Chapter Four: Lola
1004 Words
Having spent over a week here, I’ve developed a rigid routine: wake up, stay in my room until it’s time to eat, then retreat. The isolation is stifling. On the days Carlos is out, I sometimes spend time with Rose, his live-in maid. But the moment he returns, I vanish into my room, avoiding his presence.
Carlos is like a storm—calm one moment, raging the next. I’ve learned to tread carefully, staying out of his way and avoiding anything that might set him off. His staff is minimal: just Rose and another maid who comes to clean twice a week. Talking to them feels forbidden, almost taboo.
One evening, Rose knocks softly on my door, informing me it’s time for dinner. I throw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, making my way downstairs. I expect the usual: a tense meal with just Carlos and me. But tonight, there’s someone else.
Seated across from Carlos is a younger man, exuding authority. His cold, piercing gaze unsettles me.
“Good evening,” I say cautiously, taking my seat at the table.
No one responds. The silence is oppressive as we eat, but I can feel his eyes on me. His cologne—rich and woodsy—lingers in the air, tempting me to inhale deeply. I resist. He is undeniably handsome, his chiseled jaw and sharp suit giving him the appearance of a GQ model. His build suggests strength, his tailored suit straining over broad shoulders.
Our eyes meet briefly, and his icy blue stare sends a shiver through me.
He finishes his meal first, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
“Thank you for dinner. I'll see you some other time, Uncle,” he says in a low, emotionless tone.
"You're welcome anything," Carlos nods, sipping his water.
The man rises, towering at what must be 6’3”. His presence fills the room. Without another glance at me, he leaves, his strides long and purposeful. I try to shake off the strange pull he has over me. I don’t even know him. I'll ask Rose about him later, knowing better than to ask Carlos.
“Rose,” I say as she sweeps my room the next morning.
“Yes, Miss Lola?”
I cringe at the formal title but let it slide. “The man who came to dinner—who is he?”
She pauses, her expression unreadable. “Oh, him? He’s somehow affiliated with Mr. Carlos.”
“Somehow? Please explain.”
“He calls him ‘uncle,’ but they’re unrelated,” she clarifies.
“Really? How so?"
"I truly don't know the story behind it but I know my boss helped him at some point with his company. What I do know is that Mr Derrick is an orphan," she adds the last part with a hint of sadness.
"Is that why he is so…” I search for the right word.
“Cold?” Rose offers.
I nod.
She shrugs. “He’s always been like that, for as long as I’ve known him. I guess that's why he is that way.”
I mull over her response, my curiosity about him growing despite myself.
That night, it’s just Carlos and me at the dinner table. His mood seems lighter, but his gaze lingers on me too long. I shift uncomfortably under his scrutiny, my appetite waning. His eyes trail to my bare thighs, and a sick feeling churns in my stomach. I excuse myself as soon as I finish eating, bolting upstairs to the safety of my room. I change into pajamas, trying to brush off the unsettling feeling. Exhausted, I fall asleep quickly.
I wake to the sensation of hands on my thighs. My eyes snap open, terror flooding me. Carlos looms over me, his face twisted in a sinister smile.
“Shhh…” he whispers, pressing a finger to his lips.
My voice trembles. “Please, what do you want? What are you doing in my room?”
"I know you want this. Stop asking questions," He slurs as he runs his finger under my chin.
I am sure he can see the fear in my eyes when I shake my head vehemently, "No, I don't. Don't this to me please."
“This will be quick. Just spread your legs like a good girl,” he says, his voice low and predatory as he positions himself between them.
Panic consumes me. I thrash, trying to push him away, but his strength overwhelms me.
“Shut up!” he snarls, slapping me across the face. The sting burns, and tears stream down my cheeks.
“Please, don’t do this,” I sob. “I’ve never done this before.”
His eyes gleam with dark excitement. “Even better.”
His weight pins me down as he yanks my pants away. I scream inwardly, my body frozen with fear. He thrusts into me without warning, ripping away my dignity and my will to fight. Pain shoots through me as I cry out, my tears soaking the pillow beneath me.
It feels endless. Finally, he pulls away, spilling himself on me before leaving like nothing happened.
“Rose will clean you up,” he says coldly as he shuts the door behind him.
I lay there, broken and trembling, unable to move. My bed is a mess with blood and sperm. I almost retch from the sight. I'm irritated with myself.
Rose enters moments later, her face etched with pity as she helps clean me up.
“Oh, you poor thing,” she whispers, her voice thick with sorrow.
My tears don’t stop. This was never supposed to happen. How did it come to this?
Why did my father borrow money from him? We were doing fine, even though we were managing but still, we were okay. I choke on my sobs, rage and grief warring within me. If only I had taken that second shift that fateful day… if only I hadn’t ended up here.
- Writer
