Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“I have never in all my years witnessed such a determined child. When she went to her first ballet, that was it for her. It was the thing she wanted to do, and nothing else could captivate her attention from that day forward. Not even her studies. She wanted to set her own course. She wanted to perfect every move before she even learned the basics.”
I remove the tea bag from my cup and add a cube of sugar. “It sounds like very little has changed. She never seems to think of anything else.”
Aida prepares her own tea with sugar and cream. “It was an escape for her. At first, I thought it was good for her to have a childhood dream. It allowed her a space away from her life. I could see it on her face when she danced that she was in another world. But when her mother died, it became her only world, and she retreated there far too often. I tried to find other outlets for her, but it did not work. Nothing ever worked. The only time she was happy was when she danced.”
I venture another try at the question that continues to plague me. “What happened to her mother?”
This time, Aida doesn’t hold back. “Manuel happened.”
“I have heard that she often wore a veil.”
“She never took it off.” She shakes her head. “Not after—she was horribly disfigured.”
“By Manuel?” I press.
She hesitates but nods. “He carved her face up with a knife so that no man in his employ would ever be tempted by her beauty.”
My blood burns, and it only serves to bolster my case against him.
“And what about Tanaka? Did his violence touch her as well?”
Aida’s brows come together, and she pauses to take a sip of her tea. “I never witnessed it.”
“She flinches at the slightest movement. There must be a reason.”
“I never witnessed it,” Aida reiterates, “but it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. There were times she would be locked in her room for days, and I was not permitted to see her. But I saw the bruises, and that was enough. She blamed it on the dancing.”
Her response satisfies my suspicions, but there is no satisfaction in discovering the true nature of Tanaka’s father. Manuel Valentini destroys beautiful things. Manuel Valentini doesn’t deserve to breathe. And one day, when I am certain I have wrung every ounce of suffering from his soul, I will destroy him too.
“You inquired about his mistresses,” Aida observes. “There must be a reason you have kept Tanaka alive. So, who is this woman you seek?”
I finish my tea and move the plate away. There is no point skirting around the topic. This is what I came here for.
“Her name was Irina. I believe she came into Manuel’s life around fifteen years ago.”
Aida folds her wrinkled hands across the table and studies me. “And who is Irina to you?”
I could lie, and I probably should. But like me, Aida is not a woman to be trifled with. She values honesty, and I respect her enough to admit the truth.
“She was my mother.”
Her face wrinkles, and she hunches forward with a sigh that I suspect she’s withheld for years. “I don’t know of an Irina, but that doesn’t mean anything. Manuel had many mistresses who he kept outside the home. I only hope for your sake that you are mistaken in assuming she was one of them.”
My pulse throbs as I look at her for the answer. “Why?”
“Because they are all dead now.”
For seven days, I have remained captive to my newly acquired NG tube. Every morning without fail, the doctor comes to my room at six to begin the all-day ordeal that is my feeding schedule. In the blink of an eye, my life has been reduced to a series of nutritional shakes and nothing more. Today is no different, and I have the urge to retch when she appears with the meal replacements and syringes I have come to hate.
Dr. Shtein tells me it could be worse. She explains that this is the least invasive option as far as tubes go, having it inserted directly through my nasal system and down my esophagus. Her words came with a warning that if I had any bright ideas about pulling it out, the tube could also be inserted directly into my stomach through surgical means. Needless to say, I haven’t had the courage to remove it.
The tube irritates my nose and it feels like I have a garden hose stuffed down my throat. The liquid nourishment she forces into my stomach disgusts me and makes me wish I could vomit at every meal.
I’ve been granted no other choice than to accept the complete loss of control over my body. As a skilled liar and manipulator, I thought I had a wealth of tactics at my disposal. But Dr. Shtein is not one to be easily swayed. My pleas have gone unanswered, and bartering only makes the doctor shake her head. She can’t be won through false claims of illness, and it seems there isn’t a circumstance in the world that will get me out of the constant feedings.