Another day ending with me in the same state. Dirty dress, tears streaming down my face. I reach the same bathroom and force myself to stand under warm water, but itonly intensifies the burning on my hand and feet. I switch it to cold. I choke on a sob when the water hits my head. I step away from the shower, shivering.
I remove my clothes, stop crying, and nudge the water knob toward warm again. Then I stand under it, shutting down my brain.
It was a bad experience, but it’s not something you keep crying over for hours. Treat it like an accident that happened to you.I coax myself into calming down.
After my shower, I repeat the same ritual: wrap myself in a towel, pull on his bathrobe, bundle my underwear in another towel, and with a third towel wrapped around my head, I leave his room.
Both my hands are in agony—one raw, the other burned. Even holding cloths feels impossibly difficult.
After dropping my clothes in my room, I don’t linger. I head to Bruno’s wing. He’s here eating his dinner, and he’s not alone. Antonio is with him.
He turns at the sound of my footsteps. I walk slowly toward him.
“How’s your hand?” he asks, gaze dropping to it.
“It’s fine.” As fine as a burned hand can be. At least it’s not blistering—the soup wasn’t that hot.
“Where’s the bathroom you mentioned?” I ask him the important question.
He walks past me, and I follow. In the corner, around the wall, there’s a door. He points to it.
“This one. It’s Bruno’s bathroom, but you can use it.”
I’d happily share a bathroom with Bruno than with that monster of a man.
I nod. He turns back to me.
“I’ll send someone with food.”
“I don’t think that’s allowed. I don’t get food unless I beg.”
“He won’t say anything,” Antonio says quietly, then leaves.
Salvario
After finishing my work in the testing lab around midnight, I head upstairs toward my room. Low murmuring drifts from the other side.
I stop in my tracks and, instead of entering my wing, take a few more steps toward Bruno’s room—glowing with warm yellow light. I don’t use yellow light. It forces the brain to calm, and I despise that.
She’s sitting on his small bed, her back propped against cushions stacked against the wall. This bed isn’t big enoughto hold both an adult human and a dog, yet they manage perfectly.
This pathetic dog has given her so much space, I’m sure he would never give me that. This is the same dog who won’t let any maid near him. Look at him now.
She’s reading a book to Bruno.Where did she get that?Must have stolen it from somewhere, like the bathrobe she’s wearing.My bathrobe.And like every time, seeing her in it stirs something I don’t appreciate.
She yawns, then shuts the book.
“We’ll read the next chapter tomorrow. Time to sleep,” she says to the dog like he can understand.
Stupid woman.
She slides down, lies back, and hugs him, tracing circles on his belly. My jaw locks, tightening with every second I watch. Gradually, her movements slow, then cease altogether. Within ten minutes, she’s asleep.
How easily she sleeps in a place that isn’t safe for her. Anyone could kill her, and they’d do it gladly. No one working in this house needs much reason to kill or torture. If I say I hate someone, they’ll all hate them. If I give the order, they’ll tear her apart without a second thought. After today’s incident, I’d say even without my orders. And still, she sleeps here in this open room—so peacefully.
I step further inside. Bruno glares at me, his body going rigid. When I don’t move toward the bed, he relaxes. I sit on the couch against the wall, opposite the mattress.
I have no reason to sit here instead of going to my bed. There’s not a single thing in this room I like—in fact, everything here I despise. The warm ambient light. The woman. Even the dog.
