Mother rips my other sleeve down before tearing at the rest of my dress. She does it so aggressively that she leaves tiny cuts from her nails behind on my skin. I wince but don’t say a word against her. I know better than to.
“There,” she says once the dress is off me. “Better. But you’re naked underneath. Don’t tell me you acted like a whore on this little adventure of yours.”
“No.” My mind flashes back to Leo touching me between my legs. Or when he put his mouth on me. “No. Not at all.” In those moments, it had felt perfect but with my mother staring at me with disgust, all I feel is revulsion for myself. How could I have let Leo touch me like he did?
She goes over to the simple wooden cabinet in the corner of the room and pulls out a shirt and pants for me to wear. My old clothes. “Here.” She throws them at me. “Put them on. You’re going to spend the day scrubbing the floors. This place has fallen into ruin ever since you left. You will not stop scrubbing the floors until I say so.”
I get dressed with her watching my every move before going downstairs. A bucket with soapy water and a sponge are waiting for me. Without a complaint, I get on my knees and scrub at the floors like she wants me to. The entire time, I can feel her eyes watching me. Hovering over me. This is the reason I left in the first place. The need for my own freedom. To not be watched all the time.
And I couldn’t even find that.
A sob escapes my lips.
“Why are you crying?” she snaps. “You did this to yourself, Emma. You never should have left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not sorry. You wouldn’t have left otherwise. But you will be sorry once you’re done with the floors. I want to see you scrub them harder. Harder!” She nudges my back with her foot. It doesn’t hurt but I know that if she keeps it up, it can. One time, she kicked me so hard in the ribs, I couldn’t breathe normally for a week.
I continue to scrub floor after floor. My mother watches me the entire time. Always nudging me with her foot. Always scolding me for stopping.
Hours pass and I’m only halfway done. My hands are red from the soap and the sponge. They used to get so cracked in the winter time when she’d make me do this. Why did I come back home with her? Only to get away from Leo and my father. It’s a depressing thought.
“You’re not doing enough,” she says after I finish scrubbing the floor of her bedroom. “You still have your own room to do and then the hallway and then the bathroom. Keep it up.”
“My hands hurt,” I whisper.
The look she gives me is devoid of empathy. “You brought this on yourself, Emma. Remember that before you try to leave again. I am doing this for your own safety. I am keeping you in line. You need discipline. Your father knows about you now. I might not be able to protect you. Think about that.”
“I am sorry,” I cry. My tears mix into the soapy water in the bucket.
“Keep scrubbing.” This time, she kicks me hard in the ribs. I flop onto my face, crying out. I will bruise there. I know it. She kicks me again before I can push myself back onto my hands and knees. I scrub at the floor and this time, I don’t stop.
More hours pass and my hands turn even more red. It’s then that I see my knuckles are bleeding. What did my mother put in the water to make my hands respond like this? I know she’s trying to punish me even more.
It’s only once I finish the last floor that she lets me get to my feet. My knees and back are killing me from kneeling on the hardwood floors all day. I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours. The moment I stand up, I stumble.
Mother scoffs. “You’re weak, Emma. But I am teaching you to be strong.”
The sound of a car approaching the house makes us both look out the window. The car is one I recognize. It belongs to Leo.
He gets out of the car – all by himself I notice – and starts walking towards the front door.
“Who is that man?” Mother hisses.
“Leo.”
“The mafia man who stole you? Your father told me about him.” She hurries into the living room and grabs the shotgun off the wall and aims it at the front door. “If he even thinks of coming in here, I’ll kill him.”
My chest squeezes at the thought of Leo dying. The last thing I should care about is him. He’s been nothing but horrible to me and yet… there were moments I saw him look regretful for what he had done to me. My mother has never looked that way once in my entire life.
Leo knocks on the door.
“Go away,” Mother shouts. “I have a shotgun and I’ll shoot you.”
“Valentina, I presume.” His low voice through the door sends shivers down my spine. Is Leo here to kill me for running away?
“Go away,” she threatens. “Now.”
