Chapter Text
“Will that be all?” You look up from your notepad, pencil tapping the sheet as you stare out the large windows, rather than the woman in front of you, the ocean glimmering like aquamarine. Palm trees swaying in the breeze.
A lovely day to work on one’s tan or to lounge and laze around on the beach. To sip on a Margarita. Perhaps not at this hour, but later in the day. The touristy part of the city. Cars that drive by, people who were either walking or skating. Convertibles with their tops down. Enjoying the warmth of the sun.
You focus on the diner, where vibrant red and crisp white booths beckon invitingly. The tables, also in pristine white, stand out against the striking red and white tiled floor, all designed to evoke a nostalgic art deco charm. The decor seamlessly blends classic elegance with a cheerful ambiance, making the diner feel welcoming inside and out. Sunlight streams through the large windows, highlighting the vintage touches throughout the space.
“That will be all, darling.” The dark-haired woman closes the menu, sliding it across the table towards you—a deep red lacquer, accompanied by flashy jewelry pieces. An expensive watch adorned her wrist.
You catch the emphasis on darling. Your cheeks are darkening in colour. There’s something mellifluous and familiar about the word, like her perfume's amber as it tickles your nose. Your mind is hazy, trying to scrounge for a memory, and you come up short. Smiling, as you collected the menu off the table. Observant. Prim. Proper. Alluring. Your eyes fall on the deep red of her lips, how the corners curl upward. Your cheeks burn, pushing your wandering thoughts aside, as you try to piece together the haziness of your mind to ward off the familiarity.
Amber. Crimson lips. A dark caprice.
You cleared your throat, repeating her order. She listened, eyes focused on your lips, drifting back up to your eyes. Your cheeks were dark enough in colour. This woman was enigmatic enough, alluring enough, and you nodded, walking away. Her eyes trailed your movements, her long, slender fingers drumming against the table's white surface.
She did not resemble the typical individuals who usually walked in. Your typical tourist, trying to cure a hangover with a Cuban coffee. A family of six, looking for a quick breakfast or lunch. The business types that came in to read their papers and sip on their black coffees, scantily clad women dressed in swimsuits, and sandals. You couldn’t help but stare back at her. Her dark sunglasses were folded and pushed to the side, allowing sunlight to stream through the large windows. She offers a polite smile. Positively glowing beneath sunlight.
You look away, letting your tongue roam around your mouth.
“Benny, could you please work on this order for me? Please?” You pin your order on the line, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your uniform. You carefully turn your head to stare down. She was still staring. You couldn’t discern the look behind her eyes. Pity? Desire? You swallow that last word—desire, letting it sink to your stomach. It flutters. You offer a polite smile.
Benny silently shakes his head, turning to prepare your sole customer's order. You remove your hands from your uniform and efficiently work behind the counter. You flip over a ceramic mug, shifting the saucer to rest beneath. A fresh hot pot of black coffee is poured into the white mug.
“Thank you.” You mouth; he waves you off silently.
You slide it onto your tray. Carrying it back to the woman who could not tear her eyes away from you. The soft smile on her crimson lips, the grey of her eyes bright. She shifted in the booth seat, her eyes flitting to the outside.
“One black coffee.” You rest it carefully on the table, ensuring the mug's ear faces her dominant hand—at least you assume it is. “Your meal should be out shortly. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She rests an elbow atop the table, cheek resting against her fist, a smile curling at her lips, “I’ll be sure to call for you.”
Again, you blush, pushing away. Geez, was she a flirt? You would be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention she was giving you, and blushing so easily when all she was doing was eyeing you. Her gaze was innocent enough, at least you tell yourself as much.
She was overly dressed. A charcoal oversized blazer was shrugged off to reveal toned arms: silk alabaster, the loose bow of her blouse. If you had to guess her profession, you would imagine she was a woman of power in business. Money. Money is what is making the world go mad. Money. Drugs. Sex. Or so your mother’s voice reminded you in your head.
You busy yourself cleaning tabletops and refilling napkin holders until you hear the ding of the bell, which means her meal is ready. You are quick to collect it and even quicker to drop it off. With a coffee pot in your other hand, you silently ask if she requires a refill. She pushes her empty mug towards you.
“Enjoy.” You walk away again.
The diner's door opened, the bell ringing, and the steps approached the counter. You’re in the middle of setting the coffee pot back to its designated place. Moist cloth atop the surface of the counter, swiping away.
“Sit anywhere you’d like, I’ll be with you—” your voice trailed off as you looked up, pausing mid stroke of wet cloth over the counter.
Manny stood on the other side of the counter, out of breath, drenched in sweat. His short-sleeved dress shirt was unbuttoned, and his undershirt was also drenched in sweat. His usually gelled hair ruffled as if he had been running his hands through it. A bruise on his cheek seemed too fresh and red. You blink. His lips were pressed into a tight line.
He presses his hands atop the freshly cleaned surface of the counter, knuckles bruised, and says in a low, hushed tone, “We gotta go.”
You let out a noise between a scoff and a laugh, “Manny. I’m not going anywhere. It’s,” you turn to stare at the simple leather band around your wrist. The watch's dial indicated that it was barely fifteen minutes shy of eight o'clock in the morning. “It’s not even eight. Some of us have normal lives. Some of us aren’t bouncing from job to job. Doing gods knows what.” You whisper hotly to him.
You can tell he was jittery, bowing his head to stare at the light countertop. “I fucked up, okay? But we need to go. Like right now.” He emphasized by pressing the tips of his fingers against the counter.
You scoff, “Manny. Why do I need to go? Huh. Tell me why I would need to go?” You press your hands into the counter, staring at him, brows furrowed, “Listen, you like to act all machito, como un hombre. I’m the man of the house. But the moment you decide to stick your nose into problems. It’s a we problem.” You lift your hand pressing a finger against Manny’s clavicle, pushing him with each word that leaves your mouth, “You sent Mami to the hospital. You spent a night in jail and learned nothing. Mami and I have had to clean up your messes. Mami, can’t help you now. Can she? So you come running to me?” Your following words are seethed through gritted teeth, “Hermanita, do you think you can spare me a few dollars? Hermanita, I promise to pay you back. Manny, go crawl back to whatever shithole you’ve dug yourself into.”
You cock your head, burning holes into your brother. You watch how his throat bobs, brows furrowed and the jutting of his jaw. He blinks as though his eyes were burning.
“I’m trying to make sure nothing happens to you.” He grits between his teeth, his dark eyes stare into yours.
You couldn’t tell if he was high as a kite or if it was fear from the way they bounced. You shake your head. He reaches for the waistband of his pants. Your eyes dip to watch his movements. Spotting the outline. You sigh, pushing away from the counter and blinking away the burn of hot tears accumulating along your lashes.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“Threatening your sister. How low can you be, Manny?” You hissed, tossing the cloth at him, as you turned on your heel, peeking into the kitchen, “Benny. I have to go, Josie should be in soon.”
The older man had his arms crossed, sipping from a mug. Thick brows furrowed. Upper lip twitching. Shaking his head. “Miss Sarah isn’t going to be happy.”
You pressed your lips into a thin line, nodding. You step away, collecting your bag beneath the counter, muttering to yourself and cursing your brother. You round the corner, and his hand instinctively wrapped around your bicep, staring around until he froze. Your eyes follow his line of sight.
Heat floods across your face. You’re alluring and mysterious, patron stares at the two of you over the rim of the white mug she was sipping from, licking her lips as she sets the mug down.
“How nice of you to join us… Manuel? Is it? I would take your hand off that gun.” Her voice is velvety and firm. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and gestures to the empty booth before her, inviting you both to sit.
Your eyes dart back and forth. Only to stare at the ceiling of the diner.
Of course. Of course, Manny was an idiot. Fucking idiot.
But this reeked of something you wanted no part of.
“Fuck.” Manny mutters, looking around.
Fuck was right. Fuck was the appropriate word.
You shrug out of his hold. He looks at you.
“Don’t do anything stupid… just listen to her.”
“Why?” You seethed between gritted teeth, “Is she going to rip me limb from limb and dump me in the swamp?”
Something flashes behind his dark eyes, “Don’t do anything stupid. Listen to her. I mean it.”
You were about to argue the irony of his words. He removes his hand from his waistband, his other hand reaching out for yours, tugging you with him.
Silver pools bore into you as you sit across from the woman. Her eyes flit downward, lifting her fork and knife. You can hear your breath, shaky and hard, the rush of blood against your ears. You part your lips, only to feel the jab of an elbow against your ribs. You bite your tongue. You turn your head to stare at Manny. Jabbing him in the ribs with more force than you needed to. Manny winces, pressing a bruised hand where you had just jabbed.
The woman across from you clears her throat, cutting into the piece of ham on her plate, “As entertaining as it is to watch you bicker quietly and,” she directs the knife between you both, “Whatever this display is. I am certain you understand why I am here.”
Her question is directed to your brother. Her eyes locked on him.
“Look, lady.”
She arches an elegant brow.
“Leave my sister out of this. She doesn’t even—”
“Speak, when I ask you to speak. Boy.” Her voice cuts through sharp and deadly, her stare equally as cold. She inhales from her nose, softly exhaling, “I will finish my meal. Then. We will have a discussion down by the docks. The docks where you stuck your nose in one of my warehouses.”
Manny lowers his head and nods in understanding.
You swallow, fiddling with the corners of your bag. You can’t help but stare at her plate. The bright yellow of the yolk from her eggs oozes out, and pieces of ham have been cut into, as well as home fries that are still untouched. You lift your hand to play with your necklace. Her eyes landed on you, examining you, landing on the bit of skin where your pendant was resting. Her tongue roves around her mouth.
Your eyes moved away from the plate, staring at your brother as he slumped further into the booth. The way his leg bounced beneath the table. His thumb pressed against his lips. You let your eyes drift to the window. Palm trees swaying, the glittering of ocean water, you realize now. The two men standing outside were directing pedestrians away from the diner. You clenched your hands tightly.
Your eyes fall on the woman across from you. She was staring at you as she took a bite. Devoid of any emotion across her face. Pale and frigid. Beautifully alluring. Drawn into her allure, capsized by it. Before your brother stepped into the diner, she was sweet or at least sweet by your definition. Polite. Cordial. Flirty? Your eyes fall on her lips again. Definitely flirty.
She cocks her head, licking her lips, “Older or younger sister?”
You blink, taken aback by her simple question. Your throat is dry, and you clear it softly. “Older.”
You see the way her brow arches. She looks away, down at her plate, “How unfortunate.”
You knit your brows, frowning.
What’s that supposed to mean?
“No father?”
You stare at your brother from your peripheral vision, noticing that his leg has stopped bouncing and that he is chewing on the skin of his thumb.
“No. He passed away when we were kids. It was just my mother, him, and me.” You blink, letting go of the small golden pendant around your neck, resting your hand against your chest, feeling how quickly it beats.
“I see.” Her voice trails off, and she twirls the knife in her hand. She rests both fork and knife on the table. She hums, drumming her fingers against the table's edge, “You will take all of this where it needs to go. You will come back calmly and quietly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Those two words leave your mouth faster than you expected. Surprising you even. Surprising her, you think. You swear the corner of her lip turned into a half smirk. Vanishing as she turned to stare out the large window. Gently rapping her finger against the glass, she wiped her mouth with a napkin.
You slip out of the booth, leaving your bag behind. You quietly collect the plates on the table. Heeding her words. Your steps seem louder—the way the plates jitter and clink in your hold.
Your brother had involved himself in something you couldn’t defend or fight on his behalf. You imagine you were about to find out the deep trouble he was in.
***
Suppose this had been any other time. She would have been charming the likes of you. She knew who you were. Where you frequented, friends, work, and family. She has counted the number of times she has made you blush. Five. The colour that blossoms against your cheeks. So easily did it blossom across your cheeks. Her mind wandered, wondering how easily it would bloom across your chest. Her eyes had trailed the back of your legs, stopping at your thigh where the hem of the skirt touched. Would they be soft and pliant beneath her hands as she parts them open? She shakes the thought; she was only in this city to wrap up business. Business that would have been placed on a cargo ship by now. Except for the minor detail of its desolate contents— an empty container remained at the docks.
All this time, she has spent watching you—your habits, your routine. She had it drilled into her. Your name was pressed at the tip of her tongue, like the point of a knife, at the ready to pierce through. She never permitted herself to use it. She was playing with fire.
She had made the mistake of getting close. It seems you don’t recall the night in question.
She watched how you fumbled with your steps. You were on your fifth or sixth Margarita. She was sitting on the opposite end of the bar. Her finger was tracing the rim of her martini glass. She watched how men blatantly flirted with you, how you ignored their advances and shook your head. Far too polite, in your inebriated state. She had stepped forward, kindly leading you out, away from the lecherous fiends. Her hand slid against your lower back to rest at your waist. She was no different. Her intentions appeared innocent enough. She knew too much about you.
“Thank you.”
She nodded her head, stepping out of the bar. The staccato of your steps hit unevenly against the pavement. She leads you to the dark caprice. Your hand meets the roof of the car. The faint waft of gardenia travels up to her nose. The way you were dressed for the evening had her gripping the fabric of your dress—a short, black dress, tight enough to leave little room for one’s imagination. You were a piece of temptation. The apple she couldn’t bite into but so desperately wished to. To commit a complete sin.
“Do you have a means of getting home?” She asks, letting her hand slide away from your waist.
You strain your neck to stare up at her. She notices that you are thinking. As if realizing you didn’t come here alone.
“Um,” you pause, turning to look around. “I do? I did. But I think she left me to fend for myself.” You lick your lips, pushing your hair away from your face. “Thank you for saving me back there. I will take a cab back home.”
“I can take you.” She blurted out quickly.
You cock your head, your eyes trailing her up and down. “That’s very kind of you. But… I don’t—”
“It would ease my mind.” She cuts you off and clears her throat. “My driver will take us.”
You raise your brows, cheeks flushed. “Who am I to decline such a kind gesture?”
A sea breeze drifts by, and your hair dances wildly like hers. You drop your gaze to the ground, staring at the top of your heels. “Though, could we stand here for a moment?” Your gaze flickers upwards, staring at her through dark lashes.
You were the forbidden fruit she could not bite into. She nods, moving to stand beside you. She waited alongside you until you gave the word to leave. Your hand had carefully wrapped around her wrist, tugging her to lean down. The warmth of your breath against her ear as you whispered that you were ready to go. You had fallen asleep during the drive. Head resting against her shoulder. Your hand clasped around hers.
She rubbed at her temples with her free hand, eyes flitting to Karl.
“This is the opposite of not getting close. You’re like a prowling lion unsure of whether you want to jump or fuck your prey.” Karl grunted quietly as he drove to the familiar street they had been tending on, “She’s a civilian. A nobody. She doesn’t even know half of the shit her brother is knee deep in. If those slicked back little pieces of shit—”
“Enough. I’m aware of the consequences. They have wronged me far too many times. I was promised a supply. They went ahead and double-dipped. Contingencies are at play.” She interrupts his impending rant. Realizing the volume of her voice, she turns her head, brows furrowed.
You merely stirred, letting go of her hand, shifting your head to rest against the window. She sighs.
You laugh easily, carefree. When disagreeing with someone, you scrunch your nose. You do the same towards compliments. She taps a well-manicured finger against the side of her mug. Constant. Sitting here out in the open, fearing no one. Observing a woman, she knew almost everything about her. Simply waiting for the individual who needed to walk through those doors, and walk in he did, in search of you, his sister.
“I don’t remember giving you my address.” You press your fingers against your lips, “Or did I?” Stretching your neck from side to side.
She fiddled with the lapels of her blazer, shifting her eyes to stare out the windows, “You did.”
A lie. You stare around, hand against the handle. “Hm. I did?”
She clears her throat, “Let me walk you to your door?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer, slipping out into the balmy night air. The staccato of her steps as she rounded the car to open the door for you, slipping out. Her hand is ready for you—the chirp of crickets and the faint croak of frogs. You pause at her side about halfway to your door.
“Thank you. You don’t have to take me all the way.” You rest your hand on her elbow.
She cocks her head, peering down to trail her eyes against you. You cup her face, tip-toeing to press your lips against her cheek, you drift away—a small wave of your hand.
She remained still, left with the warmth against her cheek where your lips had met her skin. She exhaled, fishing out her lighter and a cigarette. The cigarette between her lips, the flickering flame of her lighter brought to the end. She inhaled and let it fill her lungs, expelling a curled plume. She looked up.
Karl, who was smugly staring at her.
“You’re like a starving dog all tense from hunger. She threw you a bone and you didn’t bite.”
She licks her lips, “Drop it. She’s inebriated.”
“Oh! As if that has stopped you before. If she weren’t, you’re saying you wouldn’t?”
“Enough. We have work to do.”
***
You were the only one to be blindfolded and manhandled by your brother at that. You had fought him at the diner. Regardless of your protests, he dared to threaten you with a gun. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by your mysterious patron. You had caught how her hands clenched and her evident disdain towards your brother. Your breath was harsh, angrily rolling down the window to feel a breeze, counting down numbers to calm yourself. It hadn’t helped even now, as you stood against your brothers, Ford Pinto.
You could smell rust, salt, and something tangy in the air—the sound of water. Somewhere by the docks, you imagine. Where those large shipping containers are brought in and left. Exports and imports. You’re nowhere near your brother. Angered muttering that approached you. Something small was thrown to the ground—a cigarette.
Harsh, squeaky steps that approach you. Steps you were all too familiar with. Your brother's hand met your bicep as he tugged on you to follow him, roughly pulling on the blindfold. Manny tosses you in the centre. You blink a few times, eyes wandering around.
“I don’t have your goods, lady.” Manny grits, you turn to look at him.
A thin cigarette rests between her pillowy lips. Thin was the smoke that curled around her elegant face. Her silver eyes narrowed, and the delicate plume she exhaled—the careful flick of ash.
She snorts. “What good does that do me, little boy?” Her heels clicked against the concrete ground. “You decided to touch something that didn’t belong to you. Don’t you think it’s fair that I touch something that belongs to you?” Her eyes flicker to you.
You take a cautious step back.
“Or do you mean to say you don’t care what happens to your sister? So long as my people. I, myself, leave you and your little.” She lifts her free hand, wiggling her fingers, rings glinting, “I don’t know what you call yourselves, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I want my product back in full.”
You turn to burn holes in your brother. You move towards him, catching the way the two other men move their hands to their waist.
“Give back what you took, Manny.” You whispered angrily, gripping onto his shirt.
He looked at you, swallowing, the way his throat bobbed—the quiver of his lip. You were silently pleading with him. You hoped he would do the right thing. He stares over your shoulder.
“You can have my sister as collateral.”
What?
The woman behind you guffaws, flicking her cigarette to the ground. Your heart plummets into your stomach. You swear you begin to hear an uncomfortable ringing in your ears. Your hands slide away from his shirt, clenching them into fists. Your fingernails digging into the palm of your hands. Pulse thrumming loudly. You could run. If you hadn’t grown up with him, you could swear he had been dropped on his head.
“Are you telling me she is worth ten million dollars of Coke?” Her voice cuts through like ice, yet it is rich in timbre and smooth.
Silver-like eyes fall on you, inspecting, carnivorous and predatory like. Different than at the diner. The snap of her finger. You’re thrust towards her. She grips your chin. Her tongue roved the inside of her mouth. You stare up at her, terrified, confused, and queasy, feeling the day's heat seeping through the desolate warehouse's walls. Your legs quivering beneath.
“I’ll keep her as collateral.”
You’re pulled away in a dark car, the backseat door held open. Your eyes fall on your brother. Your brows furrowed in anger—every curse. Every insult you could throw at your brother doesn’t leave you. You burrow your eyes into him. Hot from a bubbling ire. You don’t fight the hands pulling you away. She steps in front of your line of sight. Blindfolded and tossed into the backseat. The door slammed shut. You flinch, hands fumbling around the backseat. Your breath is harsh. Muffled were the voices outside the car.
The sound of several doors opening and closing. You push yourself close to the door. You hear a sigh. A language that is spoken and foreign to your ears.
You swallow your questions—the click of two seat belts. You feel the warmth of a hand. Her hand. Your captor. It was oddly gentle, her touch. You sniffed, smelling her perfume as it filled the space. It’s oddly comforting. You were shaking all over. She gently tugs on you, tilting you. You stiffen.
She senses it. She whispers, “I won’t hurt you. Lie down.”
Not yet. You think.
You comply, lying down. Your head meets her lap—a mix of emotions boiling over. You clench your hands into fists. Shivering in anger. The car lurches forward. You try to memorize the number of turns and bumps along the way.
Her touch was distracting you. Her fingers stroking through strands of your hair. Her other hand caressing your arm. At any other time, you would have appreciated this type of attention. You had questions. Far too many questions.
***
You count your steps. It takes twenty steps from the car to the first set of open doors. You had heard the sway of palm trees. The ocean seemed close by. There had been stops along the way—a quick bite to eat.
“Can I take off the blind fold?” You ask sheepishly, feeling heat against your cheeks.
“No.”
It was just the two of you in the back seat. Her goons were outside the car.
“I don’t have anywhere to run off to and I don’t have anyone to tell.”
She chuckles darkly, “That may be so.” She clicks her tongue, “Most women would be thrilled about being fed. Now open your pretty mouth and take a bite.”
You feel blood and heat against your cheeks. You begrudgingly part your lips, the odd sensation of feeling like a personal doll as she fed you—the swiping of her thumb against the corner of your mouth. Her thumb had wandered to touch your bottom lip. You were hyper-aware of your breath. Hers.
The ding of an elevator. Shit. You hadn’t been counting anymore. How many steps had passed? The doors close, and the elevator jumps. You feel the loosening of the blindfold. You blink a few times, adjusting to the mirrored elevator and the bright lights.
The doors open to reveal a luxurious hallway with sconces on the wall, leading to a lone double door.
Her hand gently rests on the small of your back, an unspoken invitation to step forward. You take a hesitant step into the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing against the cold, marbled floor. The air is thick as you linger a moment longer. Drawn to her graceful movements. Effortless. With a flick of her wrist, she reveals a pair of keys, the metal glinting in the soft light. The sound of the keys jingling against one another fills the silence of the corridor—a rhythmic punctuation to the hush that envelopes the space. She approaches the heavy-looking door. Her fingers delicately slid the key into the lock—a deliberate twist, and hearing the satisfying clunk of mechanisms engaging as the lock gave way.
“I’m sure you have questions, and I meant what I said that I wouldn’t hurt you.” Her keys jingle in her hand, pulling the key out of the lock. “I’m not necessarily forcing you to stay, though it saves me the trouble of keeping an eye on you.”
Her eyes flicker against you. Up and down, lingering against your bare legs and quickly letting her eyes rest on your face. You look away, chewing on the soft skin of your lips, butting the toe of your tennis shoe against the pristine floor and folding your arms protectively around you.
“Come in.” She tilts her head, holding the heavy door open for you.
You hesitate. Her voice velvety and thick, “You could have run away by now. I take it you're curious to know what your idiot of a man-child brother has gotten himself into?”
He was a man-child. Coddled and babied. Idiot.
She had a point. You could have run away down the hall toward the emergency exit. Then what? Her monkeys were downstairs. You did want to know what your idiot brother had gotten himself into. Cocaine. Cocaine, of all things. You follow behind her.
“You seem to take orders well.” She deadpans, cocking her head, the door shuts, the mechanisms of the lock setting in place.
You narrow your eyes and fold your arms, surveying the striking room before you. The black and white marble floor gleams under the soft light, an air of elegance. With its intricately designed railing, a grand staircase ascends gracefully to the upper floor, drawing the eye upward. The space feels pristine and untouched, as if it has barely been lived in, preserving an atmosphere of quiet luxury.
Only a few stray plants, their vibrant greens contrasting against the stark monochrome, offer a hint of warmth and life to the otherwise sterile environment. Their leaves seem to reach out toward the artificial light spilling overhead, breathing a little character into the otherwise immaculate setting.
As you take it all in, the space evokes memories of the glossy home design magazines you would leaf through at the grocery store—pictures of perfect spaces that felt out of reach. It also reminds you of the soap operas you’d watch on lazy afternoons, those melodramatic shows you claimed to detest but secretly found captivating, as they unfolded tales of love and life in opulent surroundings like this one.
You felt like a minuscule speck of dirt that didn’t belong here. You clear your throat, “What am I allowed to ask?”
She smirks, slipping off her heels. She was tall. Taller with the heels on. Extremely gorgeous. You could only assume the colour of her lips was similar to that of a dark cherry. One that you could see yourself biting into and tasting its sweetness. It is doubtful that she would let you do such a thing. She was sin incarnate—all the things your mother had deemed immoral. Red lips. Flashy jewellery. The makeup. A word comes to mind—a word you found yourself refusing to say. There was something dark and dangerous beneath the surface. You weren’t sure if you were prepared to see or be a part of it. So far, she had been kind enough. Gentle. You had seen the flash of anger across her beautiful face. God. It had sparked something in you—the disgust behind her eyes.
“Hm.” She hums. “Whatever comes to mind, darling.” Her smirk was still plastered against sanguine lips.
She is slow as she approaches the first step of the staircase. “Was your waitressing job important?”
You run your tongue against your lips, scoffing, “It paid the bills for the most part. Not like my boss likes me that much.” You muttered the last bit.
Why was it so easy to speak with this woman? Where did all your fear run off to? Was it the false sense of security from her touch? Your brother appeared to have involved himself in shady business, and it was drugs at that. Cocaine? Of all things. You were mentally asking all these things. You stood before this woman, with no idea what her name was.
“Angel?” She says the term softly, not without cocking her head and eyeing you up and down.
You stare at her. “Don’t call me that.”
She rolls her tongue purposefully against her teeth, a pearly grin, “I can’t always say, darling. I promise to answer some of your questions in the morning. It has been an exhausting day for both of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out—air and a slight, frustrated noise. She gestures with her finger to follow her, and she rounds the staircase.
“Shoes.” She reminds you without looking at you.
You peel them off quickly, staring at your short white ankle socks, only now noticing a small hole exposing your pinky toe. You follow her, mesmerized by the grand living room. The large television console in the centre sits alone, accompanied by a black coffee table, and the black leather couch curves into a crescent shape. You don’t know where to look. The creak of a door being opened. Her arms were crossed as she watched you at a safe distance.
“What am I supposed to do while I am here?” You ask, turning to stare at her.
She unfolds her arms, cocking her head. She looks around, her question is innocent enough, “Do you know how to cook and clean?” Her eyes fall on you, her hands rest on her hips, and she inches closer to you.
You blink, taking a few steps back. “I mean, I do… but what does that have to do with,” she towers over you, “with what I am meant to do around here?” You meet the back of the black leather couch, your hands meeting the back.
She peers down the length of her nose, cocking her head. She smirks, “Should I get you a uniform and a feather duster?” She traps you, resting her hands on the back of the couch.
You look up at her, blinking, and guffaw, removing your hands from the back of the couch. “Cook and clean?” you arch your brow, crossing your arms.
You can smell the amber of her perfume, for some reason. It seems familiar, and the scent is warm and comforting. You blush, letting your eyes sweep across her face, the soft smile lines around her mouth. You knit your brows. Your eyes locked with her silver eyes. She pushes away, swivelling, pulling out her blouse from her trousers, “In a cute little uniform and a feather duster.” She teases, walking away, “You can have the room right off the living room. We’ll collect some of your clothes tomorrow; if not, I'll make alternative arrangements. Though the uniform still stands.”
Your mouth goes agape, staring at the back of her head, watching her ascend the stairs that led to another level. She pauses, staring down at you. Her fingers paused around her stomach.
Your face burns up at the sight of exposed skin. You catch sight of her smirk, “Goodnight. Try not to wander around.”
You close your mouth, nodding. You quietly point in the direction you're meant to disappear off to. She cocks her head, “Yes, that would be the direction you need to go, darling.” Her tongue roves against her teeth, a smile breaking out, and she descends the steps. “Are you asking me to take you?”
“No!” You correct your tone, “No, goodnight.” You flee out of the lavish living room, faintly catching the click of her tongue and her retreating steps.
The bedroom had the same colour scheme as the rest of the living space. Monochromatic. Instead of marbled floors, a plush carpet greeted your socked feet—a mirrored accent wall, two glowing lamps on dark, black nightstands with gold trim, charcoal velvety bedding. The curtains were drawn open to provide a view of the streets below. This room alone was twice the size of what you considered to be your room back home.
You were trying to understand what was going on. How did you go from taking this woman’s breakfast order to being under the same roof? The rampant thud against your chest. The pain behind your skull. The emotions that swirled inside of you. Your stomach somersaulting, bile rising to your throat. You softly shut the bedroom door behind you. Slowly, slipping against the door, running your fingers through your hair.
“Fucking Manny.” You chew on your cheek. “Fuck.”