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Carson steps into the living room, making a grand entrance. Shaking the hands of the men and kissing the cheeks of the wives. The creep makes my skin crawl. Moments later, he’s beside us, giving Wesley a strong man-shake and forcing me into a hug, lingering way too long.
“Milana, I’m glad you could join us tonight. We didn’t get much of an opportunity to chat last time, but I’m hoping tonight is the night we can get to know each other.”
I loathe him, slicked-back hair and a sleazy grin. I pray that Wesley notices, but he seems preoccupied with his cell, much to my annoyance.
“Thank you for having us, Carson. Once again, your home is lovely.”
I ignore his lingering gaze on my breasts, wishing I hadn’t worn such a provocative dress and forgetting about the last time I was here. He makes me uncomfortable, and I contemplate telling Wesley but fear his reaction.
We make our way to the dining room and sit at the table. I’m squashed between a man who has awful breath and a woman whose perfume smells like toilet freshener. Wesley is sitting across from me, though barely making any eye contact. Again, on his cell, rudely typing and ignoring everyone at the table.
Gina, however, loves attention. That much is evident. She tells stories, supposedly humorous, but firing a maid because she wore the wrong color doesn’t seem funny to me.
She talks about her charities and random stories of women at her tennis club. Carson often interjects, laughs, and keeps the conversation flowing. Gina loves to talk about herself, rarely asking questions about anyone else, so I just sit and eat quietly, often smiling to show I care. It’s nothing like dinner with my family. The way these people speak to each other is cold and formal.
Somewhere in between the main course and dessert, Wesley lifts his head away from his cell and shifts his gaze to me. Something doesn’t seem right. Aside from his fidgeting, rolling up his sleeves, only to roll them down again moments later, he’s clearing his throat often, wanting my attention yet when I turn his way, he quickly focuses back to his cell.
Narrowing my eyes and tightening my grip on my fork, I divert my attention back to the conversation until I realize it’s about diamonds and of no interest to me.
Before dessert is served, I excuse myself to the restroom, needing a moment alone to curb my anger toward Wesley and to text Mama. Tonight reiterated how much I love my family and am grateful for how she raised us in a house full of love.
Me: Mama, I love you, and everything you’ve done for our family. I promise I will come home and visit, just like you said. Call you tomorrow xxx
I wait a few minutes for a response but nothing, giving up and exiting the bathroom after washing my hands. I walk down the corridor, running into a maid and almost knocking over a pile of towels. Apologizing for my clumsy behavior, I take a sharp left, staring at the wrong door. Far out—this house is massive.
“Um, excuse me, maid,” I yell out, pathetically.
“Lost, are we?”
Carson is standing behind me, too close for my comfort. My muscles begin to tense, the paranoia of his presence making me jumpy. Aside from his obvious age—a man who could be my father—he has that seedy look. He wears a cravat like they do in black and white movies, and he stinks of old-man cologne.
“Yes, I am. If you could lead me in the right direction because I’m sure Wesley will come looking for me.”
“I don’t think he will, see he’s busy… with Gina, outside by the pool. So, I guess it’s just you and me.” He grins, licking his bottom lip.
Slowly, he runs his hand along my arm, my heart spiking from fear and disgust.
“Stop touching me,” I seethe, pulling my arm away as he latches on tighter. “I said, no!”
He ignores my pleas, pulling me into him and tightening his grip around my waist. I struggle to ease my way out, the panic hitting hard and fast. The room spins, the sounds amplified, and somewhere during his forbidden act, he slides his hands up the side of my thighs and toward my ass, moaning into my face.
“I love fucking Wesley’s little sluts. You think you’re the first? No, sweetheart, but definitely the most innocent.”
My screams are trapped, my tears falling as I begin the same disillusioned blackout as the plane. But something, unknown, kicks in, and when I pretend to grab his crotch for pleasure, I squeeze it tight and punch it, causing him to wince in pain.
When he topples over cursing at me, I run out of the room panicked. There are several doors, but I find my way outside the front, out of breath, face drenched in tears.
There is no Wesley, just the driver. I want to find him, tell him to save me, but I fear Carson, ter
rified that my panic will cripple me, and he will have his way with me.
Wesley appears out of nowhere, frantically looking for me. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to go. Now.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you crying?”
“Take me home,” I cry, shaking.
