Page 21 of Villainous
I’m trying to wash away the humiliation of what I felt as I blew Villainous in front of a bunch of men. Tears leak from my eyes and down into the grimy water. I’ve been sitting here since I came from the meeting, and I’m as wrinkled as a prune.
Why did I allow myself to be hurt by Villainous? Why does he still have this hold over me? And why do I keep forgiving him for the shit he does? I get it—I broke his heart, and I abandoned him, but I had to do what I had to do to protect myself. I had to do what I had to do to protectus. He might not understand it now, but when I pass away, he will. He’ll never forgive me for leaving him, and that’s okay. I’m not going to spend the rest of my remaining days dwelling on things I can’t change. I want to tell him why I left, and it has been on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t. Some things are better left unsaid.
I yank the plug from the drain, and the water swirls around. Slowly, I step out of the tub and clutch the thick cotton towel from the gray cabinet, wrapping it around my small frame, and then I proceed to go to the bedroom. Once I finish drying my body, I slide under the blanket, naked as the silk sheets stick to my body, and I cry hysterically until I fall asleep.
Later the next morning, I turn to look on my side, and Villainous is not in bed. I don’t think he came home last night either, and I’m kind of glad. I don’t want to face him because I might lash out at him, and it will not be good for me. He’ll make my punishment worse than the last one. It’s a game to him. Sometimes, I think he’s crazier than the Joker. I’m in better shape than I was last night, and I do still feel lousy, but I don’t feel as bad as I did when I came from the business meeting. I hope to have a better day, but how can I when I know my death is looming over the horizon? When one day, I won’t know that it’ll be my last day. My anxiety is spiked through the roof, and I’m starting to have nightmares. I feel as if I’m in a washing machine and there isn’t an end cycle.
The light from the sun peeks through the curtains, and I swing my legs off the bed, pushing myself up. It’s taken too much energy for me to get out of this slump, but I’m doing it. Keep taking it one day at a time.
I yank the thick cotton robe from the edge of the bathroom door. It’s Villainous’s robe, and it smells like him—nicotine and sandalwood. Once I’m in the bathroom, I brush my teeth and change into a pair of matching pink pajamas. I don’t feel like dressing naked for him for the whole day, and if he tries to punish me for it, then oh well. He can’t break me any more than he already has—knock on wood.
The door swings open, and I stroll back to the bedroom and perch on the velvet lounge chair. Noemi wheels in a table with a plate of steak-and-cheese omelet. As much as I love food, I’m not hungry.
Her gaze drifts from my head all the way down to my legs, and pity shines in her eyes.
“What happened, sweetness?” Her tone sounds as if she’s speaking to a child.
As usual, she’s in a cheeky mood and wants to talk my ear off, and normally, I look for any adult interaction since I’m always locked up in this damn room, but not today. I want to crawl in a hole and die.
“Nothing. Had a bad night,” I respond.
“Is there something I can do to make it better?”
Sometimes, her over-optimistic self is too much for me. Does she ever have a bad day? And it’s not healthy to be this happy all the damn time, but I shouldn’t complain because all she’s doing is her job. At least she’s the only one who gives a fuck about me.
“I’m afraid not,” I tell her.
She hands me a glass of orange juice and takes out a tiny bottle of vodka and pours it in my cup. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”
Can I trust her with what Villainous did to me? I don’t know her well enough to trust her. I don’t want her to go and tell him what we talk about because at the end of the day, she’s on his payroll.
“Is Villainous okay with you smuggling liquor to me?” I say, taking a sip of it.
She smiles. “He didn’t give me orders to not do it. Drink up.”
I do what she says, and I feel a lot better, letting the vodka take over me and soothe my senses.
“You want to tell me what’s the matter?”
No, not really, but I don’t say those words. I kick my feet up on the lounge chair and sigh as I take another sip of this drink. I don’t want to talk about me, and I want to keep my mind occupied with other things. My life is a shitstorm, and I don’t want to spend every moment worried and terrified.
“How long have you been working for Villainous?” I ask.
She sits next to me, and a grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Let’s see. Six months ago.”
“Are you Italian?” I ask her.
“No. My mother is from Germany, and my father is from Greece.”
When I get a good look at her, her eyes are very familiar, but I can’t place them. I’ve seen those eyes before. Shaking my head, I down the remainder of my drink and set it on the table. She places her hand on my thigh.
“If you need a friend to talk to, I’m here.”
I don’t need any friends, I want to say, but I swallow my words. I don’t want to be a bitch to her. And if she wants to be the light in my life for the time being and make my stay more bearable, then why not? There’s got to be some light to come from this hellhole.
I cock my eyebrows and pick at the skin on my thumb.
“Why would you help me?”
