Chapter 47
Julie’s Point of View
The clock had struck nine in the morning. For the first ti since my arrival here, I saw signs of satisfaction on the nurse’s face; perhaps because, to my own surprise, I hadn’t tried to tear the bandage off my face all night.
She told in a reassuring tone that the wound was minor and its trace would disappear completely within a few days.
I rose from the bed with a strange sense of lightness and headed toward the breakfast table.
Hunger had taken such a toll on that I devoured everything placed before without thinking, until I felt like my stomach would burst.
It was as if my body were gathering its strength against my will to fight a battle I didn’t know when it would begin.
I changed my clothes, choosing black pants and a black shirt, as if declaring a silent mourning for my freedom.
I stretched out on the bed and picked up a book, trying to escape between its lines, but the silence did not last long.
The door opened, and a brown skinned woman in her thirties entered; she was short and wearing the official maid’s uniform.
She began cleaning the room with her vacuum cleaner, filling the place with a monotonous noise.
I watched her chanical movents while lying down, until she stopped and looked at , saying in a practical tone:
"I want your dirty clothes for washing."
I nodded toward the bathroom and said:
"They are in there."
She entered the bathroom, gathered the clothes, and then left quietly. At that mont, I couldn’t stop myself; I laughed with bitterness and shock.
How strange and hideous this place is! They provide you with a royal suite, the finest clothes, and the most delicious dishes, and they send soone to clean up after you and wash your clothes, surrounding you with every manifestation of luxury... except they forget one truth: that all this brilliance doesn’t change the fact that this place is rely a prison, and that I am nothing but a prisoner in a gilded cage.
mories of yesterday seeped into my imagination like slow poison; I rembered Sarah talking about this place as if it were paradise, and how she praised that bastard and claid to love him.
I felt nauseous again, and the image of Robert looming over haunted my breath, making the walls of the room tighten around .
I whispered to myself bitterly:
"Damn you, you prick... you’ve made wish for death over staying alive here."
At that mont, the door opened and Olivia entered in her short blue skirt and white shirt, saying in an unusually calm tone:
"Good morning, Julie."
I froze in my place; I couldn’t believe she was greeting , and more surprisingly, she called by my na instead of "wild sow." I answered with confusion and caution:
"Good morning."
Olivia wasted no ti on pleasantries, but suddenly asked as she paced the room:
"When was the last ti you had your period?"
The question shocked my thoughts, and I replied quickly:
"What?!"
She continued coldly while writing her notes:
"You heard ... your period, when was it?"
A suffocating confusion overwheld ; why did she care about sothing so private? I answered her while trying to gather my scattered self:
"Twelve days ago... but why are you asking?"
I saw her write the number on a paper, then she said in a practical tone dripping with cruelty:
"So we know the days you are available for sale, Julie... it’s obvious."
I swallowed hard, and felt a coldness running through my limbs:
"But... I will not be sold, do you understand?"
Olivia smiled a yellow smile and said:
"Yes... we’ll see about that."
Then she took a small box out of her pocket and placed it coldly on the table:
"This is a box of condoms, leave it here. As for the birth control pills, the nurse will co daily to give you one."
In that mont, I felt as if ti had stopped, and the walls of the room began to close in on my chest to crush it. I couldn’t comprehend the vileness of what she was saying.
I scread at her in hysterical anger:
"I won’t take any pills! And get that disgusting thing out of my room right now!"
Olivia turned to , and with biting sarcasm asked:
"What? Do you want to beco pregnant?"
I stood up, blood boiling in my veins like a volcano, feeling an overwhelming urge to shatter everything surrounding .
I shouted in her face, my voice trembling from the intensity of the oppression:
"Are you mocking , Olivia?!"
She shook her head with a provocative coldness, letting out a faint laugh a dry laugh that carried not a single ounce of sympathy and said:
"No... I’m just telling you what will happen if you don’t take your precautions."
Then she took one step toward , leaning in slightly to whisper in a tone dripping with lethal venom:
"You won’t even be able to know who the father of your child is... that child who won’t be allowed to be born anyway."
I froze in my place, feeling that my heart had stopped beating for a second. I didn’t know how to respond to Olivia’s words; it was so terrible and disgusting that my mind refused to process it.
She left the room, leaving to swallow the bitterness and ugliness of what she had said, as if she had blocked every window of hope in my face.
I threw myself onto the bed and wrapped the covers tightly around , as if trying to hide from the entire world. I wanted to bury myself there, for my pulse to stop, for to cease breathing and die in peace instead of this tornt.
I remained in that state for several hours; the cover was my only fortress protecting from thinking and from the total collapse that threatened to overwhelm .
Suddenly, I heard the sound of that cursed electronic lock. I slowly lifted the cover and looked toward the door in terror... It wasn’t Robert, and it wasn’t Olivia.
It was a strange man, thin and tall, his skin pale, wearing a formal black suit with a neat tie. He was carrying a bottle of wine and two glass cups in his hands, as if he were on a picnic and not in a prisoner’s room.
He closed the door behind him with a suspicious calmness, then fixed his cold gaze on and said in a quiet voice that sent a shiver down my spine:
"Hello, Julie..."
I looked at him in shock, my mind trying to organize the chaos that had invaded . I said in a faint tone filled with a lack of comprehension:
"Who are you?"
He didn’t answer imdiately; instead, his calm footsteps approached the bed. He placed the wine bottle and the two glasses on the small table beside with a suspicious dignity, then turned to and said with a cold smile:
"I am Marcus."
Questions swirled in my head like a hurricane; is this the custor? But it’s impossible! My face still bears the mark of the injury and the bandage; Sam the hair stylist didn’t co, nor did Patricia the makeup artist to hide my flaws and prepare as they usually do, and even Olivia didn’t storm my room to announce his arrival.
Who is this man then? And how did he enter so easily?
He was skillfully uncorking the bottle, pouring the dark red liquid into the two glasses until they were half full. He held the glasses in his hands and extended one to , saying with a provocative softness:
"Here you go, Julie..."
I rose from the bed quickly, trying to create a safety distance between us, and said firmly:
"No... I don’t drink."
Marcus stopped and looked at with wonder, as if I had spoken a word in an alien language, then said, trying to entice :
"How do you not drink? Take it, just one sip and you’ll completely change your mind."
In that mont, the anger I had suppressed all morning exploded. I shouted at him, sparks flying from my eyes:
"I said I don’t drink! And who are you anyway to enter my room like this? Co on, get out of here right now!"
Not a lash of his eyelid flickered; instead, he continued to observe my outburst with a terrifying calmness, as if my shouting were nothing but a theatrical performance he enjoyed watching before starting his "work."
He said, smiling a greasy smile that froze the blood in my veins:
"I bought you, Julie... you are mine today."
I froze in my place, feeling my heart beating the drums of terror in my chest to the point that I thought it would burst out from between my ribs.
He began to approach with confident steps, so I began to retreat backward frantically, words of warning coming out of my mouth trembling:
"Stop... I am not a commodity, I won’t let you touch !"
He replied with a deadly coldness as he closed in on :
"Your opinion doesn’t matter... I will force you."
Suddenly, I felt the coldness of the wall sticking to my back; he had cornered .
He approached further until his breath, tainted with the sll of wine, mixed with my face, and not more than a few centiters separated us.
In a fleeting mont of despair, I turned my head right and left searching for any lifeline, and I spotted the heavy wine bottle sitting on the table.
With the speed of lightning, I gathered every ounce of strength in my trembling body, gripped the neck of the bottle, and brought it down on his head with all the resentnt and oppression I possessed.
The glass shattered!
Shards flew in every corner, and Marcus fell like a collapsing mountain to the floor, unconscious.
The red wine flowed, mixing with his blood to stain the carpet, and the strong, suffocating sll of grapes filled the room.
I retreated backward, panting, my hands shaking hysterically and my heart pounding violently, nearly tearing through my chest.
I collapsed, sitting on the floor, holding my head in my hands which were stained with drops of wine and blood, and began to watch his body stretched out motionlessly like a dead corpse.
A black terror overwheld at the thought that I might have taken a life. I began to mutter in a low, broken voice, as if trying to convince myself and the universe:
"I am not a killer... I am not a killer..."
The silence that followed the noise was terrifying, broken only by the sound of my rapid breathing and the sll of death and fernt that filled the place.
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