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Which means crossing my legs and waiting. Or…
Or using his bathroom.
I said I would last night. And he told me to go ahead. Rosa didn’t greet anyone on that side when she came through with the tray, so I’m sure that Elio isn’t over there.
Now that I’m aware of how full my bladder is, I can’t ignore it. I didn’t go before bed, and between the champagne last night and the water this morning I’m bursting.
I slide out of bed, padding across the room in my bare feet. I hesitate in the doorway, but a quick glance around tells me I was right. Elio isn’t here. I sigh at the lack of door on his bathroom, and swear when I see yet another camera in there, just like the one in mine. I’d hoped that his bathroom wouldn’t have one, but no dice. I can’t imagine someone like Elio lets other guys sit around watching him on the toilet, so I keep everything crossed that no one’s actively watching this feed right now. Even so, I grab a towel from a nearby rack and wrap it around myself as I shimmy my pyjama shorts down with one hand, then perch on the toilet.
I realize too late that the towel is slightly damp. It smells like Elio’s fancy cologne, along with another scent, the spice of men’s soap. He obviously used this towel after his shower this morning, and now I’m wrapped in it, the same fabric that was rubbed on his naked body covering my bare legs and pussy.
I should fucking pee on it. Use it as toilet paper, I think bitterly. But I don’t believe that would send much of a message to Elio considering it would probably be Rosa who has to clean it up.
Holding the towel in place with one hand, I quickly wipe then hop down, flushing the toilet then awkwardly hiking up my shorts under the towel. As I do so, I glare at the camera, not quite brave enough to flip it the bird.
I let the towel fall to the floor and then wash my hands before putting it back on the rack. When I emerge from the bathroom, Rosa is busy stripping my bed.
No, not my bed, I remind myself quickly. Just the bed I slept in.
Even though I have nowhere else to go, I feel like I’ll be in Rosa’s way if I go back in there. Instead, I wander around Elio’s room, perusing the books and stopping in front of the music system with its small shelf of CDs. I wondered about those CDs last night. About why he has them. Curiosity getting the best of me, I lean forward to examine the sides of the cases. There are no labels on the sides – they’re just generic, plain plastic cases. Frowning, I take one of the cases off the shelf.
And I fucking freeze.
Because I recognize this CD. I recognize the shitty, almost homemade-looking label on the front with its curly font.
Maeve’s Music School
August Performance
Shaking, I take all the other CDs off the shelf, more than ten of them, and sit on the floor, shuffling through them like they’re cards. They’re all recordings of Maeve’s Music School performances. The school where I teach violin.
Because I’m a teacher, not a student, I don’t perform at every recital or concert. As I look at the dates on the labels, I realize that Elio only has recordings of the recitals I played at over the past year and a half.
These CDs were only available to purchase at the concerts themselves. Which means…
He was there.
At every single public music performance I’ve had over the past year and a half, he was there. Listening. Watching me. And I had no fucking idea.
I drop the CDs like they’ve burned me, confusion turning my stomach upside down. I wondered why he took me, why he wanted me when he could afford to hire any musician in this city. But more and more I’m starting to understand that, for some reason, it has to be me. Elio has been watching me for far longer than I could have ever comprehended.
Why? Is he a stalker?
Don’t stalkers do other stuff, though? Like break into your house and move things around? Steal your panties? Shouldn’t they do something other than just skulk in the shadows of your public music performances?
I have no idea what any of this means. I grab all the CDs and shove them back on the shelf, hurrying out of the room. Rosa looks like she’s just finishing up, piling bedding in a basket attached to the side of the cart. As she passes me with the cart and heads out towards the hallway, I notice Elio’s jacket on top of the heap. With a jolt, I wonder what’s become of my ripped dress and panties on the bathroom floor. One look in the bathroom tells me they’re gone, no doubt in Rosa’s basket.
What was that about stalkers stealing panties?
I grit my teeth, humiliation making my skin prickle and heat. It’s fine. She’s just collecting the laundry. She might throw away the ruined dress, but I’ll get my underwear back.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Chapter 14
Elio
When Rosa pushes a cart into my office, I muse out loud, “She’s not eating breakfast.”
