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“I like hearing that she treated you well, little doe.” Jordan clarifies, “If she hadn’t, I would make sure to find her. You know what I would do?”
I shake my head, more tears and hiccups following.
“I’d kill her for hurting my little doe,” he says. Goosebumps torture my skin, and my heart goes numb. “Next time you think you don’t deserve me, think about all the blood I’ve got on my hands. Innocent and well-deserved.”
Removing myself from his embrace, I stand on wobbly feet. The world is spinning, and eyes are watching. I’m positive that I’ve ruined my reputation. The Velasquez family will surely take their daughter to see a new doctor since I’m such a mess.
I rub my eyes, wiping away the tears.
Jordan watches me without making a sound. He doesn’t move.He doesn’t understand. Before the sobs can return, I escape the VIP section. I head for the bathrooms, hoping to wash off the silly cream. I don’t want to be horny right now.
It makes it all worse.
None of my friends are parents. I don’t know why I felt triggered at the sight of Mrs. Velasquez. Perhaps it was the fact that she’s an obedient object, loyal to her man, her owner. She’d do anything for him. She doesn’t have a choice. Mary, their daughter, has told me all about their dynamics. They live the Katantian life.Till death do us part.
Back in London, that sentence doesn’t mean much.
Honor? I have none.
I can’t find my way to the bathrooms. I must have missed the sign. I’m trapped in a dark corner of the dance floor, surrounded by couples that are fucking. I can hear the amount of lube used in this room, and it frightens me. I didn’t think that things would turn out like this. I’m scared to breathe.
What is happening to me?
It’s an episode. I don’t have them often because I manage to compartmentalize quite well. Nothing on Katantia reminds me of my childhood, how I grew up. Apart from my work, there is no connection to London. Not even my name is real. Kamila granted me a new name when I received my work visa five years ago.
My stomach flips, and I feel the need to sit down. There are no chairs near me, just a sticky wall that I don’t want to touch. I don’t want to imagine the come stains that dirty it. My breathing’s shallow, and I doubt that I can stand on my feet for much longer. I lean against the wall, and I slide to the floor.
The people around me don’t let me distract them. They keep up the fucking, the urgent thrusts. I can hear their skin connect and clash. I heave and retch, emptying my stomach on the cold floor.
The bitter taste in my mouth is an old friend of mine. We used to do this back in London. I’d be stuffed full, and then I’d empty the contents all over a perfect and polished porcelain sink. I lick my lips, relishing in the memories. It’s absurd to celebrate this moment. It’s my downfall. I know that.
It’s abnormal to feel this content when you’ve just spilled your guts. It’s also the reason why all of this stopped. I haven’t thrown up in five years. It became addictive to a point where I was about to hire a nutritionist for myself. It wasn’t about the food or the come… It was me thinking I had control over my body.
“Ivy?”
My eyes find Jordan’s feet, covered by his impeccable Off-White shoes. They’re almost twice the size of my foot, and they’re real leather. I can smell it. There is not a single spot of dirt on them. How does he manage to keep his white shoes so clean?
I feel like I’ve shrunk into a corn of sand. I can’t muster the strength to move.
“Get up from the floor,” he demands. I shake my head. “What’s wrong with you?”
I hide my face behind my hands because I don’t want to see anything. I’ve licked away the remnants of the awful taste in my mouth. There’s a puddle of puke right next to me. I stink. I’m not shaking, but my insides are twisting into knots.
“We’re leaving. I’m going to pick you up, and I’ll drag you out of here by your hair if I have to,” he warns me, stepping closer. I flinch in response, and he curses under his breath. Jordan takes a moment to himself. Then he grabs me, hoisting me up with my back against the wall. His hands grip my hips, holding me hostage.
I feel watched again. Jordan attracts attention because of his status and his physique. I want to touch his every surface, sink into his soul. Grab a piece of his heart and make it mine. I hope there’s space for me there.
“Speak. Now.” He’s never used that voice on me. It’s menacing. It forecasts dire consequences. It’s deep, and it penetrates your being. I’ve seen nothing compared to this man, yet I feel like my crime is the worst.
My crime is personal.
“I hurt mymom. I took from her,” I blurt out.
“I know.”
My stomach drops. “What do you know?”
“I know everything there is to know about you, my needy little doe,” Jordan reveals. His body is towering above me, hiding the rest of the club. He confines my existence to his. “I know where you went to school. Who you dated. Who your friends were. How often you went to Cyprus, Greece, and Italy with the daughter of… Never mind. I’ve traced your first-ever paycheck at a retail store on Oxford Street. I know the name of your real parents, something that you don’t because you don’t want to know them. I know everything that’s ever been documented about you. Every single trace you’ve dropped, whether accidentally or on purpose, I’ve picked it up.”
