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I didn’t think this man was capable of capturing memories, at least not pure ones such as these. A few frames hold photos of him and an older man that shares some of his features, and I assume this is probably his late father. I stop and pick up a gold frame with a black and white photo inside. It is of a young Dante and a beautiful woman. Her hair is long and dark and her eyes stare up at Dante with so much love that it makes my heart stop. Dante stands smiling at the camera, it looks both dazzling and genuine. It would make my heart melt, but for some reason it is filled with some jealousy for the woman that his arm is wrapped around. It could be his sister and I shouldn’t even feel envy for this woman being held by the devil, but for some reason I cannot put this confusing emotion away.
I set the photo down and take a sip of water from the glass that’s still clenched tightly in my hand, walking away from the dresser and towards his desk. I set the water down by his stack of books. The files on his desk look like reports and transactions that I don’t understand. I shuffle through them and can only find sheets of papers with large numbers that do not have any evidence of where they are from or what they are for.
I open a few drawers to his desk and search around, flipping through the files and stopping when I find a small, black box. I pull it out and open it, the contents rendering me speechless. Inside of this box, lies copies of my birth certificate and copies of both mine and my mother’s social security cards. I dig further and find a stack of photos. Photos that contain images ofme.
My fingers are trembling as I flip through the photos. One is of my mom holding me as an infant at a park, one is of me playing in our front yard, there’s one of me at dinner with Ricky’s family at a restaurant, I looked to be of middle school age then. I find photos of me walking out of school, walking into my house, ranging from different ages. I stop and hold a photo of me the day of my high school graduation, and the image must have been taken at least five feet away from me. I am smiling at Ricky, and we are fixing each other's graduation caps. My stomach fills with dread. I feel violated and I want to know why this sick bastard has been tracking and taking photos of me my entire life. More importantly, why did he have them here, shoved away in a box in his bedroom.
“Find anything worthwhile?”
I scream and jump at his voice, knocking the glass of water off the desk and stepping away as it shatters across the floor.
Dante stands in the doorway of his bedroom. He is wearing a dark, tight suit that hugs every muscle on his body and his face looks very angry. I should feel scared right now, but instead I am met with a mix of anger from my findings and desire for the way he looks in that suit right now. I wish I could slap some sense into myself, but instead I fire back at him.
“Yeah actually, evidence of you stalking and photographing me since I was born. What the fuck is this Dante?” I throw my graduation picture to the floor, where it slides in front of his perfect and expensive leather shoes. He doesn’t even bother looking at it, his face is angry and aimed directly at me.
“I think the bigger question is what the fuck are you doing trespassing in my bedroom right now, Esmeralda?” His voice raises and I don’t even flinch. I snort out a harsh laugh and cross my arms, my robe flush against my skin.
“You think you have the right to be angry at me right now? You killed a man in front of me last night, pulled me away from my mother who nearly died on your floor and let’s not forget the most important part: You’ve been spying on me and following me since I was fucking born!”
My voice is shaking with anger and his eyes narrow at me, their usual amber color now black.
“I didn’t kill that man, Esmeralda. Sergio did. And I separated you from the woman that was in hysterics after overdosing in my fucking greenhouse.” He doesn’t even have a response for the evidence of his stalking. He doesn’t even allude to it, and I feel like I’m going to burst into flames because of it. His next words are dark and laced with anger.
“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.” I walk towards him, feeling no more fear. Anger and hatred consume me now, taking over every fiber of my being. I stop in front of him, only inches apart as I stare into his dark, lifeless eyes.
“Why would you shoot someone you’ve been tracking since birth?” His eyes narrowed into slits, and I can see his pulse tick in his thick neck. Veins are practically bulging out and I can tell it’s been a few days since he’s shaved, his beard now thicker and dark. I want to reach up and pull on his hair, but I restrain myself. A few moments later I see him draw a gun from his pocket and point it under my chin, tilting my head up so that our noses almost touch.
I feel his breath washing over me, hot and suffocating. He’s as still as a predator and I do my best not to show any signs of fear. It wasn’t hard to do because I simply didn’t feel it, even with a barrel of a gun touching my jaw. All I could feel was hatred for this man and for the desire I felt when I looked at him. If he really was going to kill me, I had to die knowing what his lips felt like, tasted like. I had to die with this desire put to rest.
His dark eyes widen as I lean forward and press my lips to his, the gun pressing into the skin of my jaw. I feel eternity pass before his eyes close and his lips begin to attack mine, the gun dropping to the floor with a loudthump.
If I could describe the taste and feel of Dante's lips, I’d be describing both heaven and hell. He tastes of citrus and whiskey, and I am immediately a pile of putty before him, soft and compliant. He kisses like the devil, rough and burning. He kisses me like he’s trying to punish me, like he wants to hurt me with his kiss. He bites at me and then soothes it with the heat of his tongue, snaking it into my mouth and dueling it with mine.
His hands pin my arms down to my sides, gripping the fabric of my robe so tight that it falls open. My nipples perk at the meeting of his chest and press into the silk fabric that's covering them. Wetness pools at the meeting of my thighs and my legs tremble. Just as I am about to lose myself completely to this man, he yanks away from me, backing away as if I’ve burned him.
He wipes his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, breath heaving in and out of him like waves. His eyes travel to my breasts, lingering before dragging them up to my mouth. I am shaking because I’m so consumed with lust, so consumed that the look in his eyes takes a while to register.
He stares at me in disgust now, like I repulse him. Like my kiss was poison and I was the witch who made it. I pull my robe tightly around me, covering my body and looking at the ground. My toenails have a worn pink polish chipping away from them, and they look cheap and forgotten. No disgust for him enters my body, which is alarming. All I feel is rejection, sharp and biting at my insides like an animal.
“At least tell me about the man that made me. The man that attacked my mother. The man that killed your father.” I look up from my feet and at him. His back is turned to me and his arms are braced on the doorway, shoulders bunched and tight with anger. He chuckles darkly, it’s short and it bites.
“I should’ve let your mother die. She’s been nothing but an interference, especially with her loudmouth. Which I can see now is where you get that from-”
“But you haven’t.” I cut him off and he turned his head at me, eyeing me darkly.
“You haven’t let her or me die, at least not under your roof. Why is that? Is it the same reason that my mother has been employed at all of your clubs? Is that your sweet way of keeping us afloat?” He hangs his head in silence, sighing audibly.
“Is this all your big attempt at keeping us away from him? Does he even know I’m alive?”
He turns abruptly and begins to charge at me, marching so that he towers over me, expecting me to cower in fear, but I am so fucking tired of fearing men, of fearing anyone.
“You’d kiss Mother Mary’s feet if he didn’t know you existed, pequeña. You have no reason to know of him or even mention him in this house!” This is the loudest that he’s yelled at me. He’s trying to intimidate me, dominate me and drag me away from this topic, but I am not backing down so easily. I’ll die finding the truth.
“How do I not have the right to know about the man that helped create me? How do I not have the right to know about the person that raped my mother and made her into a lifeless, thoughtless creature!”
My voice cracks, but I don’t dare let the tears pull through. I will not show him my weakness or vulnerability. I can cry when I’m alone later, when I don’t have to fucking prove myself to know about the details of my own existence. He backs away from me again, opening up the door and leaving room for me to walk through, his hand gesturing for me to do so.
I stand my ground and cross my arms like a spoiled child. He scoffs and I see his hands ball into fists at his sides, acting like a spoiled child himself. I pick up the graduation photo and walk back to the desk with it. Stuffing it into the box it came from, I put the lid on top and grabbed the box. I walk to Dante and shove it into his stomach, his arm rushing to grasp it.
