Hasrat

Hasrat 4

He opens the door to his house and walks inside ahead of me without paying the slightest attention to the person behind him.

I lift the suitcase in my hand and reluctantly step inside.

My eyes wander around his gray-colored house. He disappears into the kitchen… a kitchen positioned right in the middle of the house.

I don't feel like describing every detail of his home to myself.

But the atmosphere is dark.

Everything is gray. Everything is dull and cold.

I silently stand by the door.

He walks out of the kitchen.

His hands slip into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers as he stares directly at me.

I can feel the coldness in his gaze even from this distance.

My eyes slowly lift and settle on his face, on the faint stubble covering his jaw.

His stare burns.

It makes me feel like I have no right to be angry.

No right to hate him.

As if I have no right to anything at all.

He slowly walks toward me.

With every step he takes, my heart sinks lower and lower.

He stops directly in front of me.

The fear I feel around him is painfully obvious.

One of his hands rises, and before I can figure out what he's about to do, I instinctively jerk backward and slam into the door behind me.

But instead of touching me, his palm settles calmly against the door beside my face.

He leans against it.

His other hand is still buried inside his pocket.

Every muscle in my body tightens from his closeness.

My teeth grind against each other.

I know I'm developing some kind of fear response to this man…

But I don't want him to realize it.

I keep my eyes lowered, staring at the tiles as I quietly speak.

—Which room am I supposed to stay in?

I wait for an answer.

Nothing.

I slowly lift my head and look at him nervously.

His gaze moves up and down my face.

The corner of his lips curves into a faint smile, revealing a dimple on his cheek.

Damn him.

His voice fills the silence—deep, powerful, yet strangely calm and mysterious.

—Anywhere you want.

I stare at him.

He leans closer.

I instinctively pull my head back.

He lowers his neck until we're almost at eye level.

This time, he whispers.

—Anywhere you think you'll be more comfortable for the next year.

Am I afraid?

Yes.

I'm terrified.

Maybe even more than I was when my grandfather used to lose his temper and beat me with his belt.

I'm sure the fear is written all over my pale face.

But I don't want him to know.

I don't want him to see how afraid I am.

I stare into his black eyes, forcing myself not to look away.

His gaze travels over my features.

Then it stops on my eyes.

For a long moment.

Too long.

I'm confused by the way he's staring at me.

His expression changes slightly.

Before I can figure out what that change means, he pushes himself away from the door beside me and walks out of the house.

The moment he's gone, the strength drains from my body.

I can't stand anymore.

I collapse onto the cold tiles.

My body trembles.

What am I doing here?

How am I supposed to endure this man for an entire year?

I wrap my arms around my knees and force myself to breathe slowly.

In…

Out…

In…

Out…

My hand settles over my chest.

I shake my head from side to side.

*Stay strong.*

*Don't break.*

*Don't cry.*

*You've survived worse than this.*

I place my hand on my knee and slowly push myself up.

I look toward the hallway on my right and walk toward it.

There's a door at the end of the hallway.

Before it, there are two doors facing each other—one on the left and one on the right.

Without thinking, I open the door on the left.

I step inside.

A white bed stands in the middle of the room.

A built-in wardrobe sits against the left wall.

The room is almost empty.

Just the bed…

A bedside lamp…

The wardrobe…

A large full-length mirror…

And a huge window, sunlight slipping through the plain white curtains.

The scent of sunlight.

I smile.

I set my suitcase in the corner.

I take off my black coat and throw it onto the bed.

Then I sit down.

I take a deep breath.

I pull out my phone and stare at it, biting my lip.

I dial my grandfather's number.

After three rings, he answers.

Without saying a word.

—H-Hi, Grandpa…

Silence.

—I… I just wanted to tell you that I've arrived…

He hangs up.

I run a hand through my hair and stare at the wall.

For several seconds.

He isn't even willing to hear my voice.

I try to process everything that has happened.

I need time to process it.

But I'm not given any.

The sound of the front door opening and closing comes from the hallway.

Rasha is back.

I don't have time to process anything.

I jump to my feet like I've been possessed and rush toward the door, intending to lock it.

But…

There is no key.

Why?

My fear doubles.

I scan the floor, desperately looking for the key in case I dropped it somewhere.

Before I can find it, the bedroom door opens.

I immediately straighten up like a soldier.

Rasha steps inside without the slightest reaction to the way I'm standing there.

He simply walks in.

He nods toward the room.

—So you chose this room.

I swallow hard.

I gather my courage and try to sound firm.

I don't even know if I'm succeeding.

—Where's the key to the door?

He turns toward me.

One eyebrow lifts.

—The key?

I don't want to show him any weakness.

I take a step toward him and force myself to look directly into his eyes.

—Yes. The key.

I need a key to this room for my own safety.

Before I can react, his hand closes around my throat and my back slams against the wall.

My hands immediately grip his wrist, desperately trying to loosen his hold.

I'm fighting for myself.

Fighting to breathe.

His voice reaches my ears, irritated but still frighteningly calm.

—Listen carefully, little miss…

You didn't come here to act like some spoiled princess.

You didn't come here to give orders while everyone else stands around waiting to serve you.

That was your grandfather's house, where everyone treated you like royalty.

This house is very different.

His grip tightens.

My breath becomes shallow.

A pulse throbs against my forehead.

—Here, I make the rules.

Not you.

Whenever I want, I'll come into your room and do whatever I want with you.

And whenever I don't want to, I won't come at all.

I'll go to someone else's room instead.

His grip tightens further.

My vision begins to blur.

—So open those pretty ears of yours and listen carefully.

Forget your old life.

In this house, you're going to live in fear of me.

Your grandfather isn't here.

Your mother isn't here.

No one is here to protect you.

Only me.

And my rules.

He suddenly releases me.

I fall sideways onto the floor.

I cough desperately, trying to pull oxygen into my lungs.

I claw at the floor.

The air has completely left my lungs.

I'm suffocating.

I don't have the strength to move.

I can't even walk.

I point toward my suitcase.

I cough again.

My other hand curls into a fist and, out of habit, I strike my thigh repeatedly.

—Inh… inhaler…

My asthma…

My face turns blue.

He watches me struggle for air without saying a word.

I fight for every breath.

And he simply watches.

It takes him a while before he finally walks toward my suitcase.

He opens it.

He finds my inhaler.

Then he comes back to me.

He kneels beside me, lifts my head slightly, and presses the inhaler to my mouth.

He gives me a dose.

I take a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

Slowly, my lungs begin to work again.

Through a layer of tears, I look up at his cold, expressionless face.

He lets go of me.

Then he simply walks out of the room.

It takes a long time before I finally feel like myself again.