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It hasn’t been read, so it’s not like he’s ignoring me. Maybe he’s still asleep. After all, it’s Saturday back on the island.
Rolling onto my stomach, I scroll through the album called ‘My Purple.’ It has all sorts of pictures of us, mostly selfies I’ve taken while he wasn’t paying attention.
There’s one picture that I love the most. It’s when he was massaging my feet that were against his chest during a bath. It was right after he tied me up and brutally fucked me. Then he carried me to the bath and rubbed the red marks around my feet. He was so focused on his task that he didn’t notice when I took the picture.
I zoom in on his face and sigh. Why do I suddenly miss him so much when it’s barely been a few hours since I last saw him?
“Is this the reason you’re having so much fun?” Mom sneaks up behind me, carrying a plate of pastries and it’s too late to hide the picture from her.
Thank God it’s only zoomed in on his face and not my feet on his naked chest with the bathroom as a background.
“Mom!”
Her smile immediately disappears. The tray shakes in her hand before it topples and falls to the ground with a haunting crash.
But I don’t focus on that, because something worse happens.
Mom has paled, her lips are trembling, and her whole body has stiffened.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her like this.
As if…she’s seen a ghost.
25
ANNIKA
“Mom…?”
I slowly stand up, limbs shaking, and my heart thumping with the brutality of a torture device.
My mother remains frozen in place, her hands trembling at either side of her as she stares right through me.
It’s like she’s here but not reallyhere.
And the sight scares the shit out of me.
Careful not to step on the broken glass and ruined snacks, I take my time approaching her until I’m toe-to-toe with her.
“Mom,” I call again, louder this time. I wave my hand in front of her face.
She flinches.
I flinch.
That’s the first time I’ve ever seen my mother flinch. Papa might be the bad mafia guy, but at home, they share everything. Just because she’s soft doesn’t mean she’s weak. In fact, she can be extremely powerful if the circumstances call for it.
She’s just not the type to flinch, period.
So why do her eyes look so…dead? They’re usually the liveliest I know.
The warmest, too.
“Mom!” My voice translates all the panic that’s spreading inside me.
She jerks, blinking slowly, before her attention zeroes in on me. And it’s like she’s seeing me for the first time. As if I haven’t been her daughter, her baby angel, for the past eighteen years.
And this expression?
