Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I wait for him to come. To fuck me. To degrade me. To leave.
My stomach sinks, and my eyes fill with hot tears, but I am quick to wipe them away.
“It’s better than the cellar,” I say again, gathering the blankets up to cover myself when I hear the key in the lock.
“Dinnertime, dear,” Antonia says as she opens the door.
I am greedy to take in the light of the slightly brighter corridor behind her. She must see my face because she starts to close the door but then stops and leaves it open. But her kind nature and pitying looks only make me feel sadder. More alone. More like crying, and I don’t want to cry anymore. Not for him. Not in front of any of them. So, I swallow it down.
“You need to eat, Ivy,” she says after looking at the untouched lunch tray. It was the same with breakfast.
“I’m not hungry. Do you think I can call my sister?” I don’t even know why I ask. I know the answer, and besides, I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble.
She comes over to sit on the bed, straightening the comforter. “If you eat your dinner, I’ll talk to him.”
I turn away. “Never mind then.”
“You’re only hurting yourself if you don’t eat.”
“I’m tired.”
“He’ll come around.”
I turn to her. “Do you think I did it? What they’re accusing me of?”
She pushes my hair behind my ear. It’s a mess. I haven’t brushed it in days. Haven’t showered in I don’t know how long.
“Of course not. I don’t think you’re capable of anything like that.”
I smile in gratitude. “How can he think it was me?”
“Cozy in here,” comes his dark voice.
Antonia and I startle and turn at the same time, she rushing to her feet as I push up to sit straighter, holding the blanket to me.
“Sir,” Antonia says as she clears my untouched lunch tray and walks past him.
Santiago looks at it, then holds out his hand to stop her as he studies the contents. “Did she eat anything?”
Antonia looks guiltily at me. “No, sir.”
He glances at me, his look hateful even in the dim light. “Breakfast?”
She clears her throat, casts her gaze down, and shakes her head, and I wonder how many days it’s been since his last conjugal visit.
“Is my food not good enough for you?” he asks me after dismissing Antonia.
“How can I be sure you’re not poisoning me?”
He snorts. “That’s rich.” He enters the room, and I grip the blanket tighter, remembering how he’d torn it away the last time he was here. He closes the door. “If you don’t eat the entire tray of food there, I will tie you to your bed and force it down your throat. Am I clear?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s too bad.” He pulls the chair out at the small table. “Come here.”
I look away from him, rubbing my face with one hand. “I didn’t do it. I swear, Santiago.”
“But you lie. Come here. Now.”
“Will you listen to me if I do?”
“Did I give you the impression we were negotiating?”
“No, I know you don’t negotiate.”
“You’re smarter than I thought, then.” He lifts the chair and slams it down. “Don’t make me come get you.”
I push the blanket back and get up, taking a moment to steady myself when a dizzy spell comes.
“Don’t bother with the acting. It won’t win any points from me.”
“I’m not acting, you jerk!” I tell him once the spell passes, and I walk over and take the seat, being careful not to touch him. I don’t even care that I’m naked. He’s seen all of me. And in this light, I’m sure I’m not much more than a shadow anyway. A ghost already.
“Now pick up your knife and fork and start. I have more important things to do than babysit my wife.”
“Why do you care if I eat if you hate me so much?” I ask as I pick up the fork and poke at the meat. It’s underdone. Bloody. I’m sure just like he likes it.
“Oh, I don’t,” he says so casually I have to look up at him. He meets my eyes, the flickering candles casting shadows on his skull face tattoo. “I care that the babies you carry won’t be malnourished.”
“Babies again.” I stab a piece of broccoli.
He leans down close to my ear, pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?” he asks in a whisper, sliding his hand down, pushing the rosary out of the way and cupping my breast.
I shudder.
He straightens, dragging his fingernails along my breast before releasing it. I wonder if he realizes all that does is serve to arouse me. Because somehow, even now, I’m still aroused by him.
“Eat,” he says, taking my jaw in his hand and turning my face to his. “Unless you want me to force-feed you.”