I keep staring into the mirror. My eyes are hollow, dark circles lie underneath, and bruises lie around my throat like a collar, but knowing this will be the last time I have to see them is like a heavy burden lifting off me.
I don't know for sure what Raffael wants from me. Why he saved me, again. But I know deep down that he won't hurt me.
Eventually, I move on to brushing my teeth until the taste of metal and old fear is gone. When I’m done, I stare at my reflection for a long moment. My hair is so much shorter. The ends are barely skimming my shoulders, and it feels loose and light. No makeup to cover old and new bruises, either—no mask. Just me. I’m not sure I recognize her.
Back in the bedroom, I cross to the tall window. The view takes my breath. Deep forest, endless and dark, stretchinginto the horizon. It looks wild, untamed… like it’s daring me to step into it, to vanish. I imagine walking until the trees swallow me whole. Until no one could ever find me again.
My stomach growls, breaking the spell.
That’s when the smell hits me again. Coffee. Rich, dark, fresh-brewed. My mouth waters before I realize it. The hunger sharpens, curling in my gut, and the scent is a tether pulling me forward.
I glance at the door.
It’s locked. I’d turned the bolt myself before I went into the shower.
I hesitate, my hand hovers over it. Then, slowly, I turn the lock. The click sounds loud in the stillness. When I peek my head out, I find the hallway beyond is empty.
I step out, my bare feet are silent on the floor, and I move carefully, like each creak of the wood might wake something I don’t want to face. I follow the scent, down the hall, past shadowed doorways. It gets stronger with every step, warm and comforting in a way I’ve almost forgotten.
Somewhere ahead, I hear the sound of a low clink of porcelain. I keep going, drawn toward it like it’s the only real thing in this whole new world.
When I find the source, in the kitchen, a woman is standing by a stove stirring something. I shrink back, buther stiffening shoulders show that she already noticed me.
"Come on in. You must be Sophia," she says without turning. Her hand flicks up, and I realize she wasn't stirring but flattening a pancake, which she now flips. "I'm Lexy. Raf asked me to stay and watch over you."
Raffael's name is like a lightning bolt rushing through me, but I don't like how familiarly she saysRaf. Who is this woman? I hate that I have to ask her, "Where is he?"
The woman turns, and I can see now that she's beautiful. Golden locks frame an angelic-looking face, but it's her eyes that hold me captive. Eyes that tell of having seen too many bad things to believe in Santa Claus any longer. "He had to run an errand, but he'll be back later. Are you hungry?"
She flips the pancake onto a plate to top a thick stack of several others.
"I am, actually." Carefully, I take a step closer. Not close enough to be within striking distance, but enough to get a good whiff of the pancakes.
"Sorry, this is really all my culinary experience right there." She laughs, wiping her hands on a towel before holding one out. "Let’s do this properly. I’m Lexy."
Hesitantly, I take it. I don't know for sure where I am, or why. Or who she is, other than that she'sLexy,andRafasked her to look out for me. I can't stop a small grimacewhen our hands touch, and the stupid, automatic words, "Nice to meet you," leave my mouth.
She doesn’t flinch; she looks more amused.
"Here, sit," she lets go of my hand and waves toward an assortment of six barstools by a long kitchen counter. I do as I’m told, because that's what I do. She fills a plate with three pancakes and puts it in front of me, before coming around with her own plate. The syrup is already standing in front of me. My hands shake slightly as I reach for the glass bottle.
"Would you like some coffee?" she asks after she puts her plate down next to mine.
"Yes, please." The glass bottle feels heavy in my palm. Hypnotized, I watch the golden liquid pour out onto the thick pancakes. "These look delicious," I say, unable to let my gaze stray from the syrup.
Among the many things Roberto liked to control about me was what I ate. Pancakes and syrup were most definitely not on that list.
"I've been told I make the best pancakes," Lexy chuckles. "They should be, since it's the only thing I can cook. Creamer? Sugar?"
I love coffee. Always have. But the black brew Roberto made me drink is nothing like the coffee I used to have before him. Before him…. My mind marvels at that, because before means… there's an after. Am I living through the after? God, I hope so.
"Both, please," I answer Lexy, who brings not only a cup of coffee my way, but also a container with sugar and another glass bottle with creamer.
"My kind of girl," she grins, grabbing a cup for herself and finally settling in on the chair next to me. "You don't mind, do you?"
Questioningly, I look at her, because I have no clue what she's asking. "Me being this close? I could sit over there."
Hot lava wouldn't have been as hot as the heat that rushes through me at her words. She must know what Roberto has done to me.
