Page 15 of Do It For Me
Dante is a man—he’s probably been on dates before. Meanwhile, I’ve spent most of my life locked in my room or tagging along with Mum and Tara… Whenever my father wasn’t parading me around like a trophy or a piece of merchandise to trade.
I have no experience with dates or anything like this, and it terrifies me. Dante told me to be myself, but I don’t even know who that is. I don’t know what I want or what I like. My father only taught me how to be agood wife. Boyfriends were out of question. I didn’t even meet Declan; I was supposed to see him for the first time at the wedding.
Before I was kidnapped, I thought I was happy—or at least, I tried to be. I smiled more, talked to the guards, and chatted with the housekeepers. I’d reach out to Mum and ask her to help mewith makeup, just so I’d look pretty at dinner. I loved spending time with my sister; she was my best friend. We did everything together. If I wanted something, my father would say no, but Tara would ask for it instead, and then she’d give it to me.
And then they took me.
I lost my sister, my mum, and my soul.
When I came back, Mum was worse than before. Depression had already weighed on her, but now paranoia consumed her. I listened to her cry every night for months. She had nightmares too.
Tara was gone. She got married to my fiancé because of my absence. She was only fifteen.
And me? The woman I used to be—happy, full of life, even a little flirty (by my father’s orders)—is gone. In her place is someone insecure. Filthy. A woman who doesn’t even have the courage to flirt with the attractive man who’s supposed to be her husband.
The worst part of all this is that I’ve spent the last few days feeling ungrateful because, deep down, I know I’m lucky. We’re not supposed to meet our future husbands before we get married, let alone go out on dates. Tara’s marriage happened quickly, and I doubt she even met Declan before the wedding. Maybe she didn’t want to get married, but she didn’t have a choice. We never have one.
I haven’t spoken to her since the day I was taken. No one lets me. Once we marry, we’re cut off from our old lives. We’re told to devote ourselves entirely to our husbands. Parents, they say, are just a distraction—a nuisance.
I don’t know what I’ll do when I lose my mum. Her hugs, her cooking, her presence. Hereverything.
A hand seizes my waist and pulls me back as a car speeds past. My back collides with a hard chest, and my breath quickens.
The car nearly hit me.
He’s touching me.
I didn’t even realise when I put my boots back. Has he spoken since? Is he angry that I wasn’t paying attention? My father always told me to stop being so distracted, but this… this has been happening more often since the rescue. And even before, when they were raping me.
The doctor at the hospital explained why my mind would drift. She said something about it being a defence mechanism and that I needed therapy. But after two weeks in that hospital, my father decided I didn’t deserve attention. He locked me in my room, cutting me off from the outside world. No doctors, no counsellors. The only one he allowed in was a gynaecologist.
I was so sick.
So sick that I—
His hand tilts my chin upward, his other still resting firmly on my waist. Our eyes lock, his face mere inches from mine. He doesn’t push for anything more. He just… looks at me.
His deep blue eyes are mesmerising. I can’t help but wonder how he got those scars. I have so many of my own etched across my body, but none on my face. They always said a scarred face would ruin my worth, that no one would pay for me.
When they caught me clawing at my face, desperate to escape my own reflection, they tied my wrists and hung me from the ceiling for days. My mind is so shattered, so full of cracks, that I don’t even dare try again. Not now, not ever.
Because a ruined face means no one will want me.
And if no one wants me, I don’t know what they’ll do to me.
I’m tired.
I’m so, so tired.
I’m sick of this life.
Why can’t the eyes in front of me show me the truth? Why do they feed me the illusion of freedom? Of love?
“…ragnetta, please—”
I blink rapidly, swallowing the knot in my throat.
“Hmm?”
