It’s beautiful.
It’s a trap,my mind whispers.
My pulse is fast and uneven. I want to believe I’m safe, that this is Raffael’s house, that no one will drag me back. I’ve loved him for years, quietly, from a distance he never closed. But he never came for me, not until last night.
And even now, part of me can’t believe I'm really with him and not Roberto.
I grip the closet doorframe until my knuckles ache, grounding myself in the feel of the wood.
If this is real, if this is freedom… I don’t know what to do with it.
Because the truth is, I’m not sure I remember how to be free.
My fingers trail along the hangers, half-afraid they’ll disappear if I touch them too long. I pull out a soft sweater, the kind you want to bury your face in, and a pair of jeans that look like they’ll actually fit. When I spot the drawers built into the closet, I hesitate, then slide one open.
Underwear.
He bought me underwear.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. The thought of Raffael picking these out makes my stomach twist in ways I can’t name. But when I lift a set—a deep wine-colored lace bra with matching panties—I realize none of them are the cheap, gaudy pieces Roberto used to shove into my hands, the ones meant to make me look like something for sale. They’re not shapeless, cotton,old ladythings either. They’re… beautiful. Sexy, but understated. Something I might have chosen myself, once.
I gather the clothes, clutching them to my chest, and first lock the door to the bedroom, then carry them into the bathroom.
The shower hisses to life, and steam fills the glass enclosure. I step in, and the first hit of hot water makes me flinch. My skin protests, my nerves are raw from years of bruises and worse. I stand there for a moment, letting the sting settle into a burn, then into something almost bearable.
It hurts—but in a way that feels different this time.
For three years, no matter how many showers I took, it never lasted. No matter how hard I scrubbed, he would find a way to sully me again before my skin was even dry. But here… here I’m alone. The door is locked. There’s no heavy tread of boots coming down the hall, no voice barking my name.
I let the water run over me, tilting my head back, eyes closed. My hands move slowly, methodically, over every inch of myself, like I can wash away not just the dirt, but the fingerprints. The bruises. The memories.
For the first time in years, I feel like I might actually get clean.
Like he can’t touch me anymore.
Like maybe… this time, I’m really free.
I towel off slowly, wrapping the thick cotton around me like armor. The new underwear feels strange against my skin, not in a bad way, just… foreign. The jeans slide on easily, the sweater even more so, soft and warm like a hug I didn’t know I needed.
I start to dry my hair, knowing it will take an hour to style it, and stare into the mirror. I wasn't allowed to cut my hair. Roberto liked it long.Raffael said you're free, a voice whispers. A tempting voice. I stare into the mirror at the long tresses. The hair Roberto used to love to wrap around his arm and wrist to pull my head just this way and that. I watch the steam curl away in the mirror, and resentment overcomes me. A resentment so deep, I want to throw it up. I shudder. I don't think I can bear drying this hair one more time, even though part of me knows Roberto won't touch me ever again.
I don't know why Raffael came now, but I do know that whatever he has planned, I won't ever see Roberto again. For a moment, I remember the Raffael who used to guard me, the one I bantered with. The one I had such a crush on that turned into love. Whatever is burning inside me now, I'm not sure it's love; I'm not sure I'm capable of it anymore.
As if they have their own will, my hands open drawers until I find a pair of scissors in one. I keep staring at myself in the mirror as my free hand grasps a large strand of hair, and the other moves the scissors toward it.
Snip.
Right at my shoulder.
Then again.
Snip.
And again.
Snip.
Long black locks tumble to the ground. The act of cutting my hair—such a simple act, really—feels like a rebellion all on its own. But that is nothing compared to the feeling of lightness on my neck and head now. I didn't even know how heavy my hair was until it's gone.
