Page 22 of Valentine's Slave

I haven’t received any messages from Valentino, not that I expected to, but he seeps back into my mind as soon as I get back to Janelle’s. I slip in quietly after eleven and do my bathroom routine before crashing on the couch. Tomorrow will be my last night here, and then I’ll be free.

I’ll also be Valentino’s slave.

7

Valentino

Ava has a sister, a nephew, and a mother. Her father died in a car accident when Ava was eighteen. Her sister had a child with an alcoholic, and she has full custody. Their mother has Alzheimer’s, and the family doesn’t seem aware of Ava’s desperate living situation. She got kicked out of her place when she broke up with her ex six months ago. If I weren’t a stoic, I would hunt him down and teach him not to cheat. But it was a blessing since it set her free. Everything that comes is a blessing, as I have learned to see. Even the things that hurt. Especially the things that hurt.

From my research, Ava spiralled into depression, lost her job, couldn’t get a new apartment, and has now been bouncing between co-workers’ places. She was and is desperate, and my deal will fix all her problems if she’s smart about what she does with the money afterwards.

Ava works the evening shift at the diner, and while I’m tempted to enter the restaurant and sit in her section, I refrain.I simply walk inside when she’s not around and leave a small brown package with a red rose on an empty table, with an envelope with her name on it. It contains a key to my apartment and the outfit I’d like her to wear on our first night, when she’ll be brought to my apartment by an Uber. I’ll be waiting for her. I lick my lips just thinking about it, about losing myself in the sensations, in her screams.

This isn’t just about sex. This is about uprooting another human being from the inside out, breaking them open from the inside and watching what runs out: emotion, pain, fear, ecstasy. Part of it is a ritual symbolic of what I went through myself, when my family and my life were ripped from my hands, and how it changed things forever.

I follow Ava home just to make sure she gets there safely. My package was delivered successfully, as Ava discovered it herself while at work, and the look on her face as she whipped her head around, scanning the restaurant for me, told me she knew exactly where it came from. She didn’t open it, but her cheeks reddened as she glanced at the card, and then she disappeared into the back room to stow it away.

When I go home, I do a yoga session. Usually, I would be asleep by now, but this week will be totally different from my normal schedule, and it requires a different kind of focus and mindset. I also need to rest up, just like I told Ava to do. My mind is cloudier than normal since I’ve allowed so many distractions into it, and I meditate until I feel nothing but clear, fluid breathing and thoughts that exit as fast as they enter.

***

The next day, Ava hugs many of her co-workers. It’s her last day, as our contract begins tomorrow. She seems like a kind being, one who has been taken advantage of despite the fight in her soul.

After work, she catches the bus to her mom’s place. They come out of the building arm in arm for a walk, and I study the older woman—greying blond hair, brown eyes and a note of uncertainty to the way she moves.

My gift to Ava won’t just be the fifty thousand dollars to help her start a new life, or the pleasure that my poundings will flood her body with, but the breaking down of her mental barriers, her doubts. She can be whatever she wants to be. And I want to help that happen. As much as I also want to torture her with ecstasy and make her scream until she’s hoarse, I also want to free her from her fears, from herself.

Ava doesn’t notice me blending in with the background, staying just far enough away to evade notice. I’ve never stalked a woman before. I’ve never felt such a bond, both protective and destructive at the same time. Maybe it’s because I’ve given myself full permission to have my way with her, to feast on her in every way possible. But even more than that, it’s because I’m no longer afraid of myself. I’ve accepted the darkness, embraced it.

Ava’s mother looks older than her sixty-four years. Lines of worry crease her face, and there’s a frailness about her that must have started long before the Alzheimer’s. Losing a spouse can break you. I know that firsthand, but like everything else, it's fate. Like the parable of the dog tied to the cart, we have only two options: fight our circumstances the entire way and be dragged and miserable, or run alongside the cart, going willingly wherever it takes us. That is life, and that is love.

The two women go back inside, and Ava leaves half an hour later. Her own face is lined and stressed now, and I know she’s been keeping secrets from her family. It’s 6 p.m. when she heads back to her coworker’s apartment, but I don’t follow her there. I need to get home. Marco has been after me for a catchup ever since I confirmed that Ava is acting according to plan. Marco has never shown a particular interest in my yearly ritual,though I’ve also never requested his help to get a girl. I usually enjoy spending time with him, but I’m on edge this evening, anticipating all that is to come. Even so, I owe him.

I haven’t been home for ten minutes when Marco rings. I buzz him in, and the old man takes the stairs. I applaud him for staying active, despite his aches and pains. He’s also been through a lot in his life, and he knows the value of hard work.

Opening the door, I greet my grey-haired uncle. His has a slimmer frame and light eyes. He’s from my mother’s side, and we look nothing alike. Even so, our character is similar, our perseverance and devotion to learn and grow.

Marco shoots me a smile, his hazel eyes beaming as he shakes my hand.

“That’s a nice-looking lady you got yourself,” he notes.

I chuckle. “She’s not mine, Marco. It’s a week.”

We head to the kitchen, and I pour his aged whiskey on the rocks, just how he likes it. I grab myself a cold Schweppes lemonade from the fridge and sit down across the table from Marco.

He swishes the copper-coloured liquid in his glass and takes a measured sip.

“Twenty years, eh?” he muses.

“I know,” I say, running my hands through my hair. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.”

It feels like another life when my wife and son were alive, though I hardly consider them as such. Emilia and I only married because she fell pregnant. Michael was only alive for six months.

“How are you feeling this time around?” Marco asks.

For being an old-school Italian, he speaks about his feelings more than expected, perhaps because he doesn’t fight them. That would be due to his stoic philosophy, the best gift he ever gave to me.

“I feel like I’ll be pleasantly surprised this year,” I admit. Ava is full of potential, especially with how she reacted during the dress rehearsal. I’ve never had a slave before, and it sounds more enticing than anything I’ve done.

---