I knock again and wait.
My knees begin to shake, joining the tremor in my hands.
I take out the key and swipe, opening the door.
The light is subdued, the door to the terrace open. I place my purse on the table in the hall and walk cautiously further into the room. Someone is home, the smell of tobacco drifting in from the terrace.A cigar, maybe?An open bottle of wine lies on its side on the sofa, tiny red stains soaking into the pale upholstery.
‘Kai?’ I call softly, feeling very ill at ease.
The air crackles ominously, voices drifting from the bedroom door, a shiny black dress dripping like oil over the back of a chair. Synapses spark rapidly, my mind predicting the scene. Vacillating for a brief moment, my legs move uncertainly to the door.
I am numb. An intruder. I aim for stealth but not silence, certain my heartbeat can be heard for miles.
A woman’s voice trills, a low voice murmurs a response. Guttural, base grunting hums as I wrap my fingers around the door handle.
‘N’arrete pas!’ pants a breathless voice. ‘Je viens!’
I don’t need to be fluent in French to know what this means; its tenor is universal. My hand trembles, my knees feel like they’ll hold me no longer as I push the door ajar.
Candlelight illuminating the chair’s back.
A small smile of triumph as she, Sofia, silently acknowledges me.
A blur of her naked body and a cloud of dark hair as she drops to her knees, bowing her head to his lap.
Finally, a flash of white cuff, a hand falling open over the arm of the chair, wrist adorned by his Breitling.
‘Suce-le,’ he groans. ‘Suck me.Hard.’
Treachery swiftly gouges my insides. I stumble away from the door, bile rising as my knees refuse to hold. The wool rug scrapes as I scramble to get up, to leave. Make flight. I grab my bag from the table, swallowing huge, gulping sobs and banging the door from the suite open as I stagger, wounded from the room.
After everything. After all I’ve given. After all he has taken. This.
The last vestiges of my self-respect dissolve with the salt of my tears.
