Housewife

ONE WEEK LATER

As I languished in a vast, opaque void, something rudely roused me from my slumber. The sharp pang of agony lanced through me once more, and I winced in response.

‘Irena. Wake up.’ The voice echoed ominously through the abyss, smearing fear across my nerves. The shadowy expanse seemed to pulse with foreboding energy, warning me of impending danger.

With a jolt, something yanked at my arm. ‘Get up, you useless sack of bones!’ A rough hand shook me again, jarring me from my trance.

Suddenly, a cascade of frigid water surged over me like a waterfall, shattering my half-conscious state like a bolt of lightning. My body plunged into spasms and shudders, as every shard of pain converged into a single, searing force.

My heart is on the brink of bursting through my chest, hammering against my rib cage with the tenacity of a battering ram.

‘Rise and shine, time to meet your match.’ The harrowing voice echoes through the eerie darkness, followed by a sudden flicker of light that blinds me momentarily.

As my eyes adjust, I come face to face with Anatol – a snarling demon, features now distorted with an icy coldness that reeks of decay. A graveyard of a man, devoid of any soul or warmth.

But I refuse to be his prize. My fury engulfs me like a tempest, blackening my heart as it devours my being. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ I hiss with conviction, spitting my defiance at the tomb before me.

The pain is a sudden, jolting burst that rips across my cheek with razor-sharp precision. My eyes widen in disbelief, but my reflexes are too slow to avoid the inevitable. I feel the fire surge on the side of my face, and my hand flies up to clutch at the raw, smarting flesh. Blood trickles down my nose as I stare at my own fingertips, stained with evidence of my vulnerability.

A sickening cocktail of disgust and fury churns in my gut, threatening to overwhelm me. But I remain silent, locked in a precarious situation without any room for recklessness. My body is frozen, my mind slipping back into the darkness that claimed me months ago.

The Irena I thought I left behind is clawing its way back to the surface.

Frail.

Terrified.

Vulnerable.

Adrift.

With a snap of his fingers, Anatol summons two men who enter the room with a bundle of clothes in hand. ‘Dress her,’ he commands, before striding out of the room. The two men move towards me, one sporting a wicked grin and the other a copper mane. ‘Hold her,’ the raspy-voiced man instructs his accomplice, eyeing me hungrily.

With hair like the finest copper, he pushed me forcefully onto the musty mattress, pinning me down with an unrelenting grip. He swiftly removed my baggy T-shirt, stained with my blood and specks of dust, casting it to the ground. In a moment of audacity, he disrobed me entirely, replacing my modest attire with a blue dress of his choosing. I squirmed, desperate to escape his clutches as a chorus of screams burst forth from my throat.

He hoisted my head against my will, determined to subdue me completely.

I cried out in agony as his knee pressed into my gut, exerting a crushing weight that made every breath a struggle. My eyes brimmed with tears, each one a testament to the unyielding pain that wracked my body. Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead from all the fighting.

I could feel their calloused fingers on my skin, eliciting a deep-seated revulsion that had plagued me for years. That all too familiar feeling had returned, the feeling of being touched against my will, a feeling that robbed me of my humanity.

As they completed their task, I gasped for air as an unwelcome mist of perfume engulfed me. It was a peculiar blend that reminded me of a grassy forest scattered with pine cones. How anyone could find such a scent pleasing, I couldn’t fathom.

‘And her hair?’ The man with chestnut locks inquired the cooper-haired accomplice. He simply shrugged and responded with a lackadaisical ‘I don’t know, man. Her braids look alright.’ The brunette-haired man nodded in agreement, and with my head bagged, they effortlessly hoisted me out of the dingy basement.

My heart is crushed in agony, and a solitary cry breaks free from my lips. I cannot bear to endure this anguish once more. Not now.

My newfound joy is but a flicker in the grand scheme of things. I refuse to have it snatched away from me by the cruel hands of fate. A lump lodges itself in my throat, and I struggle to swallow as the reality of my circumstances sinks in.

No one will ever find you.

The soft, trembling voice creeps into my mind like a tiny spider, spinning its web of doubt and fear. I shake my head, determined to silence it.

Saint is my saviour. He has promised to protect me, to cherish me forever. I am not alone.

But the voice persists, growing bolder with each passing moment.

You are nothing, Irena. A mere burden on society, a cursed child who brought about the demise of her own parents. No one cares for you, no one loves you. You are doomed to be lost forever.

I feel myself slipping, the tendrils of anxiety and self-doubt wrapping around me like a tightening coil. I must resist, I must believe in Saint’s love and strength. But the voice whispers on, a haunting melody of despair and hopelessness that threatens to consume me.

In an instant, I’m hurled onto the couch and a sharp gasp escapes me as the stitches from my gunshot wound are stretched to the limit. Darkness engulfs me, but the thump of heavy footsteps echoes like a snare drum in my ears.

The door creaks open, and I hold my breath, waiting for the worst.

A deep voice booms, sending tremors through my body. ‘Is this her?’ The question is laced with a thick Mexican accent, and I can sense a cold, sinister presence lurking nearby.

Grzegorz, ever the lapdog, replies without hesitation. ‘Yes, González.’

The air thickens with tension, and I can’t help but wonder what these people want from me. Suddenly, the rough fabric of sackcloth is ripped away from my face, and I blink back the glare of the dimly lit room. My eyes dance from Anatol to Grzegorz, and finally, land on the face of the man who’s about to be my new husband.

My gaze locks onto his pitch-black eyes, drilling into them like I’m staring down a notorious villain. He huffs heavily, his wrath painting a ruddy hue across his face. His eyes themselves seem lifeless as if his entire being is animated only by his nefarious intentions.

‘Sure, she’s a looker,’ he sneers, his tone dripping with arrogance. ‘But next time, Grzegorz, I’d appreciate it if she wasn’t dressed like she’d gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali. And would you care to explain why she’s bleeding?’ His finger jabs at the crimson stain seeping into my blue dress, rendering it unrecognizable.

Grzegorz chuckles, a knowing gleam in his eye. ‘Just a little mishap, Manuel. She ran away and it was difficult to get her back.’

Manuel nods, his hands sliding into his pockets as he steps toward me.

There stands Manuel with an air of maturity in his mid-forties, bedecked in intricate tattoos that wrap around his tanned, chiseled frame. His effortless style is a spectacle to behold as he dons a white and black shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal his chest hair peeking out from under a shimmering gold chain. Completing the look are his sleek black jeans and polished shoes.

As I rise to my feet, Manuel’s hands make a beeline for my womanly curves.

His fingers trace the contours of my breasts before inspecting my hair and face with cold scrutiny. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, he hauls me around like a rag doll to grope my ass, leaving me gasping in shock. A sharp smack resounds through the room, sending me yelping in discomfort.

‘She’s a natural. Good,’ he comments, turning to face Grzegorz with a smirk. ‘Once she’s healed, I’ll sign and deliver my end of the bargain in a month’s time. But for now, I’ll take the five-hundred-million payout.’

‘Rest assured, she’ll be in the best of care,’ Anatol assures him. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you do with her.’ His unfeeling tone tells me everything I need to know about his lack of concern for my welfare. Meanwhile, Grzegorz merely grins, clearly amused by the proceedings.

‘As long as you call me once she’s ready,’ he drawls. His cavalier attitude makes my stomach turn with disgust.

As I lock eyes with Manuel, he smirks, his gaze devouring my form. ‘I’m about to have a blast with you,’ he murmurs in a mysterious voice, sending chills cascading down my spine at the mere idea.

Where are you, Saint?

SAINT

Fury.

It’s a force of nature that we underestimate. The power it holds is beyond what we can imagine.

The boundaries of human ability no longer constrain us – with just a few sparks of my anger, entire cities could crumble into oblivion. The black flames within me threaten to burn everything in sight to ashes.

But for now, the destruction is directed inward. My own reflection glares back at me, suffused with violence on a cosmic scale. The universe was built on chaos, and now two black orbs of wrath reflect back at me, reminding me of that primal force that rages inside us all.

SHE’S GONE BECAUSE OF YOU!

My clenched fist smashes into the mirror, causing it to quake with fear. Its delicate surface tries to hold on but eventually crumbles into a million tiny shards that rain down like a storm of emotions. Each one reflects the state of my shattered soul.

I couldn’t care less about the physical pain – what’s breaking me apart is much deeper than that.

With a growl escaping my lips, I continue to pound my fist into the mirror.

Once, twice, thrice, until only a crooked few remains. But even as the broken pieces scatter across the floor, the echoes of her cries still haunt me.

Her brown pools of pain flickering in my memory, I drop my head in defeat. It’s only been a week, but it feels like a lifetime since I’ve felt at peace.

My spirit is cracking under the weight of my heavy heart.

Inhaling a lungful of air, I exhale it with measured precision. A resolute determination courses through me, fuelling my unwavering resolve to leave no stone unturned until Irena is found.