Silent Prejudice

13

Permission? Who else knew about Aldo’s visits to Tuxedo Park? I try to peel apart his words, but before I can get the chance, he launches himself over the back of the couch. I spring toward the kitchen, hoping to make it to the back door, but searing pain lances through my scalp when he grabs my ponytail and yanks me backward. My body ricochets off his. Before I can use the momentum to pull away, arms wrap like steel bands around me. I cry out, my throat burning with the effort, but it’s pointless. The music is too loud for anyone to hear, even if we did have neighbors close enough to help me. I’m trapped in my own home with a deranged sociopath intent on r****g me. His c**k is already hard against my backside. The unwelcome feel of it makes me thrash viciously against his hold. “That’s it, little girl,” Aldo hisses joyously. “Fight me. Make me want it.” His caustic words grate against my ear, the moisture from his breath clinging to the skin of my neck. I want to dip myself in acid to cleanse away the feel of him. Bending forward as much as I can, I suddenly snap backward and slam my head into his nose. “f**k!” His curse booms over the music as he releases me momentarily. I try to run again, but he grabs my hand and whips me around. Using my own momentum against me, he cracks his fist against my cheek, sending me stumbling to the ground. The blaring music finally fades into the background while the world dips and weaves in slow motion. My thoughts are hazy and confused, but the fear never retreats. I know in every cell of my being that I’m in danger. That I have to move. Blinking, I try to clear my thoughts. When I look behind me, I see Aldo assessing his bleeding nose in the living room mirror. I did that. He’s trying to hurt me, and I busted his nose. I have to get out of here. “You little cunt. I think you broke my f*****g nose.” Ignoring him, I pull myself up against the doorway into the kitchen. I have two options. I can make another attempt for the back door, or I can lunge for the block of cooking knives on the counter. I have only seconds to decide. My left eye is quickly swelling, and my thoughts are frayed at the edges. He may be drunk, but I’m no match for him in this state. I’m not sure if it’s resignation or determination or an overload of adrenaline, but an unnatural stillness settles over me as I lock eyes with my attacker. Blue colliding with black. Feral desperation warring with malicious psychosis. Any debate about my next move becomes moot as I recognize that Aldo Consoli will never let me get away. Madness and alcohol have consumed him with the need to conquer me, and if I have any hope of escaping, it’s in the form of an attack and not retreat. I don’t give him time to read my thoughts. Lunging to the side, I dive into the kitchen and wrap my fingers around the handle of a knife just as he grabs my other hand and whips me around. The next few seconds pass in a blur. As if time skips from one point to another. First, I’ve got my hand outstretched to reach for the knife, and before I know how what’s happened, I’m facing Aldo, his features contorted in astonishment as he looks down to where my knife is buried deep in his belly. Point A to point B with no in-between. We are both silent. The world stills around us, all except for the damn music still blaring from the living room speakers. My eyes lift slowly to his. His seething hatred claws at my skin. I need to get away, but I’m unwilling to part with my weapon, so I yank back harshly, pulling the blade from his body and stumbling backward. Aldo’s lips round on a silent gasp, his hands quickly clutching at the growing wetness blossoming across his black shirt. The fabric is so dark that the stain doesn’t even look like blood. But his shaking hand comes away crimson, and there’s no denying the viscous substance dripping from my knife. I don’t think. I just run. Out the back door. Knife in hand. Feet winged as I fly through the tall grass between my house and Hardwick. It’s late, so I go to the front of the house. The property is flooded with lights, enabling me to glance back and check that I wasn’t followed. I bang on the door and ring the bell before doubling over, my lungs screaming with exertion. I have to ring the bell a second time before Elena’s rattled voice comes over the intercom. “Can I help you?” I look up toward the camera in the corner. “Elena, it’s me, Luisa. There was a man at my house, and I may have killed him. I don’t know. Please, I need your help.” My voice is shrill and shaky. And as if hearing the trauma in my own voice makes it that much more real, all the muscles in my body begin to quiver and quake. The locks quickly turn, and Elena flings open the door to usher me inside. “Oh, God. Sweet girl, are you okay?” She secures the door behind me then wraps a comforting arm around my shoulders. The hand still gripping the knife lifts before us, trembling. “I didn’t know what else to do. He was going to hurt me. And … and I grabbed the knife, and then it was in him. I don’t even know how.” Elena moves in front of me to gain my attention. “Stay right here for just a second. I’m coming right back, okay?” I nod. She’s only gone for a handful of seconds, but in that time, my chest begins to shake with the threat of sobs. Elena wraps a hand towel around my fist, coaxing my fingers to release their grip. She rolls the knife into the towel and sets it on a table. “Let’s get you upstairs and cleaned up.” She takes my hand in hers and leads me to the nearest guest bedroom. I follow in a haze. My brain is so overwhelmed with shock, I can’t manage even basic thoughts. While Elena starts a hot shower in the on-suite bathroom, I stare blankly at the wall. Then her eyes are in front of me, blue pools of worry. She places her gentle hands on my cheeks. “I know you’re scared, sweet Luisa, but everything is going to be okay. You shower and try to calm down.” I nod because that’s what I’m supposed to do.