Renata’s Bedroom
I’m close to hysterics. My underwear is twisted around in my jeans and chafing at me like a reminder of how wrong everything that just happened truly was.
I feel horrible. Like some cheap plaything that’s been discarded without a second thought.
He barely even touched me. The pathetic part is that I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. All I know is that I want these clothes off of me. They feel stained, tarnished beyond use. And they smell like him. I want that gone. I want him gone.
But my hands are shaking too badly to undo the clasp on my jeans a second time. I’m still trying to get them free when a soft knock sounds against my door. Anger burns through me as I turn to face it.
“I don’t want to see you!” I scream, barely holding back tears. “Just leave me the fuck alone!”
“Renata,” a soft voice calls. “It’s me. Aisling.”
My anger abates slightly as I fumble at the knob and unlock it. She slips inside cautiously, her eyes wide with concern.
The moment she notices how bedraggled my clothes are from my attempts to tear them off of me, her expression turns to curious embarrassment. Which is probably what I should be feeling right now. But I’m maxed out at the moment. A girl can only take so much.
“Renata, what happened?”
“Can you help me get out of this?” I ask abruptly.
“Of course.”
It takes her only a few moments to gently coax my jeans down my legs and my shirt over my head. Before I can even ask, she brings me a pair of sweats and a soft white hoodie.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
After I’m dressed, I move to the window and plop down on the lounge chair placed in front of it, drawing my knees to my chest.
Aisling hovers near my shoulder. “Can I get you anything?” she asks. “Water? Tea?”
“Can you just sit down with me, please?”
She hesitates only for a moment before she sits down opposite me. Her hair is slicked back, but the messy bun she’s got going on is understated and attractive.
“Are you okay?” Aisling tries again.
“No,” I say, when I’m sure my voice won’t break. “No, I’m not. He humiliated me.”
“Master Kian?”
“Master,” I scoff. “He was just playing with me. All that shit he was spewing about trust… it was all bullshit. Lies.”
Aisling watches carefully without saying anything.
I turn to her, daring her to challenge me. “I’ll bet you disagree?”
She shrugs. “Yes, I do. Master Kian is not a liar.”
“Has he found your husband and daughter yet?” I demand. “Huh? Has he?”
“No,” she admits. Then she adds, with absolute certainty, “But he will.”
It must be nice to have that kind of faith in someone. Honestly, after everything Aisling has been through, I’m surprised she can trust anyone at all.
“You’re being naïve.”