Chapter 58 You are a blessing

Chapter 58 You are a blessing

I sit on the edge of my bed, my hands pressed tightly against my face as dread settles deep into my bones. The plaster walls of my bedroom feel like they are closing in on me.

Six months ago, when Raphael and I were still together, his possessiveness had slowly become a rope around my neck. It had started with subtle questions about why I took an extra ten minutes to walk home from school, or why I hadn't answered his text messages within three minutes of receiving them.

Then it escalated. He forced me to download a location-tracking application on my phone under the guise of keeping me safe in our rough neighborhood. He would randomly show up at my old school, standing by the gates with his arms crossed, eyes scanning the crowd to see if any other boy was standing too close to me. When he finally found a text message from a male classmate asking about a group history project, Raph lost his temper. He sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles bled, demanding that I block the number and send him a screenshot to prove it.

When I finally gathered the courage to delete my social media accounts, block his number, and try to breathe, my family made my life a living hell for it. They didn't see the controlling obsession simmering right beneath his polite smiles. They didn't see the way his fingers would tighten around my upper arm just a little too hard whenever I looked away from him. They only saw a rich boy who was willing to humble himself to sit on our mismatched, secondhand sofa and eat our cheap, watered-down meals without turning his nose up.

For seven days straight after the breakup, Leo and my mother tag-teamed me in this very apartment. Their voices would echo through the thin walls until their throats were raw and dry. “You are being ungrateful, Maya,” my mother had scolded, slamming pots into the sink. “You are foolish. You think boys like Raphael grow on trees? He has a secure future, and he adores you.” Leo had been even more furious, accusing me of being selfish, claiming I was throwing away a connection with a wealthy family that could actually help us out of our financial misery. They had gaslit me into believing that I was the dramatic one, that I was the monster for breaking a good boy's heart.

I take a deep, shaky breath, smoothing down the thick fabric of my oversized gray cardigan. I pull the sleeves over my hands, trying to stop the violent trembling in my fingers. I cannot hide in this bedroom forever. The silence in here is only amplifying the panic in my chest. If I don't go out there right now, my mother will eventually lose her patience, walk down the hallway, and drag me out in front of him by my wrist, making the situation a thousand times more humiliating.

I stand up on weak legs, push the bedroom door open, and walk slowly down the short corridor into the kitchen.

The sight that greets me makes my stomach tie itself into a painful knot. Raph has already taken off his black leather motorcycle jacket, draping it carefully over the back of an empty chair. He is wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt that clearly accentuates his broad shoulders and athletic build. He is sitting directly next to Leo at our small, scratched wooden table, leaning in close as they look down at a hockey magazine spread out between them.

Leo is pointing at a full-page spread of a professional match, a rare, genuine laugh escaping his chest. Raph is nodding along perfectly, laughing at Leo’s jokes and clapping him on the shoulder like a supportive, doting brother-in-law.

A few feet away, my mother is leaning over the stove. She is practically humming to herself, her posture lighter and more relaxed than it has been in months, as she stirs a steaming pot of chicken stew. The savory aroma fills the small apartment, but to me, the air feels toxic.

The exact moment my plastic soles hit the linoleum floor, Raph’s head snaps up. His dark eyes lock directly onto mine across the small space. For a fraction of a second, the polite, golden-boy mask slips from his face as a victorious satisfaction gleams in his eyes. He looks at me the exact way a hunter looks at a prey that has finally wandered back into the center of a steel trap. He looks at me like I am property that has finally been returned to its rightful owner.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the expression vanishes as a sweet, humble, boy-next-door smile returns to his face. He stands up from the wooden chair quickly, smoothing down the front of his dark jeans with his palms, acting like the perfect gentleman.

"Hey, Maya," he says softly. His voice is laced with a rehearsed, gentle sadness that makes my skin crawl. He takes a half-step toward me, keeping his posture loose and unthreatening. "It's really good to see you. You look... you look beautiful, Maya."

"Sit down, Raphael, you don't have to stand up for her," my mother chides gently, walking over from the counter with a wicker basket filled with fresh bread. She turns her head and glares at me, her eyes shooting a strict warning. "Maya, don't just stand there like a statue. Go to the cupboard and set the plates for dinner. Help me out."

I do not say a word. I keep my head down, my vision fixed on the floor as I move silently toward the upper cupboard. My hands feel numb as my fingers wrap around four mismatched ceramic plates. I pull them out, holding them against my chest like a shield, before walking over to the small table.

I begin placing them down one by one. First in front of my mother's empty chair, then in front of Leo, who doesn't even look up from his magazine because he is so engrossed in what Raph was saying. When I finally reach Raph’s side of the table, I actively try to keep as much distance between our bodies as humanly possible, leaning over just enough to drop the ceramic plate onto the wood.

But I am not fast enough.

The moment the plate touches the table, Raph’s hand moves like a striking snake, wrapping tightly around my left wrist. With a brutal jerk, he pins my hand flat against the hard wooden surface of the table.

I flinch, a gasp catching in my throat. My eyes fly to his face, my chest heaving with terror.

My mother’s back is turned to us as she carves the chicken at the counter, the scraping of the knife hiding my gasp. Leo is still staring down at the hockey statistics, his thumb flipping the page.

Nobody sees. Nobody is looking.

Raph looks up at me, his face pleasant. But the grip he has on my wrist is so tight that it cuts off my circulation, his fingers digging into the delicate bones of my arm. It is his own way of saying that he can hurt me whenever he wants, and no one in this room will ever believe me. He leans forward just an inch, his voice dropping whisper that only my ears can catch.