Page 31 of Unorthodox
Not with the way I let Max touch me in the night, drugged or not.
Not with the thoughts churning in my head even now, when I’m completely sober.
Someone will come for me.
But if they don’t?
I glance at Dante, finding his eyes still on me. His hand, too.
If my family doesn’t come, I have to find someone who will.
After the gym,I need another shower.
Dante follows me into my room.
He stands outside of the bathroom door. I swear I see him glance at my forearm, where I’ve marked the days with tiny cuts, but he doesn’t say anything.
I shut and lock the door.
It’s my first shower here—aside from the one with Max—without Ben standing right outside of it. Without him appraising my naked body every evening, when my training was done.
I don’t enjoy the shower.
I don’t even feel it.
I get out, towel dry my hair. Get dressed in the plain black underwear, black sweatpants and a black t-shirt that I found in my closet, next to dresses that I’ll never wear for anyone here.
I hang up the towel on the handrail attached to the glass shower door.
I stare at the locked doorknob of the bathroom and imagine Dante on the other side. Imagine him watching me in the gym.
His hand on mine, steadying me.
He isn’t much older than me.
He must remember what it’s like to have a heart. Then again, sometimes I almost forget too. Like the time I thought about sliding a kitchen knife against my nanny’s throat when we were out for mass.
I could’ve escaped then.
Asked God to forgive my sins.
But not long after that, my father put a cigarette to my skin for smiling too freely with a guard, and I remembered God doesn’t exist.
Taking a breath, I unlock the door, pull it open.
And Dante speaks his first words to me. “It’s time to eat.”
* * *
It’smy first time in the dining room.
It’s dark, a dim chandelier of glass and obsidian hanging over the black wooden table. Mamie, the middle-aged woman who drugs me and has followed me around when Dante was busy today, is setting the table.
Two places only.
She puts down black plates, rocks glasses, a pitcher of water and two cups. Then she sets the silverware that she retrieves from the massive, adjoining kitchen. She tucks a lock of long, black hair behind her ear, and for a moment, her deep blue eyes meet mine.
I swear I see a brief smile flicker on her lips, but when I blink, it’s gone.
