Chapter3- the first step
1007 Words
The sunlight penetrated through the thin curtains of the small bedroom of Liana tinting the walls with a dismal color of gold. She sat up on the edge of the bed, motionless, the thin folder with the name Justin Cartier in it clanking down on her knees.
It was heavier than it appeared to be.
Housing.
Tuition.
Allowance.
Medical care.
Both of the pages were solutions to a long-time problem. The silence was to be experienced even on each page that she did not know how to bear.
Her chest was tight, it was not panic but something more. Similar to mourning the existence of a version of her in which she had imagined that working hard was sufficient to live.
The clatter of her mother went on in the kitchen. The hiss of the gas stove. The bitterness and acuity of instant coffee mingled with the odor that had always lingered in the apartment since her last visit to the hospital with her mother.
"Did you sleep?" her mother asked gently.
Yes, Ma, yes, Liana answered, barely having slept a bit. As usual, she touched and rubbed a strand of hair behind her mother's ear, a form of lolling.
Her mother held her hands a bit shaking and poured the coffee into a chipped cup. Years of labor and sacrifice and silent dissatisfaction tattooed into every inch of her skin.
She glanced at Liana again. "You look pale."
I am alright, too alright, said Liana. "Just tired."
Her mother looked at her for a long time, and then nodded, as though she believed her.
The choice was between them, as the unspoken. It was touching Liana on the conscience. She stood on the verge of a world with which she could never have dreamed of entering, a world of men such as Justin Cartier. Men, the money of which could bend reality. Men too kindly-hearted, but with strings to their kindness.
By lunchtime, Liana was prowling through the accustomed walks of the Westbridge College with the folder strongly clutched under her arm. The college was as ever a swarm of students chatting away in groups, making it to lectures, putting on confidence, like a fine suit, with the same flair as an expensive designer.
The rich did not look at her.
The cruel ones did.
She heard whispers passing through her ears. Not loud. Not careless. Sharp enough to cut.
She kept walking.
All things were different now. Each laugh, each sidelong glance, each touch of judgment, was a reminder to her of the very small place she actually held in this world. And yet, underneath the fear, there is something that is another.
Anticipation.
The unknown was terrifying. But it was also a possibility.
Her phone buzzed.
A single message.
Justin Cartier:
Tomorrow. 10 a.m. My office. Bring nothing. Just yourself.
Liana gazed at the screen and her heart beat fast. Bring nothing. Just yourself.
It was close to her like she did not know how. As he would be disrobing her to her very soul, no excuses, no defenses, no false glory.
She was attempting to concentrate on her homework that night but her mind failed her. She envisioned his office once more the leather chair, the slight suggestion of his fragrance, how his voice never lowered or weakened. It was the manner he had learned her, not how men perceived women, but how a person who made a choice that involved more than feeling.
It unsettled her.
It also lingered.
The following morning her hands were oily with nerves as she was standing again in Cartier Tower. All this spoke of power. Silence. Control.
She was brought back to his office immediately.
Justin was standing behind his desk with his tablet in his hand. Nothing showed in his expression.
Good morning, Miss Brooks, he said very calmly. "Did you sleep well?"
Yes, she said, and she knew that she meant something quite different. She had slept in the hope of a word of reply which she had not yet spoken.
He gestured toward the chair. "Sit. We have work to do."
The room was a subdued luxury of dark wood and smooth surfaces and the light that fell across his desk like a spotlight. The fluttering of the pulse in Liana caused her to stand still and sit.
Justin looked at her without saying anything.
Then, quietly:
Before we start, I have to know something.
Her fingers curled together.
"Why did you agree to this?" he asked. "Desperation... or strategy?"
The words were soft-pitched, yet dropped deep.
Desperation, she thought.
Because her mother was tired.
Out of an option she was becoming.
I have no time to be strategic, I said frankly.
Justin kept a very close eye on her, observing the shaking of her breath, the stiffness of her shoulders.
"I see," he said.
He leaned forward slightly. And you know this is a choice of your own. You are aware of what is expected of you.
Liana hesitated… then nodded.
"Yes."
A moment passed.
"Very well," Justin said at last. "We begin tomorrow. Private doctors. Absolute discretion. No one will know."
His voice remained steady. Controlled.
You will be followed about, you will, he said. Every precaution will be observed.
An unfamiliar fear and excitement gripped Liana and squeezed her chest. This was no ordinary job. Nothing regarding this was accidental. Each stride was calculated, carefully, like she was stepping into a machine that would turn her completely inside out.
And growing low, a thought imperceptibly stole through her mind:
Justin Cartier was observing her.
Not casually.
Not carelessly.
He was observing. Calculating.
And, alas,... she did not despise it.
Her departure from his office that day left the world out there something far away…smaller. As though she had crossed a line there was no re-crossing.
Justin was standing in his office alone high above the city looking at the now-empty chair.
His confidence was shaken for the first time in years.
And that disturbed him more than he would say.
- Writer
