Raphael

by Tillie Cole

  Meeting Raphael’s eyes, Maria sat up, trying to look more confident than she felt. “I want you to show me pleasure, in the way you like it, no matter where your particular desires lean. I want you to control me . . . I want you to show me the way, in whichever way you want. I want to please you. I want to be used, and I want you to be the one I serve.”

  Raphael’s cheeks flushed. His chest heaved, and Maria knew that her words had penetrated deep within him, struck a chord in his blackened heart. Raphael reached out and took a strand of her long hair in his hands. Maria watched him as he idly wrapped the blond hair around his finger, from base to tip, over the cotton that was already there—was always there. His breathing deepened, grew more labored the tighter he pulled. His finger began to turn blue from the constriction of blood. His pupils dilated.

  Snapping out of his daze, Raphael dropped her hair and said, “You’ll give yourself over to me, little rose. You’ll do as I say, and never question me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Raphael stroked his hand over her head, his fingers ghosting down the length of her hair. “Then convince me. Make me believe you want it. I won’t touch you until you do. I’m not into raping women, little rose. You have to want it as much as I do.” The tendons in his hands were pronounced as he gripped the chair arms tightly. “I want you to need me. To need what only I can give you.”

  Maria didn’t know how to do what he asked. She was unskilled in any form of seduction and ignorant in the matters of sex. She was confused and out of her depth. More than confused about why he hadn’t questioned her further on the priests and her connection to them. He hadn’t asked her why they sent her into the club. He ignored it all . . . he only focused on her and her request for him to school her with his lustful appetite. He was abandoning everything he should be asking to sate his dark desires.

  His damned soul was governed by lust. He saw nothing but the pleasure that awaited him. Cared naught for the truth outside of these four walls and Maria’s body that he would use. Even through her fear, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for Raphael. What must it be like to live a life of such darkness?

  “Raphael,” she whispered and edged herself forward on the seat. She looked at him through her lowered lashes and spoke softly. “I want you to teach me.” She breathed deeply, and she was encouraged when his eyes fell to her rising chest. “I want you to show me pleasure. Your way. Any way you want. You choose and I’ll obey. I give you my consent, Raphael. And I won’t take it back. No matter how you push me. I want it all. I want it all . . . with and from you.”

  Raphael stood up, towering over her as she remained seated and bound. Lifting her to stand before him, his hands under her arms to keep her steady, he said, “You’re mine, Maria, my little rose.” He leaned down and pressed a single gossamer kiss on her cheek—the forbidden, foreign touch sent shivers down Maria’s spine. “And I will break you. I will make it so you can’t breathe without me. Can’t awaken without seeing my face in your mind. You’ll dream of me . . . and I’ll consume you. And when all is said and done, I’ll own you. You’ll never be rid of me. You’ll give me all I have ever wanted. Dreamed of. Finally . . . my little rose.”

  Maria heard his words, but she also caught the truth underneath. He would kill her. She was sure of that now. Raphael would kill her. She didn’t know how or when, but Maria felt the heavy weight of the reaper on her back, hovering, patiently waiting for the moment to strike.

  Unless she could get through to him first. Minister to the good she knew he held inside. Use his greatest desire—lust—as the tool to try and help him. Perhaps, even save him.

  “We need to get you clean.” Raphael reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife. Maria jumped, her body freezing with fear. That pleased him. She knew it as she felt him hardening against her thigh. Raphael hissed as though he were in pain, but he took hold of her hands and cut through the binds. Maria moaned in relief as blood began to swell into the starved limbs. She brought her numb arms to her front and stared at the welts the binds had made. Like Christ, she thought. The stigmata. That vision empowered her and fueled her veins with courage and peace.

  Raphael lifted her and placed her on the bed as though she weighed nothing. He ran the tip of the knife down one of her bare legs. Maria sucked in a breath at the cold touch of steel and watched him cut through the ties at her feet. The same ache she had felt in her hands burst into her legs. But Raphael’s warm hands began massaging her ankles, her arch, her toes. His hands on her body made her heart miss a beat. No one had touched her naked skin for years, and the last one who did . . .

  Maria closed her eyes and forced herself to rid her brain of that memory. When her eyes opened, Raphael had stood and was looking down at her, waiting. He held out his hand. “Get up.” Maria did as he said. Her feet still felt numb, but she managed to find balance. “You will shower, take all of this makeup off your face.” He skirted his fingers over her still-curly hair. “And all of the gunk from your hair. I want it natural. I want to see it as it is meant to be.”

  Maria panicked. Was he going to watch her shower? Be in the bathroom with her, see her naked body? She knew he would soon, but faced with the prospect, Maria felt cold fear rush through her.

  Raphael pulled a chair from against the wall and sat down opposite the bathroom door. “I’ll wait here for you to finish. I’ll put clothes in there for you to wear. Then you’ll come out to me and sit on this seat. And you will wait for my instruction like a good little rose.”

  Maria moved in the direction of the bathroom. Raphael’s eyes tracked her as he went to the closet and came back with a black t-shirt. It must have been his. He placed it on the black marble bathroom counter. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to her, death and hell in his golden eyes. “Try to escape, make a single noise that betrays your presence here, and you will be punished. And not the type of punishment you will enjoy. There’ll be pain. Lots of unbearable pain.”

  Terror struck her like a bolt of lightning in a summer rainstorm. Terror of what this man was capable of. He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you disobey. Don’t make me hurt you, little rose. I simply want your pleasure.” Then, like a switch being flicked, Raphael smiled his warm smile and said softly, “Make sure you clean the makeup off. You’ll be much more beautiful without it.”

  Raphael left her alone with her nerves, her anxiety, and her utter distress. She closed the door—there was no lock. Walking to the large shower, Maria turned the knob to the highest setting. Steam billowed around the room, sticking to her skin. The fog reminded her of the confusion clogging her mind. “You must see this through, Maria,” she whispered. Moving to the large mirror, she wiped the steam off the glass and looked up at herself. Her makeup was still on her face, although her eyes were rimmed with black from where the eyeliner and mascara had run. The curls in her hair had dropped into clumps resembling rats’ tails, and her red lipstick had stained her lips.

  She looked just like the women at the club.

  “That’s what you must become,” she said to her reflection. “You must play his game. Even if it costs you your life. You must try to help him, save him.” Her neck was covered in red marks from where Raphael had strangled her.

  He had strangled her.

  Maria shuddered, remembering the sinister echo in his stare as he tightened his hands and squeezed. Raphael was every inch an unapologetic, stone-cold killer.

  She prayed there was more inside him. Some part of him that was simply lost. Someone good deep inside him that she could appeal to, that she could foster into coming to the surface and ending this awful way of life.

  Maria pulled the dress over her head, trying to not let trepidation consume her courage. Her bra and panties came off next. When she turned to face the shower, she couldn’t look back. In all these years since she had been found and freed from William Bridge’s ranch, she had never been brave eno
ugh to look at her bare back.

  She simply couldn’t relive that time in her life. Not right now. Not now she was faced with this new kind of hell.

  Maria exhaled as she stood under the heavy spray. This shower was stronger than those back at the convent. It was opulent, the surrounding tile a rich onyx with a gloss finish. Shampoos and conditioners were on the side shelf. Body and face washes, razors—anything a person could ever need.

  Maria took the washcloth that lay untouched on the shelf. She scrubbed every trace of last night from her body—the sin, the smoke, and the acts of depravity she had seen. She knew similar acts awaited her in the coming days, weeks . . . however long it took for Raphael to grow tired of her. She glanced down at her wrists and her ankles, at the redness that lay in rings around her flesh. Her neck was sore to the touch.

  Maria closed her eyes and her head fell against the wet tile. She breathed. As she tried to calm, to find her purpose in this moment, she saw Mother Superior in her mind.

  “I want to stay behind the monastery’s walls,” Maria said to Mother Superior as the older woman laid a hand on her back. Maria had awoken screaming into the night, her cheeks flooded with tears. “I can’t go out there again…” she whispered. “The world, the cruel men that dwell there . . .” Maria shook her head. “I want to serve God in seclusion. Be His devoted servant.”

  Mother Superior’s eyes filled with sympathy. She knew of Maria’s past. She knew the horrors she’d endured. Mother Superior stared out of the small window of Maria’s room. “Jesus walked with the sinners.” Maria stilled and tried to calm her racing heart. “He wouldn’t ignore them, cast them aside like everyone else. He walked beside them, even knowing they committed sins and evil crimes. He talked to them, tried to help them see the light.” Mother Superior turned to Maria. “Being devoted to the church isn’t about being sequestered away. It is about listening and helping when it seems all hope is lost. It is replicating Jesus’s example. Walking with the sinners and helping them find the way.”

  Maria shook her head. She knew Mother Superior had lived that life before her old age brought her to Sisters of Our Lady of Grace to retire. Maria envied the older nun. She had counseled prisoners, men who had committed unspeakable crimes. “I . . . I can’t,” Maria said and shook her head, tears tracking down her cheeks and onto the bedding beneath her.

  Mother Superior’s hand covered hers in comfort. “You may not be ready yet, my child. But one day you will be. One day something will arise that calls to you. Someone or some cause will arrive at your door, and you will feel the need to become the nun you say you could never be. You will follow Jesus’s path. You will walk side by side, hand in hand with the damned.” Mother Superior smiled. “And you will answer the call, Sister Maria. Your heart will tell you it’s time.”

  Maria swallowed the lump that had built in her throat as she recalled her Mother Superior’s words. It was a few years ago, when her soul was still raw and her wounds still open. As she blinked into the shower’s heavy spray, she felt something click inside her. Was this that moment? Maria thought of Raphael, the club, and his hands around her throat. His golden eyes that in one moment bore softness and kindness as he looked at her face, and in the next, cruelty and the promise of certain death.

  Maria’s soul was in a raging war. Fear and courage fought for control, both gaining ground back and forth, no clear winner.

  But she had to move. She had to keep going.

  Maria didn’t know how much time passed as she washed the hair products from her hair. The cleaner she became, the more she felt like herself. She made sure her legs and body were shaved and finally turned off the water.

  Maria stepped out of the shower and dried herself with the towel. She drew out every simple movement. Finally, when her teeth had been brushed, and there was nothing left for her to do, she pulled Raphael’s shirt over her head. It smelled just like him. Of fresh water and salt.

  Strangely, it made her feel calm.

  Taking a deep breath, Maria stepped out into the room. Raphael was exactly where he told her he would be, on the ornate red chair. He held a glass of amber liquid in his hand, swirling it in circles, the liquid lapping the crystal glass. He lowered the glass to the floor.

  “I dried my hair the best I could, but there was no brush in the bathroom to comb it through. Or a dryer.”

  “Come closer.” Raphael crooked his index finger toward him. Ever the subservient nun, Maria’s feet began moving as soon as the order was issued. It was what she liked most about her daily life. Not being in control, following orders.

  Maria stopped when Raphael held up his hand—another silent command. He got to his feet, his tight shirt stretching over his muscled chest to show the toned physique underneath. His head tilted as he studied her makeup-free face. Raphael stalked around where she stood, a full circle. Maria’s legs felt weak, but she remained strong in stature as Raphael drank in his fill. “Sit down on the chair.”

  Maria did as instructed. Raphael crossed the room and opened a drawer. Maria’s heart was in her mouth as she wondered what would happen next. If he would touch her. If he would begin his games. If he would bring her pain and take her virginity this very moment.

  But when Raphael turned, he held only a hairbrush in his hands. He moved behind her, and with a gentleness she didn’t expect ran the brush through her damp hair. Stroke by stroke, Raphael unknotted every strand until all Maria’s hair was smoothed out. Maria hadn’t dared move the entire time. She had expected sex and roughness. She didn’t expect tenderness. It confused her more than anything else that had happened thus far.

  Raphael retrieved a hairdryer and started drying her hair. The hot air relaxed her exhausted body. Her shoulders slumped as sleep began to wrap her in its tight embrace. Maria drifted to a state somewhere between sleep and consciousness. She distantly heard the hairdryer turn off and felt the brush slide through her freshly cleaned hair. She only truly awoke when strong arms lifted her into a warm, hard chest. Maria jumped when she felt the connection of bodies, panicking at being in his embrace. She tried to get down. But Raphael laid her on the bed in the center of the room. “Sleep, little rose,” he murmured with the gentleness of a feather falling on a calm lake. “Time to go to sleep.”

  Maria tried to stay awake, but eventually succumbed to the lullaby his deep voice made and closed her eyes, obeying his command without question.

  *****

  The sound of church bells crept under Maria’s thick blanket of sleep. The comforting dings of the familiar bells made her rise, wiping the sleep from her eyes. It was time for morning prayers before breakfast. Maria moved to throw back her thin convent blanket, but it felt too heavy. Blinking into the low light, Maria cast her tired eyes around her. Her heart sped up; she didn’t recognize her surroundings. She shook her head, memories from the past couple of days beginning to find their place within her mind. The priests, the club, the strangulation . . . Raphael.

  Raphael.

  Maria jumped from the bed and searched the room. She had no idea what time it was, but the sky was dark beyond the large windows. At first Maria could hear nothing but the heavy pounding of her heart in her ears. Then she detected the sound of the shower.

  She spun in the direction of the bathroom and edged toward the door. It was open slightly. Peeking through the inch-wide gap, Maria stared into the huge mirror. The room was freezing, not a patch of steam on the mirror. Her stomach flipped when she saw Raphael in the reflection. Raphael naked, his back toward her. She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the quickening of her pulse. Raphael had marks all over his back. The skin was ruined and marred with red.

  An odd feeling of kinship tried to invade her mind. Like me . . . a betraying voice whispered. Sympathy flooded her senses, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten them. Was this why he was like this? Had something happened to him in his life to make him this way?

  Maria stepped back from the door when Raphael began to turn, hands s
oaping his messy dark hair with the shower’s cold water. Her cheeks blazed with heat when she almost caught sight of his groin. She backed away until she hit the edge of the bed. But then her attention was caught by the creak of floorboards outside the room. A thin strip of light slipped underneath the gap at the bottom of the doors. Maria heard the sound of the shower behind her, and before she could convince herself otherwise, her feet were moving to the door.

  Do not try to escape . . . you will be punished if you do . . . unbearable pain . . . Maria heard Raphael’s warning clear as day in her mind. But the door and the sounds beyond the room called her name. Raphael hadn’t wanted her to make a noise. That meant there were people close.

  People that could maybe help.

  In that moment, fear overrode any sense of nunly duty she should offer the sinner in the shower. Mother Superior’s words fled her mind, and self-preservation took the helm. The Maria of old took control, the young girl who had been hurt and tortured . . . and she begged her to run. To not be that girl again. The captive girl who had no fight and just waited to die.

  Before she knew it, Maria was quietly unlocking the bolts, and finally she turned the key that sat in the door. Just as the doorknob turned under her hand, the shower turned off and Raphael came through, sweatpants on his bottom half, his damp chest bare and glistening. He stopped dead when he saw her, head shaking slowly from side to side. “Don’t, little rose,” he warned. His voice was soft, placating, but his face had hardened and told her there was not an ounce of gentleness within him right now. His eyes showed a cruelty that scared her to the core.

  Maria pulled on the door, and before she could talk herself out of it, she began to run. She heard steady footsteps behind her as she fled down the large hallway. She had no idea where she was running to. But she had to try to escape. “There’s no way out, little rose. There’s nowhere for you to go,” Maria heard from behind her. Her skin broke out in a sweat. Raphael was on her tail. But his voice was distant. He wasn’t running to catch up with her. Instead he was letting her try.