I trembled harder, the cold seeping into my bones.
“Chiara,”the whisper came again, closer now. I opened my eyes and screamed.
Dahlia stood in front of me. Her eyes were empty. Spiders crawled from her mouth. Her black hair floated around her face. Her neck was bent, her head hanging against her shoulder.
She screamed, and I screamed with her.
My chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs burned as if the air had turned to ice. My heart pounded so fast I thought it would burst. Then she was gone. The air was cold again, heavy, empty.
The door opened. Mia stepped inside, carrying clothes. She came closer and unlocked the chains. My body collapsed to the floor. Everything hurt. I felt numb, but I stood.
A single tear slipped down my cheek as I took the clothes from her.
“What did he want now?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. She just turned and walked away.
Was this how it was going to be? Was I going to be ignored, forgotten?
My jaw trembled, but no tears came this time.
“Pull yourself together, Chiara,”I whispered to myself.
This time, the clothes were almost the same, just black and white. I pulled the black corset on, tightening it until my ribs hurt, then slid the skirt up and straightened it. Below, I put on the socks and pulled them to my knees. My hair, instead of braids, I twisted into a messy bun on top of my head.
She didn’t bring me shoes, so I went barefoot, tiptoeing up the stairs until I reached the front door.
She was waiting there, still silent, guiding me toward the house.
The basement was just behind us, so it took only a minute to reach the front stairs of the house. When we did, she stopped, standing behind me, watching as I climbed to the top.
I opened the door.
He was there.
Standing in his black leather coat, his face painted, staring at me like he hadn’t been the one keeping me locked away.
And then, behind him, another man appeared. Dressed the same. Leather coat. Cold expression. When he lifted his face, my breath caught. He had the same face as Rio.
I gasped.
“Rio!” I shouted, a smile breaking through the fear, and I ran toward him, but Oscar caught me, pulling me hard against his chest.
“Where the hell are you going, huh?” he said.
“Let me go!” I struggled, twisting in his arms. I turned back toward the man. “Rio, please, tell him!”
“My name is Enzo,” he said quietly. His eyes were wrong. Completely different. Not Rio’s. He had one eye brown and the other blue.
Oscar reached into his pocket and pulled out a tissue.
As I stepped back, he smeared the paint from his face. Even with streaks of color still clinging to his skin, I could see the same face. The same as the man beside him. The same as Rio’s.
“This isn’t fucking real,” I whispered.
My hands pressed against my face, rubbing hard, pinching my skin, trying to wake up. But it wasn’t a dream.
“How?” I asked, my voice trembling.
