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Instead, I turn over, tuck my knees to my chest and wait for sleep to claim me once more. I close my eyes and do exactly what he said; I accept my fate. And when he marches out of the room and slams the door behind him, sleep finally comes.
However, it does not last long. When the afternoon sun slowly peeks through the room, Mariella wakes me with a tray full of untouched food in her hands.
“Child, what’s wrong? You didn’t touch your breakfast,” she says, but I can’t find the words to respond, I just lay there with my back turned to her.
“It’s almost three in the afternoon and you’re still in bed, Lori. Sit up and talk to me. What is it? Did Marco do something? Did he... Did he touch you? I swear to God if that boy didn’t listen—”
“No,” I say abruptly, quietly.
She falls silent as my back remains turned to her, the sound of the tray shifting in her arms as I lay motionless on the bed. She leans over to brush my hair back, whispering for me to rest before she turns and leaves the room.
I don’t look after her when she goes. I don’t have the urge to cry when she’s gone. I just curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut, falling into the blackness once more.
* * *
I’m not sure how much time passes. It feels like it’s all blended together at this point. I do know that it has been several days because both Marco and Mariella have been in and out of the room, bringing me food and carrying out the untouched trays.
“Are you sure you don’t want any food in particular, Lori? Anything I can make for you?” Mariella asks, my eyes closing as she walks in the room and tries to speak to me.
“No, Mariella,” I say, my voice blank and void of all emotion. “Thank you,” I mumble, turning away on the bed and resting in that same spot until she leaves.
When Marco visits, he’s frustrated the first few times. He tries to pull my body and get a rise out of me, but nothing happens. I just allow him to move me and curse at me without any sort of response, which always brings the same fiery reaction from him, which is throwing me back down on the bed before he marches out of the room. Mariella usually will come hours later, always with fresh flowers. At first, she would try to coax me out, to ask questions or tell me stories, but even if I had a response for her, it never became more than a lifeless thank you from my lips.
This must have gone on for at least four days because eventually when Mariella came back for the fourth time, she pulled me from the bed and sat me up. She then tried to force feed me, but I would turn my head away after a few bites, my stomach growling in protest but my mind not in the mood for food. She gave me water and told me that she was going to help me clean myself. When we got to the bathroom she asked if it was okay if she ran me a bath, but I didn’t respond. She ran one anyway. She then asked if I could undress, which I did without realizing, her back turned to me before she grabbed my hand and helped me into the water.
She washed me carefully, scrubbing my hair with soft fingers while I stared blankly at the bathroom wall, the water not even warming me. When she was finished, she helped me out and allowed me privacy to dry myself before she brought in a fresh pair of leggings and a t-shirt. They were both my size, albeit too large on me. I can’t remember the last time I wanted a full meal, so I must have lost weight because of this. Not that it mattered since I was going to die anyway. If you ask me, I’m just speeding up the process for Marco and making it a little easier. How thoughtful of me, really.
She helped me into bed without another word, fluffing my pillows before she laid me down and then tuck me in like a child. Sometimes, she would sit there with me, offering me nothing but her presence. She wouldtell me stories, but I stopped listening, which I think she realized. Even the flowers she brought me seemed to die a lot quicker in my presence, almost like an omen. I think she was just talking to fill the silence. I almost think that she gave up trying just as I have. It’s almost like she’s accepted my fate too. The only person that hasn’t, surprisingly, is Marco, the one that’s created and sealed this fate.
After the day that Mariella bathed me, everything changed. When Marco came to visit, he would stay for longer. He wouldn’t force me to look at him, wouldn’t even touch me. If I was turned in his direction at the time he walked in, he would sit in the chair by my bedside and try to feed me, but I would just end up turning my whole body away from him. He tried to talk about what happened between us nights ago, tried to ask if my body was still sore, but I didn’t respond. When that topic of conversation wouldn’t work, he’d try other routes. He’d try to ask about my photography, about my life before this, but still, I would offer him nothing. Not a grunt, not a nod, not a shrug, nothing. After a while, he started to become desperate.
“Look, you have to eat something, woman. It’s not a choice,” he would say often, but like always, it didn’t earn a response from me.
“At least drink some water, Lori,” he would say.
“Just look at me, Lori,” he’d say desperately, but still, nothing.
“Lori,” he would whisper, hopeless and confused and, even then, I would say nothing.
I would just close my eyes anytime words would leave his full lips, letting the sound of them become static in my ears before I would force myself to fall asleep, blocking out the outside world. I could tell that he was growing frustrated, concerned even about my behavior, but there was nothing any of us could do about it. I’m tired. I am nothing but a hollow cavity waiting quietly for her ending to come, waiting for the darkness to take over completely and leave no room for light ever again. However, when he finally saw how empty I truly was, that’s when his behavior started to change. He then started to bring me things, activities and music, but I touched none of it. I just laid there each day with my back turned to him, mute and lifeless and offering him nothing.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Marco
It’s been three weeks since I’ve taken her virginity and all that she’s offered me is her back turned when I would ask a question. Each day that I visit her, she becomes more and more lifeless. Her eyes have all but sunken in, dark circles formed beneath them even though all she does is sleep or stare blankly at the wall. Her body however, her body is what's haunting me now. With her weight loss, she has become gaunt, almost paper thin, as she refuses any food that is now being forced upon her. When my mother bathed her the other day, she almost cried at the sight of her spine and hip bones, which were practically poking out of her skin.
When she told me that, she was sobbing. She’s been questioning me all week about what I’ve done and even when I give her no answer, she is in disbelief. She swears up and down that Lori has said nothing, that in fact Lori won’t say anything at all. Which doesn’t surprise me, because she won’t even shrug her shoulder at me or shake her head. She won’t fight back, won’t argue, won’t even look at me and when she does, all I see is a ghost of a woman. The bright witch is now long gone and, in her place, lies a black void.
At first, Lori’s behavior only angered me more. I felt as if she was playing a game, trying to get a rise out of me so that she could manipulate me even more, but after days of not eating or drinking or speaking, the worry began to set in. Worry because, in the end, I realized that I don’t want to kill the girl. If anything, she’s now the only one I will eventually set free. I was thinking of eradicating her entire family and telling her to move away, dropping her in a different country with a guard to start a new life. Now, I'm worried she’s going to die of malnourishment. That all of this would be for nothing.
After a few days when I realized that forcing a reaction out of her was not going to work, I decided to try a new tactic. On the fourth night, I brought her books, which sat in the same place for days after. On the fifth morning, I brought her music, which sat untouched along with her food. Later, on the fifth night, I brought her painting supplies, wondering if maybe some color and artistry would revive her. When I realized the next morning that the art supplies sat untouched as well, I started to become even more desperate. I made Diego buy the newest, state of the art camera for her and gave her that as well. I didn’t know how to use the fucking thing, but I was sure that she could figure it out. It was her career for Christ’s sake and her passion, surely that would bring her out of her shell.
But like everything else, it didn’t. She didn’t even look in my direction when I brought it in and told her what it was. She didn’t move or sniff or make any indication that she heard me or cared and after that, I’ve started to become mad. It’s been forty-eight hours since I brought the camera to her room and now, all of her gifts remain sitting in the same pile on her nightstand. She keeps getting thinner and her eyes are now dull to the point where they almost look dark brown instead of hazel. She’s a completely different person and even though I know it’s dangerous to feel for the girl, I can’t help but become frustrated with trying to bring her back to life. I can’t help but crave that brazen little fireball that she once was.
Now, I’m marching around the house in search of my mother. When I walk out into the garden, I find her reading on a bench by the red rose bushes.
“Mother, we need to talk,” I say, rushing to her and sitting down as I fix my glasses.
