by S Williams
“No.” Draco’s deep voice rises as I start to pull the chair out. My eyes dart over to him. “Closer.”
I inhale and exhale slowly, walking past a few more chairs. When I’m at least three away from the younger woman, I pull it out and it screeches across the hardwood.
Draco watches me closely, rubbing the pad of his thumb and forefinger together. There is a thick, silver ring on his pinky finger with the shape of a skull on it.
I slide the chair in and rest my hands in my lap. A roman numerals clock is on the wall to my right and I watch the big hand tick by.
Only three more minutes until eight o’ clock.
When those three minutes are up, several butlers in black button down shirts and gloves walk out with domed trays in hand. They place one down in front of each of us, while one of them comes around to fill our glasses up with orange juice.
When the butler’s have done their jobs, Draco bobs his head and they all take off—all but one. The butler that stays, stands near the entryway of the kitchen with his fingers folded in front of him. His eyes are fixed on the wall across and nothing else. His orders, I presume.
Draco takes off the lid covering his meal and places it down. The older and younger woman follow suit, and I do as well.
There are strips of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast with small silver containers of jelly, and orange slices.
Everyone else has already dug into his or her meals while I look over mine. My mouth waters as their forks scrape and clink on the china.
The older woman starts to talk to Draco in Spanish and he responds dully, chewing thoroughly. I pick up my fork and dig it into the eggs.
But it’s as I bring it to my mouth that Draco straightens his back, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Did I say you could eat?” His voice comes out deep and heavy.
Both women look at me. He glares at the fork that’s halfway to my mouth. I swallow the lump in my throat, lowering the fork.
“Oh…I thought…”
“You thought what?” he bellows. “That you were in the fucking clear?” His head shakes and he drops his fork to pick up his orange juice. “Put the fucking fork down and put the lid back over the food.”
I don’t dare blink as he picks up his juice, his eyes locked on me. I drop the fork with shaky hands, picking up the lid to cover the breakfast.
I stare down at the silver dome—at my stretched reflection. I feel the older woman looking at me, but she continues eating. The younger woman doesn’t bother looking my way.
“You were late yesterday,” Draco proclaims.
“I didn’t have a clock. I didn’t know what time it was.”
I avoid his eyes, but I feel his hot glare on the side of my face. Through the corner of my eye I see him place his glass down and then pick up his fork to take a bite of his eggs.
“You met Francesca?” he questions, looking at the younger woman and then at me again.
I nod.
“I didn’t hear you. Speak when I ask you a question.”
I look up and his jaw pulses. “Yes, I met her.”
“I hope she made you feel welcomed.”
I side-eye her. “Sure.” Dropping my head, I focus on my fingernails. I am so humiliated. I feel hot all over. My body is broiling with rage.
“Gianna,” Draco murmurs, and I look up rapidly. He has a fist on the table, his head cocked. “How did your breakfast look? Appetizing?”
I nod, but then I quickly respond. “Yes.”
“Do you want it?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you do. The smell of this crispy bacon and buttery toast is making your belly growl with hunger. You’re dying for a taste…and you could have had some if you’d only been on time yesterday morning.” When I drop my head, he demands me to look up at him again. His face is straight now, his eyes as hard as stone. “You’re going to watch us eat and then when we are done, you will gather all of the dishes and take them into that kitchen over there.” He points towards the hall the butler is standing near. “Is that understood?”
I nod reluctantly. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes…sir.”
“That’s good, niñita.”
“Little girl?” Francesca asks, scoffing.
He narrows his eyes at her. “Do you have a problem with that?”
She lowers her chin, shaking her head as she scrapes the last bit of eggs off her plate. “No, sir.”
He inclines a brow and then looks at me. Picking up his toast and a knife, he spreads jelly over it and then bites into it. As he does, he doesn’t dare pull his line of sight away from mine.
He wants me to keep watching. This is his form of torture. Making me starve just because I was late for breakfast one fucking time. My belly growls loudly and embarrassment sweeps through me. He chuckles when he hears it, but laughs even harder when my cheeks burn red.
“You heard that?” he asks the older woman.
She simply shakes her head and avoids his eyes, clearly disappointed in him.
“Oh, cheer up, mamá. This is how shit is handled. This is how you instill obedience. This,” he says, wiping a thumb across his bottom lip, “is how you know they won’t go against your word again. Francesca, what happens when someone is disobedient?”
“They are punished,” she responds monotonously.
He watches me, studying my cleavage. I blink slowly, lowering my gaze a bit. I can’t look away. As badly as I want to, I can’t. He’ll consider it a defiant gesture and I don’t want to add to the days that I can’t even get a crumb.
“You can drink your orange juice,” he insists, pointing at it with his fork. “It’s freshly squeezed. Shouldn’t let that go to waste. Drink.”
I grab it and take a small sip.
When I lower it, Francesca sighs. I’m not sure if she’s with or against him. Either way, I know she won’t step in or say anything.
And that’s okay.
I don’t need her to save me. I can save myself.
I may be hungry, but I was starving in that cell for six days and if I made it past that, I can get through this. I will not let his venomous ways fault my spirit.
I’ll accept my punishment and then we’ll move on from this mess and it will never happen again.
At 6 p.m. I’m not even allowed in the dining room.
Dinner is something Draco seems to take more seriously. He didn’t want me here yesterday and he doesn’t want me here today either.
The man with the white hair is at the door and he tells me to go back to my room before I can even walk in. I spot Draco sitting in his throne, twisting the silver skull ring on his pinky finger as he waits. His eyes are on me.
Stern.
Cold.
I turn without hesitation and go.
I go and I don’t look back.
I take a shower, toss my hair up in a bun, and then climb into bed.
At 2:10 a.m. I hear those three footsteps again. The doorknob jiggles and I put my focus on it. It creaks open, but barely. A hand wraps around the edge of the door. It’s a tan hand, a skull ring on the pinky finger.
I remember that ring.
Draco wore it during breakfast and dinner.
It’s him.
Has he been the one tiptoeing past my door? I wait for him to come in and say something, but the door remains cracked. His hand is still wrapped around the edge, but in the blink of an eye it’s gone.
The door shuts quietly and his footsteps drift down the hallway.
I listen until I can’t hear them anymore.
I stare up at the canopy with tired eyes. My belly growls in agony while my heart skips a rapid beat.
Why in the hell is he doing this?
Chapter Ten
Day 9
At 7:50 a.m., I’m trudging down the stairs.
I walk to the french doors and see only Francesca and the older woman sitting at the table. Draco’s place isn’t even set, and I find utter relief in
that.
They both look at me, but mainly Francesca. The older woman is knitting as she waits, her square glasses placed on the bridge of her nose.
“He’s not going to be here for breakfast today,” the older woman announces.
Oh, thank God.
She notices my relief as I walk forward and lowers her needles. “But you still can’t eat. His orders.”
“Seriously?” It feels like my stomach is eating my insides right now. It is in knots. I am so hungry. So thirsty.
“I’m so sorry,” the older woman says. She drops her needles and I see the sympathy in her eyes. But just like everyone else, she knows she can’t go against Draco’s word. Would he be so cruel as to harm his own mother just to prove a point?
Is he that callous?
Francesca doesn’t look at me. She stares down at the plate in front of her. Pressing my lips, I turn around and walk out of the dining room. I look over my shoulder and Francesca is watching me go. Her expression is unreadable.
I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking.
She probably wants to kill me.
She thinks I’m the competition.
She’s wrong. She can have that brute.
Instead of going to my bedroom, I walk towards the other kitchen, thinking maybe I can steal a bagel or a donut. It is vacant. It’s already clean—no butlers or maids inside.
No food on the counters.
I sigh.
The door that leads to the beach is open. I walk out. But as I walk towards the sound of the ocean, I am caught up by the iron gates.
There is a lock box, but I don’t know the code.
Defeat settles in. My fingers wrap around the thick, black bars, and I press my forehead between them, sighing again, hot tears burning my eyes.
I can see the beach from here and it is so beautiful…but then I see an old brown building not too far away from the shore and my heart sinks.
There are men standing outside of it, smoking cigarettes.
Ronaldo is still in there. I feel so sorry for him. I wonder how he’s holding up. I wish I could go see him.
Francesca walks around freely, but she’s succumbed to this lifestyle. I won’t be. I’ll take my chances.
I turn around, but as I do, Francesca is already standing by the door. Her eyes are hard on me, and she has a white towel in her hand. It’s covering something.
A slight gasp fills the air when I see her.
Her face is solid, even as she walks towards me. For a split second, I think she’s going to pull me aside and strangle me…but she doesn’t.
“Here.” She shoves the white towel into my hands. When it touches my skin, I realize there is something warm inside of it. “He won’t let you eat for another day. You’re already too small. You’ll faint before you make it. Eat that, but don’t let anyone see you. Take it back to the bedroom. I’ll bring you a water in a few.”
She turns just as quickly as she appeared.
I watch her trot away in her tall black heels. She doesn’t look back at me, and I don’t blame her. I observe my surroundings before opening the white towel.
It’s a biscuit with jelly and a half slice of ham on the side.
My mouth waters at the sight. I hear my poor belly cry.
I fold the hand towel back over and then cross my arms, making sure it’s hidden beneath my palm.
I jog up the staircase and to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. Rushing into the bathroom, I place the towel on the counter and carefully unfold it, as if I’m unveiling some sort of sacred treasure.
The biscuit is so soft that it’s crumbled a bit, but it doesn’t matter.
I will inhale every single buttery crumb.
I dig into it without hesitation. I don’t care if she’s poisoned it. Death already lurks here. At least I’ll go out with some food in my stomach.
It takes me less than a minute to eat it.
When I look up into the mirror, my jaws are puffed, full of bread. I laugh at myself, planting my hands on the edge of the counter and chewing. I savor every bite, shutting my eyes and then swallowing it.
I eat the ham next and then I ball the hand towel up, stuffing it in the trash bin. It was great—and I’m grateful—but not nearly enough.
I walk back out of the bathroom, wiping the back of my arm over my mouth. As I do, there is a knock at the door. I stop in my tracks, staring at the jiggling doorknob.
“It’s just me.” Francesca’s voice picks up from the other side and I rush for the door to unlock it. She surges past me, and I shut the door behind her.
As soon as I turn, she tosses the bottle of water my way. I crack it open and guzzle it down.
As I drink, she watches me.
I release a refreshing sigh and then put my attention on her. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because no one else will.”
“I thought you didn’t like me.”
“I don’t much,” she assures me, folding her arms. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you’re going through.”
“He did this to you too?” I ask quietly, and she looks down, focusing on the tips of her heels.
“That…and other things. The other things were bad, yes, but not eating was the worst of them. I know how you feel. I know it’s not fair. Just like you, I was only a few minutes late. He punished me for it. It’s what he does. He punishes people in his own way for what he thinks is disobedience.”
“But he should understand,” I snap, walking forward. “I didn’t have a clock. I didn’t know what time it was at all.”
“There are clocks in the kitchen, the bonus rooms, and in his room…but no one is allowed to go in there. You should have checked the kitchen. That’s what he told me the day he finally let me eat. Four days,” she stated.
“So after tomorrow he’ll let me eat?”
“Maybe. He’s different with everyone.” Her face turns serious. “What did you do with the towel?”
“I threw it away.”
She shakes her head. “Where?”
“The bathroom.” She marches past me to the bathroom and I hear rustling. When she returns she has the towel in hand.
“You have to burn it. The people here are Draco’s eyes and ears while he’s away. They will snitch on you in a heartbeat for a quick, easy reward. Look,” she sighs, “if you don’t get on the same page as everyone else, you will suffer here. I was just like you—wanting to be strong. Trying to tough it out. Trying to stand up for myself and hoping it would gain me some respect, but I was wrong. And stupid. Draco doesn’t give a shit about anyone else having respect but himself.”
“He obviously cares for you,” I murmur. “He lets you eat breakfast with him.”
“And he wanted you to eat with us too. Doesn’t mean that he cares. He’s just being Draco. Confusing and twisted as fuck.”
“So…what are you trying to say? That we have to be his pets in order to make it around here?”
She cocks her head. “No. We just have to do what we need to do to survive.” She walks around me and grips the doorknob. “I know you’re thinking about running away, but don’t be foolish. He tells you that you can run, but Draco isn’t that lenient. He’ll let you run for a little while, but like a cheetah after a gazelle, he will catch you and drag you right back to where you belong…which is here. And he won’t bring you back without getting a little blood on his hands. He won’t trust you out there…and even if you got away, you wouldn’t get far. Wherever we are—it’s a bad city. If they see someone like you running free, they will fuck you like brutes, pass you around for money, and then gut you like a pig when they find you useless. Be smart.” She holds out her wrists, showing me the old scars around them. “Or you’ll wind up just like me.”
She swings the door open and walks out. I listen to her go, her words replaying over and over again in my head. I know she’s right, but I still won’t cave that easily.
After tomorrow, I’ll be able to eat again.
Food is what I need. Fuel. I can’t make a plan on an empty stomach and tired mind. I need rest and energy.
I should do what’s best to survive around here, but Draco knew my father and he wasn’t an enemy. That means he sees something in me. And to me that means I can probably get away with a lot more than anyone else around here can.
He’s familiar to me. I remember seeing him before…a long, long time ago.
But the memory is so dim that not even the sun can bring it to light.
I slouch on the edge of the bed, staring down at my feet.
“It’s day nine here,” I murmur. “And I miss you so much, Toni. If you were alive, I know you would save me. I know you would kill him right in front of me if you had to…and I wouldn’t even think differently of you. After what he’s done to me—what he’s done to you—I would take him down myself.”
Chapter Eleven
Day 10
My alarm clock goes off at 7:15 a.m.
My outfit for the day is already hung up on the wall.
I wearily climb out of bed and go to the bathroom to pee. Afterwards, I start the shower, making sure to really scrub my hair and body.
I didn’t hear the footsteps last night, and I’m glad. Draco didn’t come around all last night, which means those were most likely his footsteps patrolling my bedroom and him peeking in at night.
After taking care of my hygienic needs, I brush my wavy, chocolate hair and then get dressed in an orange and creamy white dress. I slide into the sandals and then walk out of the bedroom.
There is a lot of commotion today.
I hear someone vacuuming one of the rooms. A man and a woman’s voice is shouting in Spanish from downstairs. They both sound angry.
I step down slowly and when I make it to the bottom of the staircase, I look over to see Francesca and the white-haired man standing in the den. She’s pointing a finger, speaking rapidly.
He points towards the door and then points up.
She scoffs and then flips him off. She storms away from him, in my direction, and I collect myself, looking away rapidly, but I’m sure she saw me watching.
I know for sure she did when she says, “Let’s go. We have about one minute.” She continues her walk past me and I follow her.