off the wine-stained couch. If my mother saw the evidence of last night's rampage all over the living room...
Fuck! That deceitful whore tried to include my mother in whatever petty excuse she had come up with after I caught her red-handed. I should have known better than to let my guard down around Lavinia. Bloody hell, I had witnessed her seduction skills back at the auction hall, when she wrapped that poor sucker around her pinkie finger within minutes.
I fell for her victim act. Lavinia and her daddy had a good laugh last night at my expense, no doubt, while I drowned my rage in alcohol.
But they have no idea who they chose to toy with. I will crush Silvio Beltrani like a cockroach, and I will take all my time with his lying-ass daughter.
I cross the living room toward the office. The wrath broiling inside my chest numbs any pain from the broken shards of glass beneath my feet. Those bastards might think they used me, but I am going to be the one to use their mistakes against them! Soon I am going to find out what Lavinia Beltrani is.
I cautiously place my mother's framed portrait into a plastic bag, slip my shoes on, grab the car keys, and slam the doors behind me. I probably shouldn't be driving, but who's going to stop me?
The look on my dear captain's face the moment I enter the precinct tells me more about my appearance than a thousand words. If only I gave a damn. I can worry about her later.
After taking a shower and changing into a spare set of clothes from my locker, I head to the lab, holding the clear bag in my hands. A young brunette gazes at me from behind her oversized hipster glasses, while I fill in the papers. Any other time I would chat with her, or at least, repay those glances with a smile, but today my only mission is to pulverize the woman who deceived me. I leave the picture to have it dusted for fingerprints and insist on having it done as soon as possible. If Lavinia indeed touched the polished wooden frame, I might receive my answers in a couple of days.
One last glance at the photo before the woman packs it away, and a glimpse of my mother's face throws me off balance. Her deep-blue eyes denounce me.
On the other hand, maybe it is my conscience reproaching me, the same damn voice I've been trying to drown in wine. My parents taught me to respect women, to worship them like my father worshipped my mother. I adored her too. I swore never to harm a woman, and yet I threw one out into the night – barefooted and almost naked.
Now that the alcohol has evaporated from my bloodstream, the guilt is overpowering the spite, and I cannot stop wondering if she returned to Chicago safely.
She must have; after all, she grabbed her bag and most likely called Daddy after she left the house. I keep repeating it to myself as I head back.
Anders sits at his desk all gloomy for whatever reason. Not my problem, I have my shit to deal with. I march straight into the captain's office. I will beg if I must, but I cannot go chasing stones with Anders again; I need to solve the only case I give a fuck about.
"Nice of you to knock." Catherine crosses her arms over her chest after I barge into her office, unannounced. Ignoring her remark and obvious irritation, I proceed to tell her about how Lavinia Beltrani conned her way into my life, leaving the most intimate details out.
"David…" She sighs and drops into her vast armchair. "My hands are tied after you and Greg locked Silvio Beltrani's daughter up. A private call from the mayor was enough of a warning. I'm not throwing my career out the window. Hell, Greg should be glad he still gets to work Evelyn's case.''
"They came after me,"
I try reasoning with that cold woman again. "Listen, we must've gotten close to uncovering something if they saw me as a threat. Please!"
Catherine's eyes widen in surprise. I don't think she ever heard that word leave my mouth. I don't believe I did either until I met Lavinia Beltrani.
"There is nothing I can do. Gregory's captain will not risk jeopardizing the case. If you don't back off, I will have to revoke your consultant status, David."
I Left the FBI for this!
The ringing in my ears becomes intolerable, and I grab the first thing I spot on the desk, ready to throw it at the award Catherine received for her exemplary service.
"Don't!" Catherine jumps to her feet.
My arm freezes milliseconds before launching the stapler airborne.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Catherine's voice softens. "I've known you for years. I can see you are hurt, and it has nothing to do with any case. Don't act on anything hot-headed. Lay low for a while, and, maybe in a few weeks, we can try to figure something out."
I breathe out and nod in accordance, pretending to accept her offer. The stapler returns to the desk, and I leave the office.
Only I am done waiting. As much as I am done playing by the book.
I will become Greg’s shadow partner. Nobody needs to know. All that is left is to convince the 'strictly by the book' cop to accept my reasoning.
Speak of the devil. Greg walks into the room, his expression only comparable to someone who just witnessed a dog being run over by a car. Worse. He looks like he ran the dog over himself.
"Did anybody die?" I try to pretend Lavinia's deception didn't affect me that much.
My friend shoots a flash of near spite in my direction. "What happened to your phone?"
"It walked into a wall," I reply, irritated by his attitude. "Listen, you and I need to talk about Lavinia. I'm sure you heard about it from Lucas, so you understand this is a matter of life and death..."
"David..."
