“Cristiano, I don’t think—”
“Please.” He grabs my arm, his fingers digging in. “Please, Mina. If he catches you here, he’ll hurt you. He’ll fire your mother, and you’ll have nowhere to go. You have to hide. Now.”
There’s fear in his voice, and I start to panic.
“Where can I hide?”
He pulls me toward the antique wardrobe. The doors are heavy, dark oak, carved with elaborate patterns. He yanks them open, revealing a space filled with hanging clothes. Shirts, jackets, the expensive fabrics of a rich boy’s wardrobe. He pushes the hangers apart to make a space.
“In here,” he says. “Quick. Just stay quiet until he’s gone.”
I hesitate, every instinct screaming at me that something is wrong, but the fear for him, for myself, for my mother’s job is louder.
I step into the wardrobe. The doors close behind me, and darkness swallows everything. I hear the click of a lock. The scrape of a key turning.
“Cristiano?” I push against the doors, but they don’t budge. “Cristiano, what are you doing?”
Silence.
“Cristiano!” I pound my fists against the wood. “Let me out!”
“I can’t.” His voice comes through the thick oak, muffled but close. He must be standing right on the other side. “I’m sorry, Mina. I can’t let you leave. Not until you listen to me.”
The blood drains from my face.
“There’s no one coming, is there?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Your father isn’t coming.”
A pause. And then in that flat, cold voice that terrified me so much, “No.”
Horror floods through me.
“Let me out.” I’m pounding on the doors now, throwing my whole weight against them. “Cristiano, let me out right now!”
“I can’t. Don’t you see? If I let you out, you’ll leave. You’ll walk away and never come back. I can’t let that happen. I won’t survive it.”
“This is insane! You can’t keep me in here!” I’m screaming now, slamming my palms against the wood until they sting.
“I just need you to listen to me. You belong with me, Mina. We belong together.”
“Let me out!”
“If you would just stop fighting and let me explain—”
“Please!” The anger is draining away, replaced by terror. “Please, Cristiano, please let me out. It’s so dark. I can’t breathe.”
“Shh.” His voice is soft now. Soothing. Tender. Like he’s comforting a frightened child. “Shh, Mina. It’s all right. You’re safe. I would never hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me right now!”
“I’m protecting you.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and I imagine him leaning his weight against the door, resting his forehead there, his hands right where mine are splayed. “From the mistake you were about to make. You were going to leave me, Mina. You were going to throw away everything we have.”
“We don’t have anything.” I’m sobbing now, tears streaming down my face in the darkness. “We’re friends. That’s all. Just friends.”
“No.” His voice hardens. “No. We’re more than that. We’ve always been more than that. The way you held me. The way you stroked my hair. The way you kissed me.” His voice drops to a reverent whisper. “That was love. You love me.”
I close my eyes and try to breathe.
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
