His Terms, My surrender

Chapter Two

My skin prickled with fear as I read the note. Who could have sent this?

I looked up at my father, but he just shook his head, his eyes filled with fear.

“Who do you think sent this?”

He hesitated before speaking. “I don't know Sofia. But I think we should be careful, we don't know what we are dealing with here.”

I nodded and kept the necklace in my pocket. We entered our small apartment, and I helped my father to the couch. He was still wounded and needed to rest.

“Father, you need to lie down,” I said trying to sound calm.

I walked to the bathroom, my heart still racing from the ominous note. The small, cramped space was dimly lit, with a single flickering light bulb casting shadows on the peeling walls. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and decay.

I turned on the faucet, letting the warm water run as I grabbed a soft, frayed cloth from the cabinet. The water was lukewarm at best, and I could hear the pipes creaking and groaning beneath the sink. I glanced around the bathroom, taking in the familiar sights of poverty, the cracked mirror, the rusty toilet handle, and the shower curtain with its faded floral pattern. My mind kept wandering back to the note and the necklace, but the bleak surroundings seemed to ground me in reality.

As I wet the cloth, I couldn't help but think about the handwriting on the note. It looked familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. I had seen it before, but where?

I returned to the living room, cloth and water in hand, and gently began to clean the blood from my father's face. He winced in pain as I touched his bruised eye, and I apologized, trying to be as gentle as possible

As I tended to his wounds, I reached for the makeshift medical supplies we kept in a small, worn-out first-aid kit. The kit was a relic of better times, its contents dwindling over the months as we struggled to make ends meet. I cleaned his cuts with a diluted solution of water and soap, using a frayed cloth that had seen better days. The antiseptic wipes we had were long expired, but I used them anyway, hoping they would still provide some semblance of protection against infection.

My mind kept drifting back to the note. Who wrote it? And why did the handwriting look so familiar? I racked my brain, trying to remember if I had seen it in a letter, a card, or maybe even a document. But the more I thought about it, the more elusive it became.

“Papa, I’ll get you some water,” I said, trying to distract myself from the thoughts swirling in my head. My father nodded, his eyes still closed, and I got up to get him a glass of water.

As I handed it over to him, he asked, “Sofia, how did everything go with Theo? What did he say?”

I hesitated, unsure of how much to tell him. But I knew I had to be honest. “He wants me to be his…… pet,” I said trying to choose my words carefully.

“What does that mean?” he asked in shock and fear.

“I have to stay with him for a year and serve him.”

My father’s face went white, and he looked like he was going to pass out. “Sofia, no! You can't do that.”

“I have to, papa. I have to save you.”

“Sofia, you don't know what you are getting yourself into. Theo is not a man to be trifled with. He is ruthless, and he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. I met him years ago when things were still somewhat normal, but after your mother died, everything went downhill. I got involved in some bad deals, and Theo took advantage of my desperation."

"How did he get involved with us?" I asked.

"He started as a business acquaintance, but he became more aggressive as my situation worsened. He saw my vulnerability and used it against me. Now, he's using the debt to control us."

“Papa, I’ll be fine. You should not worry about me right now. Look at you, you are fully wounded.”

“Sofia, I just can't sit and let you put yourself in danger. I have to protect you.”

“Papa, you can't protect me right now.”

“I have failed you, Sofia. I promised your mother on her dying bed, I’ll keep you safe, and now I’ve failed her, and I have failed you.”

“Papa, no,” I wailed. “You haven't failed me.”

“I Should have been stronger, Sofia. I should have been able to keep you safe.”

“Papa, you are strong. You are the strongest man I know. And I’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll take care of myself.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with fear and doubt. And I knew that he didn't believe me. He did not think I was capable of taking care of myself, not against someone like Theo.

“Papa, I’ll be fine. I will come back, I promise.” I squeezed his hand. “Now, you need to get some sleep and put all the worries aside. You are not going to get better if you don’t sleep.”

He continued staring and finally, he nodded, his eyes closing in exhaustion. “Okay, Sofia. But promise me you will be careful, and you’ll come back to me.”

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. “I promise, papa. I’ll be careful, and I’ll be back to you. Now, please, get some sleep.”

I helped him settle on the couch, and then I covered him with a blanket. I sat beside him for a moment, watching him sleep. I could not help but wonder how he had gotten himself into this mess.

I thought back to the days when my mother was still alive, and our family was happy though we did not have much, we were comfortable. Our small childhood home was a cozy, cramped space, filled with the smell of my mother's cooking and the sound of her warm laughter.

I remembered the creaky wooden floorboards, the faded floral wallpaper, and the worn, velvet armchair where my mother would sit and read to me. The kitchen was tiny, with a small, round table where we'd eat our meals together, and a big, old stove where my mother would cook up delicious meals on a tight budget. I remembered the smell of simmering soup, the sound of sizzling meat, and the taste of freshly baked bread. Outside, our small backyard was a haven, filled with my mother's colorful flowers, the sound of birds singing, and the warmth of the sun on my skin.

But after my mother’s death, everything changed. My father was consumed by grief, and he started making reckless decisions. He got himself involved with the wrong people, people like Theo, who took advantage of his vulnerability.

It was like he was trying to fill the void left by my mother’s death with anything he could find. He started drinking more, and his work started to suffer. He would often come home late, or not come home at all. He lost most of his jobs, one by one, and made poor investments in the little he had. He would gamble away what was left, hoping to win big and solve all our problems. But he never did.

I remembered the countless nights I went to bed with an empty stomach, and the countless days I had to wear the same dress to school because we could not afford new clothes. I remember feeling the shame and embarrassment of being the poor kid in school. I remembered the day he came home, his eyes sunken, his face gaunt, and he told me he had lost everything. He had gambled away our savings, our home, and our future. I was 16 at that time and I felt my world was crashing down around me. I knew I had to be strong for my father’s sake. I took on multiple jobs, trying to make ends meet, and trying to provide for us. But no matter how hard I worked, we were always struggling. Despite my best efforts, we still had to rely on the charity of others to get by.

I remembered the countless times we had to go to the local food bank, and the countless times we had to accept hand-me-down clothes and furniture from our neighbors. I remembered the feeling of shame and embarrassment that came with it, the feeling of being a burden to others.

But I never gave up. I kept working, kept trying to make ends meet, kept trying to provide for us. And my father, despite his flaws, despite his mistakes, never gave up either. He kept trying, kept fighting, kept struggling to get back on his feet.

And now, here we were, in debt to a ruthless man like Theo. I knew that I had to save my father, no matter what it took. I would do whatever it took to get him out of this mess, to get us out of this mess.

I looked at my father, sleeping peacefully on the couch. I gently touched a strand of his hair, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead. He stirred slightly but remained asleep.

I then stood up, and spread my blanket on the floor beside the couch. I lay down, my eyes fixed on my father’s peaceful form, and took in the familiar sights of our small, cramped living room. The worn, faded couch sagged under my father's weight, and the coffee table was scarred and scratched from years of use.

The walls were a dingy yellow, and the air was thick with the smell of stale air and worn furniture. I felt the thin, frayed blanket beneath me, and the hard, wooden floorboards pressing into my back. The room was dimly lit, with only a single flickering light bulb casting shadows on the walls. I could hear the distant hum of the city outside, and the creaks and groans of the old building settling around us.

Despite the bleakness of our surroundings, I felt a sense of comfort and familiarity in this room, where I had spent countless hours playing, laughing, and crying with my father.

As I lay down on the blanket, my eyelids grew heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion of the day's events.

My body felt like lead, sinking into the thin, frayed fabric beneath me. I let out a deep breath, feeling my shoulders sag and my muscles relax. My gaze drifted from my father's peaceful form to the flickering light bulb above, its dim glow hypnotic.

My thoughts grew foggy, and my mind began to wander, but my body felt too drained to follow. I snuggled deeper into the blanket, its warmth enveloping me like a cocoon.

My father's soft snores lulled me into a state of relaxation, and before I knew it, my eyes fluttered closed, and I slipped into a deep sleep.