a dreadful dream

FRANCESCA

His hair is slick and wet, catching the light. He’s swapped his navy blue suit for a pair of sweatpants. I’m grateful for the change. I don’t think I could handle another reminder of what happened while he was wearing that suit.

At least he’s had the decency to clean up.

Me? I’m just standing here in my towel. I wish I’d stayed in the bathroom, hidden from his gaze. Now he can see the marks that man left on me.

I feel dirty, ashamed, as if it’s my fault. It’s not. I know that, but it doesn’t stop the feeling. I don’t want anyone to touch me.

I want to avoid everyone. Their mere presence makes my skin crawl, even Antonio. Especially Antonio.

He’s looking at me, silent, as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with me. His face is a blank slate. All I can see is the man who just killed two people without a second thought.

But I can’t look away. I’m scared to offend him, scared of meeting the same fate.

“Ever seen a murder, Francesca?” he finally asks. I look down, not because I have to, but because I can’t bear to meet his eyes.

How can he ask me that so casually? As if it’s a normal thing? I’ve never known normal.

With Sophia and her family, I got a glimpse of what normal could be. Thinking of Sophia, I remember I need to text her.

“Almost. I heard one happen and then saw the body, but I never saw it happen,” I say, clutching my towel to make sure it doesn’t slip.

He hums in response. “Didn’t know you were a virgin to this.”

“Burning a man alive and forcing an innocent woman to suicide is wrong. Of course I was kept away from this!” I snap my mouth shut. What have I done?

Silence. A silence so deep it feels like death. I don’t dare look up to see the rage in his eyes.

“I suppose,” he finally says, his voice giving nothing away. “But it doesn’t bother me like it does you, Francesca.”

This time, when he says my name, there are no butterflies. Instead, it feels like a warning.

It’s as if he’s telling me he’s disappointed in my reaction, in my inability to hide my emotions. But shouldn’t he realize that this is all wrong? That I can only handle so much?

Women aren’t supposed to be involved in this business and he knows that. So why does he expect me to be okay with it? He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand what I’m feeling, what I’m going through. He’s just like everyone else.

“You wanted Jasmine, so why kill her?” I can’t keep my mouth shut. Despite my fear and disappointment, I still feel a pang of jealousy at the thought of him with another woman.

Whatever this is between us, I want to be his only one.

“Yes, I did.” He doesn’t even deny it. “But not for the reasons you’re thinking.”

“Then why did you choose her?” I snap, looking up to meet his gaze.

Antonio narrows his eyes at my tone. “Don’t use that tone, ~la mia bambola~,” he warns. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

I lower my gaze, but my expression remains defiant. He’s a man. He could easily overpower me without a second thought, and I can’t handle any more trauma.

I need to be smart. I need to outmaneuver the master of manipulation. Even a small victory would mean a lot.

“Sorry,” I whisper. Truth is, I’m not sorry. Not at all. And he knows it.

I wait for him to leave, or at least do something. I flinch when I hear a drawer opening but I don’t look at him.

I can’t, because every time I do, I’m reminded of the burning man and the hopeless look on Jasmine’s face.

I see his feet enter my line of vision. I gasp when he pulls a shirt over my head, then yanks off the towel. I’m not comfortable anymore. I won’t be until I’m fully covered.

“She knew your name, Francesca. She knew who you were,” he says, helping me push my arms into the long, cozy shirt that reaches just above my knees.

“I couldn’t risk her living with that information. She had to die.”

It’s still wrong, but I let that information sink in. How hadn’t I realized that before? But still, killing her wasn’t right. It wasn’t her fault.

“But what about the other people who heard her say my name?” I’m suddenly scared for all those girls in there who heard Jasmine. They all heard my name too.

He rubs my arms with his warm hands, making the goosebumps disappear. “They didn’t know you, ~bambola~. She did.”

I nod. It makes sense, even though it’s very illegal and wrong. “When you said you wanted her, you didn’t mean it in that way?” I can’t believe I’m asking this. He wouldn’t have raped her.

His lips tilt up a bit into an almost-smile. “And what is that way, my wife?”

“You know what I mean,” I mutter, feeling a bit of relief. Knowing that he wasn’t going to rape her makes me feel a little calmer.

I can’t get Jasmine’s face out of my mind, but I know there’s no point in being angry at him. I know that if anyone discovered my identity, they’d be killed, friend or foe.

I can’t be mad at him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not hurt. I just feel disappointed. An innocent life was lost because of crimes she didn’t commit. She didn’t deserve that. No one does.

He looks at me before speaking in a surprisingly soft tone. “Get some sleep, ~bambola~.”

“Sure thing,” I respond, playing the part of the dutiful wife. I don’t have anything else on my plate, but I’m not in the mood to chat with him. He’s my husband, but he hasn’t earned my words.

***

“Would you like a chocolate?” a man named Anthony asks.

My father stands behind him, a twisted smile on his face. I’m lost. Where am I? Why is he offering me a chocolate?

I’m only thirteen. Why does he look like he’s in a black and white photo? Why does everything look that way?

“No…” I start to say.

His eyes turn cold. “You will have a chocolate!”

“Why…?” I ask, giving him a puzzled look.

He grins. “Because it’ll make you like me.”

Is he out of his mind?

My father finally speaks up. “Back off, Anthony. She’s taken. He’ll roast you alive if you lay a finger on her.”

“But he wouldn’t know, would he? Besides, she’s not engaged yet—”

“He knows everything. And my little girl is my golden ticket. I’m not about to risk that for your lack of self-control.”

Suddenly, the scene shifts. I’m in a different room. It’s dark and chilly. My bare feet touch the cold marble floor.

“H-hello?” I stutter.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I see a man. But my relief quickly turns back into fear. Is he a rapist? A murderer? Is he my father?

I cautiously approach the stranger. His back is to me. I can tell he’s smoking from the smoke curling up in front of him.

“Excuse me?” I call out.

When he doesn’t respond, I have no choice but to tap his shoulder. A scream escapes me when the man falls backward. I quickly back away, only to trip over another body—a woman’s body.

Her face is a mess of scars and blood. It looks like someone smashed her head in. I look away, feeling sick, but the man catches my eye.

His face has been burned off.

***

A scream rips from my throat. Fear grips me as I find myself surrounded by darkness. Where are the bodies? Where am I?

Something soft brushes against my bare legs. My hands flail around, searching for a light. I feel something move next to me and I scramble away.

I squint as the lights flicker on. There are no bodies. There’s no basement. I’m in my room. It was all a dream. Tears stream down my face as sobs shake my body.

“W-why?” I stutter. “Wh-why w-would you s-show m-me…?” I can’t even finish the sentence.

I lean against the headboard, pulling my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I bury my face in my knees, but I can’t close my eyes.

My sobs are filled with terror. I hear him moving. I don’t want to be alone. I look up to see him standing in front of me. He furrows his brows, deep in thought, before sitting down.

I’m grateful that he sits back, giving me space. I can’t handle being close to anyone right now. Even if he is my husband.

I bury my face back in my knees, unable to look at him.

“What I did can never be justified. I know that, ~bambola~. But I did what I had to do,” he finally says.

Anger flares up inside me. “What do you mean?” I snap. “Why would you s-show me something you knew would b-break me?”

He doesn’t even flinch, and I hate how calm he is. “You had to see it,” he whispers.

“Why?” I wipe the tears from my cheeks. I don’t want to cry in front of him anymore.

“Because this is just the beginning. The most you can do is prepare.”