Page 5 of Devious Lies

I struggle against him. He grabs my arms, and it is too hard. He is hurting me.

“Stop, please,” I beg, and it is the wrong thing to do.

He pulls my hair and licks the side of my face till his mouth is by my ear.

“Why should I stop, you little whore? You’re mine now. You got no man. No father. No one to fight for you. I am all you have, and I’m willing to give you my name. That’s it struggle. Run. Hide. I will always find you,” he says, and it is like that turns him on.

Shock hits me like a slap to the face. Confusion, too. I stop struggling and look into his dead shark-like eyes.

“Your name? What are you talking about?” I ask as I lean away from his hold.

But Matteo does not let me move.

He just keeps coming. He’s insistent. And he’s strong.

I know he can overpower me, so I try to keep him talking.

I can feel his hardness against my side as he kneels and tries to kiss me again, and it is revolting.

“You were gonna marry my brother, I can take his place,” he says.

“What? I wasn’t going to marry him, Matteo. We barely knew each other.”

“My father already agreed.”

“I’m sorry, but your father doesn’t tell me who I’m going to marry,” I scoff, and shake my head.

“Ha! You don’t know shit about life, nena. Enrico Sanchez makes the rules. And I am his son. I get what I want. Now hold still,” he grunts, and grabs my face harshly.

Then he kisses me again and squeezes my breast painfully hard with his other hand.

Bile fills my throat.

I wonder if he’s going to rape me, but thankfully, the SUV stops.

I look out the window to see we’re at my house. I open the door and fall out to my knees. Tears stain my cheeks, and I wipe at them, not sure what is actually happening.

Is this real?

Matteo follows me, and I am aware we have an audience.

“Oops. Clumsy,” he grunts and tries to help me stand but I do it myself, avoiding eye contact with him.

I race up the stairs and instead of stopping to chat with those who came by to offer condolences.

I lock myself in my room.

That night, I talk to my mother.

There are bruises on my cheek, breast, and arms where he grabbed me, and I’m doing my best to cover them. But Mami sees them, and she cries.

“No, no, no, mija. We have to get you out of here.”

She is right. Much as it pains me.

It takes hours to come up with a plan, but we have one.

Even if it sucks.

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