fourteen
1149 Words
Angel
LIFE CAN'T POSSIBLY be this easy. Have you ever been in such a good place, that you start closing your eyes and flinching, waiting for your world to cave in?
That's where I'm at right now. I have a steady job that I enjoy, I have a friendship with a nice man who supports me and takes care of my daughter. He doesn't hurt her, he doesn't neglect her, he's perfect with her.
That's not to say I feel entirely comfortable leaving her with him. He's a good man, but he's a man, and I just...don't feel comfortable about it. In my experience, it's always been a bad idea to have little girls and grown men together.
Maybe the world isn't as debauched as my life has been, but maybe it is. The only reassurance I have is the fact that I have a live feed to Marcos office—I know what he's doing with my daughter. He also set up cameras around the house, to pacify me.
Slightly reassuring, not entirely mollifying.
With everything going right, there's simply not enough going wrong to be natural.
Something had to wrong.
DEVIN MCKAY IS MY boss. We don't communicate often, and when we do, it's via email.
But today, he called me into his office.
So, full of foreboding, I smoothed my black pencil skirt down, adjusted my blazer, then calmly strutted in four inch heels to the elevator.
From there, I pressed the button for the 15th floor, the agonizing elevator ride, gratin my nerves.
Was I fired? Did I do something wrong? God, what is Marco gonna do?
That last thought was prompted by my experience with Marco Romano—Italian billionaire with a relatively short fuse, and a pension for being overprotective when it came to Sera and I.
Hell, we took Sera to the park, and every male—kids, grown ups, dogs—we're forbidden from steeping within a ten feet radius.
She and her friends babbled happily.
My mouth quirks at this thought, only to drop at the sound of the ding.
I had arrived.
Confidently I glided to the receptionist who sent me back to Mr. McKay's office.
The short walk was enough for me to overthink my entire life and by the time I got I was near hyperventilating.
The firm was closed, but a few people stayed back, overtime, maintenance, things like that.
Stopping outside the closed office door I shot Marco a quick text, telling him I would be a bit late coming home.
Why?
Meeting with boss, should only be ten mins at most.
Bene. See you soon.
With that, I knocked in the door.
DEVIN WAS A VERY ATTRACTIVE man, in his late twenties early thirties and so very full of himself.
It seemed his philosophy was that he could fill any woman he wanted.
Shivers danced down my spine.
"You've been a very valuable addition to my firm, Ms. Gomez-Santos." He sits on the edge of his desk facing me.
"Thank you, Mr. McKay."
A beat passes.
"Is there anything wrong?"
"I just wanted to meet our most valued member,"
This isn't going to go well. Not at all.
"Well, I'm honored but I must be going—"
"Nonsense," He placed his hand on my thigh. My eyes close.
Breathe.
"Please remove your hand Mr. Mckay,"
"Why Ms. Santos? We're just getting acquainted."
"I don't wish to be aquatinted with you, Mr. McKay. I'm here to work."
"Well, let me put you to work Ms. Santos—"
His hands starts sliding up my skirt, sending shivers up my skin. I push his hand away, but he just grabs it, his hands reaching too far—
I'm hyperventilating, the room seems too small, frantically I glance at the walls, noting how much closer they are.
Memories flood in like shades in the underworld, torturing the damned.
"Marco," A pathetic whimper leaves me.
Sheer panic prevents from moving his hands, my body immobilized, all systems shut down.
Words I never wanted to hear filter in, Turning old memories and this horror into a mania inducing mixtape.
Relief in the form of unconsciousness comes, my old friend, her hand stretching towards me. I grab her hand, smile, and let her yank me into her realm.
The last thing I hear is a bang, a startled yelp, and a muffled voice. Then my body limps and I let it be.
WHEN I COME TO, I'm floating between here and there, my equilibrium off. Then I notice familiar arms around me, familiar scent of wine and home. Like baked cookies or something.
His broad chest provides a sort of pillow, the rhythm of his breathing soothing to me. Everything around me has come into focus, I can hear, smell, feel, again. However, I can't move, can't speak and my eyes won't open.
I'm prisoner in my own body, as I have been so any times before. The experience doesn't get any better, I can assure you.
I believe we're in a car, heading home, but I can't be absolutely sure.
Marco shifts under me, putting me in a seat belt. Immediately I protest. He's my anchor, if he let's go of me, I float back to the world of panic that only just now escaped.
"Shh, mia fatina, I am right here," Heat seeps through my blouse from his hand, his voice low and soothing, gliding over me.
"We are going home. Sera is not with us but she is fine. She's with my old nanny, Ms. Faustina. I am proud of you, my little fairy. Very proud of you."
For what? I want to scream. I'm disappointed in myself. I've learned self defense, I have learned how to shoot, I have learned how to disarm a man in three seconds, but every time something like this happens—
I freeze.
I feel like a failure more than else right now. Again he had to save me; again my daughter could've been an orphan due to my cowardice.
"I will sing you a song my mother used to sing me."
"Che bella cosa una giornata di sole
Un'aria serena dopo la tempesta!
Per l'aria fresca pare già una festa...
Che bella cosa una giornata di sole!
Ma un altro sole
Più bello non c'è
Il sole mio
sta in fronte a te
sta in fronte a te
Luccicano i vetri della tua finesta
una lavandaia canta e si vanta...
mentre strizza, stende e canta
luccicano i vetri della tua finestra!
Ma un altro sole
più bello non c'è
il sole mio
sta in fronte a te
Quando fa sera e il sole se ne scende,
mi viene quasi una malinconia...
Resterei sotto la tua finestra
Ma un altro sole
più bello non c'è
il sole mio
sta in fronte a te."
His voice is low and sweet, drifting over me and right into sleep's open arms.
- Writer
