I don’t answer. They both seem like nice people, so I don’t want to offend either of them.
“Won’t you try these?” Priscilla asks. I shake my head.
“I don’t want anything,” I answer.
They glance at each other. I wonder what Massimo told them. How I got here and everything. Did he tell them the truth? That he practically bought me? Or is it more fitting to describe it as being kidnapped and held captive against my will. I imagine being in a court room scenario and the judge laying down the different sentences. I’m pretty certain any court of law would agree to all the above. I never agreed to any of this. All someone would need to do is open a door, and I’d run far, far away, never to return.
“I got you some… um, clothes. Mr. D’Agostino wanted you to have these until your things arrive,” Candace says, holding out the bag to me. Her smile fades when I don't take it.
I shake my head at her. Fuck pleasantries. Fuck everything. They’re all in on it together. I don’t want anything.
“I don’t want any of it. He’s kidnapped me and brought me here to live with him. I don’t want anything. I don’t need food. I don’t need clothes. Definitely not when I have my own. I have more than my fair share of clothes. I don’t need any new ones.” The words reel off my tongue as I ball my fists at my sides.
They both look like they don’t know what to say to me. I can’t blame them since I wouldn’t know either.
Priscilla’s lips part as if she’s going to say something, but she sighs instead.
“How about we leave them here?” Candace offers, placing the bag down in the corner by the dressing table. “Maybe you’ll change your mind by lunchtime.”
“I don’t want lunch or dinner. I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.” I wince. I look at Priscilla, who seems to offer the most sympathy.
“I’m sorry, dear. We’ve been told to make you comfortable. We can’t do anything else,” she says.
Great. Just great. Perfect.
I bring my hand to my head and will myself not to cry again. No more tears. I can’t cry anymore. I did enough.
“When are my things getting here?” I demand.
“We don’t know,” Candace replies.
“Can I make a call?” I want to call Jacob. Calling the police would be the reasonable thing to do, but in my world, I know not to call cops. If you get out of a situation like mine, you head for the hills and pray the enemy never finds you. “I need to call my friend.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Priscilla replies.
“I can’t use a phone?” I gasp. The agony in my voice is evident.
“We’ll speak to Mr. D’Agostino about that.”
I get that lightheaded sensation again, like I’m going to faint. “Can I go outside? For some fresh air.”
When Candace bites the inside of her lip, I get my answer. “Not yet,” she says.
“Where is Massimo? Where did he go?” My voice sounds withered.
“He’s going to be in business meetings all day.”
“It’s Sunday,” I point out, feeling stupid. Maybe business is code, like it usually is. Maybe it’s code for screwing around. He’s wealthy. Why would he be in meetings all day on a Sunday?
“We’re gonna leave and give you some time. I’ll come back and check on you later,” Candace promises.
The two leave and the door closes. The key rattles. My heart squeezes.
I’m locked in again.
I walk over to the wall and throw a fist into it, hurting my hand. I don’t care. It makes me feel something other than helpless and useless.
I sink back down against the wall, resuming my former stance of pathetic, and stay there.