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I still can’t find it in me to believe that he’s going to let me go, even with his conditions. This man is the epitome of whiplash and if he’s shown me anything, it’s to not trust him. So when Mariella comes into my room an hour later to grab my tray and bring me some sweet bread, I have no choice but to ask her.
“Did you really tell Marco to let me go?” I ask, sitting across from her at the small coffee table by the window, sipping the war cup of tea that she brought me.
“Yes,” she says without pause, her eyes on me as she speaks.
“And you really think that he’s going to?” I ask.
“Yes. Even if it’s not in the way that you imagined, it’s better than staying here, right?” She asks, my head shaking immediately as I stare at the light of the moon from the window.
“I don’t know. Quite honestly, I don’t see how it’ll be any different,” I wonder how it could even be possible to try to escape from his eye once I’m released.
“It’ll be different because you’ll be away from him. You’ll be able to think clearly without his… confusion,” she says, choosing the words carefully.
I feel like she knows that there is something going on between us. I mean, how can she not? She’s his mother and surely she sees the effect that his actions have on me, the confusion and the overwhelming emotions that he makes me feel.
But then I also wonder why she wants me to be able to think clearly. Is that her way of saying that I should still plot my escape? Does his own mother think I have a shot at leaving this nightmare once and for all?
“Ultimately, Lori, you will do what is right for you. If that means listening to him and following his orders, so be it. If that means giving it your all and refusing to give up, so be it. You control your destiny. Not anyone else,” she says, confirming my wonder after all.
When she gets up to grab my tray and dishes, I grab her hand before she can leave.
“Mariella…thank you. For everything. I think I would’ve given up a long time ago if I didn’t have you here,” I say honestly, her hand wrapping around mine before giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Time has a funny way of making unexplainable things happen. So let time run its course,” she says, bending to kiss my forehead before she leaves the room.
I get up and walk to the fireplace after she leaves, turning it on before I grab the camera from the table beside it. I run my fingers along it, getting used to the feel and the buttons before I sit down in the arm chair between the bed and the fireplace, snapping a photo of the flames as my mind desperately tries to cling onto hope.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Lori
I stayed awake the majority of the night, taking shots of the room with only the light of the fireplace and a few candles. I usually require optimal lighting around me, as well as nature and sound to focus on, but this was a new aesthetic that I didn’t mind playing with. Mostly because this is my only option. It’s not like I can roam around the house or go outside. I’m technically still a prisoner, even with my new bit of freedom.
You better get used to this, Lori. It’s how it’ll be forever. Except you’ll just be in a foreign country that you won’t even know the name of.
I try not to get angry when the thought enters my head. It's not the first one anyway. All night my brain has been going back and forth between possibilities of escape once I am free, or if I should just accept the fate that I have been dealt. Every time an intrusive or worried thought would enter, I’d angle the camera somewhere in the room and would take a picture.
When it’s darker, it’s hard for me to see details and right now, I wish I could submit the photos to see what would come of them. To see if they actually hold some sort of artistic value or if they’re just a bunch of shadowed shots of nothingness.
After hours of taking pictures and battling with my brain, I collapsed on the bed and passed out, not even waking when Mariella brought me breakfast and tea. In fact, I’m chewing on a piece of cold toast when Marco walks in, a grunt leaving his lips when he closes the door and leans back against it.
“You look like the dead,” he says with a dark chuckle, my eyes rolling in response.
“How kind of you,” I mumble, swallowing my toast before I finish my water and stand, stretching my limbs before I wander towards the chair near the fireplace.
I can feel his eyes on me the entire time and when I sit down for a few minutes, letting the flames warm my body, he moves to sit next to me on the adjacent chair.
“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks, resting his hand on the stack of books he gave me that sit on the table between us.
I smirk, unable to stop the shaking of my head as a chuckle slips past my lips.
“What?” He asks, with a seriousness in his tone.
I shrug. “Nothing. I just don’t know why you gave books to a blind girl, that's all,” I say, tilting my head to the side so that I can look at his blurry outline.
He’s wearing another dark suit today, his hair swept back and his face cleanly shaven. He looks back to his normal, menacing self, except for the thick glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose.
He’s quiet for a moment and then all of a sudden, he throws his head back and starts laughing. A full on, deep belly laugh. I can’t help but smile in response. As frustrated as I am with him right now, as much as I hate him, I can’t help the flutter of my stomach when I hear his laugh. It makes my cheeks heat, my heart race and my face hurt from smiling so wide.
