You can hate me and want me, tesoro. They’re not mutually exclusive.
I press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
He was right. That’s the part I can’t escape. He was right about everything.
An hour later the door opens. My head snaps up, heart hammering?—
Not him.
An older woman I haven’t seen before in a staff uniform, face carefully neutral. She carries a breakfast tray. Sets it on the small table by the window without making eye contact. Leaves without a word.
I stay on the floor for another minute. Two. Then drag myself upright to see what fresh torture he’s sent.
The tray is perfect. Silver dome over a plate. Coffee in a delicate porcelain cup. Pastries arranged in an artful spiral. Fresh fruit, strawberries, melon, grapes, glistening like jewels.
And a note.
His handwriting is all sharp angles. Aggressive. Controlled.
Eat. You’ll need your strength.
The rage is white-hot and clarifying.
My hands find the tray, and before I make a conscious decision, I hurl it across the room with a scream that tears my throat raw.
Porcelain shatters. The crash is satisfying in a way nothing else has been. Coffee spreads dark across the tile like a bloodstain. Fruit rolls everywhere. The note flutters down, landing in the wreckage.
I stand there, breathing hard.
Waiting for him to appear. To punish me. To dosomething.
He doesn’t come.
The cameras are watching. I know they’re watching. He’s probably sitting in his study right now, sipping espresso and enjoying the show.
You’ll need your strength.
For what? For fighting him? For whatever comes next?
My body shivers, and it’s not fear.
Ten minutes pass.
The mess is still there. No one comes to clean it.
My stomach growls. Traitorous bitch.
A strawberry catches my eye. Somehow unscathed, sitting in a puddle of cream. I pick it up. Wipe it on my ruined dress. Bring it to my lips.
It tastes like summer and shame.
Then another. And another. Picking fruit from the wreckage like a scavenger. Juice on my fingers, on my lips. Eating like I’ve been starved.
I threw the tray.
Now I’m eating off the floor.
Can’t even commit to defiance.
