Page 55 of Alessia
Yet, every year, she ignored them. Tossed them aside like they meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.
My jaw clenched. That will change. Tonight, will mark a new beginning.
I stand up straight, exhaling slowly, controlling the swell of emotion rising in my chest. She doesn’t belong in her life. Alessia has spent far too long surrounded by people who cloud her judgment. I’m here to fix that. To give her what she truly needs.
I pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through the pictures. I stop on one of Alessia, taken just days ago, and let my fingers brush over the screen as if touching her face.
“I’ve been patient,” I murmur to the screen. “But patience has its limits.”
It’s time. Time for Alessia to finally understand the depth of my devotion. Time for her to come home.
To me.
17 - Harper
When I wake up, I can’t seem to find my focus. My eyes feel heavy and my head hurts, everything hurts. I try to rub my eyes but my hands are held back by something. I pull on them and hear the sound of chains. When I crane my head, I see my hands are tied with old rusty cuffs anchored into the wall at the head of the bed. I take in my surroundings and see that I’m lying on an old mattress. I can feel the coils dig into my back, my shimmering dress is gone and I’m wearing a jersey and sweatpants. I’m lying in a small room; it smells old and rotten with grey walls and only one small window at the top of the wall on my right. Beneath it is a small metal table and chair and next to it stands a bucket. Where the hell am I?
I hear footsteps in the hall outside the room and I tense up. The locks on the door turn and a man steps inside. He is wearing a shirt that is actually too tight around his muscled torso, and I can see the tattoos on his arms and in his neck. Over his face he wears a mask but I can’t see his eyes due to the mesh in front of them. In his hands he holds a tray which he sets on the table. I can hear the chain that’s dangling from his jeans pocket.
“Good, you’re awake.” His voice is low and ruff like he smokes two packs of cigarettes a day. He reaches over me to undo the lock on the chain on the wall but replaces it with the chain he has with him. Then he does the same to the end attached to my handcuffs. This chain is longer than the previous one. I say nothing, I hardly dare to breathe.
“There’s your food.” He gestures to the table.
I try to find my voice, “I need to go to the bathroom.” I whisper.
“That’s what the bucket is for, filthy whore.”
He walks out of the room and I hear the locks turn again, locking me inside again.
I walk over to the table, the chain dragging behind me wherever I go and see something that looks like stew, a bread roll and a glass of water. It doesn’t smell half bad actually. I can smell tomatoes and spices like basil and rosemary. It reminds me of Carmen’s cooking. Tears prick behind my eyes and I let them fall. What would Alessia be doing now? How can she ever find me if I don’t even know where I am? I take a seat on the metal chair and let out a breath. I stir the spoon in the stew and decide to take a bite. If they wanted me dead, they would have killed me already. Probably with a bullet through my head instead of poisoning me. I lift the spoon to my mouth and this is the most delicious stew I ever tasted. I question why they would bring me decent food instead of something awful, but I don’t mind it at all and within minutes my plate is empty. The light that’s coming through thewindow is getting darker, soon I won’t have any daylight. I don’t see a light switch or bulb so I guess I’ll be in complete darkness come nightfall. I really need to pee, but no way I’m going on a fucking bucket. So, I lay back down on the rickety mattress and try to get some sleep, my head still foggy from whatever they used to knock me out.
The days pass by, I think it’s day seven now. I only see the same guy that brought me dinner on the first night. Twice a day he comes by, once for breakfast in the morning and the second time for dinner in the evening. The bucket finally won our little staring competition, and minion number one empties it when he brings me food. I haven’t showered in days so at least the bucket isn’t the only thing that smells.
I still have no idea where I am or where Alessia is, if she’s alright and if she’s coming to find me. I have counted each brick in this godforsaken room twenty times by now and I’m getting stir crazy. Probably the idea of the one who put me in here. I am kind of getting used to the mattress although my back is killing me by now. At least it’s better than sleeping on the floor. Sleep catches up with me when I think of home, of Alessia’s scent and her gorgeous blue eyes. I drift off in a peaceful sleep, the first I had in days.
It is the middle of the night when I am roughly awakened. Someone puts a cotton bag over my head, I can’t see a damn thing and the person unchains my hands. I am thrown over someone’s shoulder and hauled away. I’m carried upstairs and we make a few turns before I hear a door open and I’m thrown down on a chair. My hands are bound behind the back of the chair, then I feel something cold and thin under my chin and it slices through my shirt, exposing my bare breasts. I feel the cold metal from the knife again but this time just below my navel. The man slices through the crotch of my leggings like they are nothing. Fragments of clothing hang off my body, I’m completely exposed. Somebody kneels in front of me and cuffs my ankles to the legs of the chair, I try to kick myself free but it’s no use. No way to defend myself now. The person hovers between my legs and inhales deeply.
“Mmmm, I love the smell of pussy in the evening.” His accent sounds thick and Italian.
“Step away from her.” Another man bellows from further away.
The man steps away and I try to listen to every sound I can.
“Good evening, Harper, welcome to Italy.” The man says and somebody rips the bag of my head. My vision is blinded by the light in the room so it takes me a while to get my bearings. In front of me stands a man in a well-tailored navy Armani suit with cognac-colored shoes. I gather all the saliva I have in my mouth and aim for the shoes; it’s a straight hit.
