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"That’s what I thought," he sneered at me, and he pulled open the car door and shoved Selina inside. She seemed to have regressed to some protective part of herself that just obeyed whatever he said, willing to go along with it to make sure she didn’t get hurt.
"Don’t bother looking for her," Stefano warned me, brandishing the gun in my direction. The streets around us were quiet, and no doubt anyone inside the stores around us would be hiding out to avoid getting pulled into this.
I locked eyes with Selina for a moment, and I prayed she could see what I was trying to communicate to her right now—that I was going to come for her. Of course I was. I was going to do everything I could to get her back, no matter what it took, no matter how much I had to go through to make it happen.
But, as she looked back at me, her eyes seemed blank, distant, as though she had already resigned herself to this. And, as Stefano slipped back into the car and tore off down the street, I felt a twist of fear in my gut that she had already accepted her fate.
And even if I got her back, it might not be enough to pull her back from the brink.
Chapter Fifteen – Selina
"Feels good to be home, right?" Stefano told me as he led me back into the brothel that I had spent the most miserable years of my life in. I didn’t reply. I still couldn’t speak. All I could think about was the pressure of the gun pressed into my side and the feel of his hands on me again.
The last man I ever wanted to see. He had found me. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t want to know. I leaned up against the door, wishing I could find some way to escape, but all too aware of the fact that I was trapped right here, all over again.
I could still see the bulge of the gun in Stefano’s pants, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. I could see from the look in his eyes that he was using again; I knew that gaze all too well—that expression, written all over his face, that madness as he tried to cling on to whatever was left of his sanity. I was lucky to still be standing, I knew that much. If Paulo had made one wrong move, I had no doubt Stefano would have killed us both.
I felt … nothing, being back here. Nothing but a huge, gaping numbness. It was surreal, like being trapped in a nightmare, where everything moved slowly, and nothing felt the way it should. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I reached out to skim my fingers along the peeling paint, several flakes falling away beneath my touch. How could this be happening? How could I have let this happen?
"You want your old room back?" Stefano suggested to me, reaching out to grab my hand. He was so rough with me, and it made my skin crawl, maybe because I had grown so used to Paulo’s soft, gentle touch, the way he seemed to enjoy every inch of me, like he could hardly believe I was real.
"I left something for you up there," he added, raising his eyebrows at me and grinning. It didn’t reach his eyes. I knew I wasn’t being given a choice. Either I did what I was told, or he would lift that gun to me again, and it would be the end of everything.
I wasn’t sure I even cared about it anymore. Maybe an end would have been a mercy. Surely it would have been better than whatever I was facing right now. I trudged upstairs, tracing out the same path I had taken a million times before, usually with some man in tow behind me. Even the smell of the place made my skin prickle with sickness, the reality of it sinking in, forcing itself on to me.
I opened the door and stared at the bedside table—three lines had been haphazardly racked up for me, left like rose petals scattered on a Valentine’s Day hotel room bed. This was his idea of romance. This was his way of getting me back.
"For you," he told me as he appeared behind me all of a sudden. He slid his arms around my waist, and I tensed with horror. I had forgotten how much I loathed the feeling of his hands on me like this; it felt like a sickness, like something monstrous. I wanted to shrug him off, but I knew he would have freaked if I tried. I just had to try and find a way through it.
"I don’t want that," I replied, my voice quiet but firm. I was surprised to hear those words coming out of my mouth. Just a few days ago, I would have sold my soul for what was waiting for me there, but the thought of accepting any sort of kindness from him made me feel ill.
"Yes, you do," he replied, his voice taking on an angry grit as he realized he wasn’t going to be able to get me to give him what he wanted. "Trust me. You’ll feel better."
"I haven’t had any in weeks," I shot back, turning to face him. "I’m fine without it."
He gazed at me, and a grin spread over his face. He reached up to touch my cheek. I fought the urge to pull away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me so upset.
"You’re such a good girl, Selina," he told me. "You always were. You know that? You were the best."
He shifted closer to me, his mouth just a few inches from mine. I could smell his acrid breath, and it almost made me gag.
"But you know where you belong," he continued. "You know how good you were at all of this, don’t you?"
I didn’t reply. I hated that he was right. No matter what I tried to tell myself, how much distance I tried to put between myself and that old life of mine, there was still this sick, twisted part of me that knew I could always fall back on it. I could always just go back to this room, to this life, let him start the parade of men coming in and out all over again …
"You missed it, didn’t you?" he asked me, and he gazed into my eyes. "You missed this. You know this is what you’re made for."
I looked back at him, wondering if, on some level, he was right. When Marnie had come to me, she had told me everything that was going on with her, and I just couldn’t wrap my head around getting the same thing for myself. Maybe because I knew there was no life for me outside of this, no existence beyond these walls. I was terrified about going back to what I had known before, and I hated to even think about what that meant.
"You need to get back in the game," he murmured, and he moved towards me, even closer, his body pressed to mine.
"You can start with me," he suggested, and he leaned in to try and kiss me. Before I could even think, I pulled away, jerking my head to the side. His face darkened, and he grasped my chin in his hand, all the tenderness he had been trying to convince me of before forgotten.
"Look at me," he snarled, and I managed to lift my gaze to stare into his eyes. A rush of hatred and fear hit me as I stared at him. He was the one who had gotten me into this mess in the first place, and now, he was standing there in front of me, telling me that I needed to get back to it? I loathed him. I couldn’t imagine touching him, not now I was sober. Clear-headed, I would never have chosen to have a coffee with him, let alone allow him into my bed.
"I made you," he told me, voice low and threatening. "And I’m not going to wait much longer to take what I’m owed. You hear me?"
He forced my head up and down, as though I was nodding in agreement.
