Just like I agreed, I stayed in the apartment for the next two days. And to my relief, Judas kept his distance. If it looked like it. Or should I say, he was too busy in whatever business he was running, to spend more than an hour in the apartment.
He'd come late at night, and I would pretend to sleep, every muscle in my body taut with the fear of his touch. But he wouldn't take me. Not again. Instead, he would sit in that same chair, in the corner, cradling a glass of wine as if it were a sacred ritual. His eyes, even through the darkness, I could feel on me, cold and calculating. The hours dragged as I lay there, my body healing but my soul flayed open, raw and exposed. He was a man of habits, and this habit of watching, of claiming without action, had become part of our twisted routine.
When he did touch me, it was like a branding iron-quick, sharp, meant to leave a mark.
His kisses were devoid of warmth, his hands unforgiving as they roamed my body with a possessive force that made me hate every inch of my skin.
He was shameless, a creature driven by lust and power, and his words-filthy, degrading-clung to me long after he was gone. But it was the absence of violence that unsettled me the most. It kept me guessing, kept me on the edge of a precipice, never knowing when he might shove me over.
It had been two days since I lost my freedom, and my dignity too. I was still recovering from his brutal fucking. Yesterday when I sat on the toilet, my core throbbed painfully, and I thought he might have tore it. Fortunately, it wasn't the scene.
Kyle brought my things from the dorm. Along with my books and other items. Except for my clothes. I didn't know where they were. Only clothes I had were the ones Judas got for me. Sweaters, jeans, trousers, and expensive looking coats and scarves.
I should be grateful. But I was not. The more he was doing things for me, the more I loathed him. Not a second went by I didn't think of him. For bad reasons though. I was always on edge around him. He was unpredictable and unhinged. There was no knowing what his next move would be.
The apartment was silent and it was a suffocating kind of silence, punctuated only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. I could feel it pressing down on me like a constant reminder of the two days that had bled into each other, indistinguishable in their misery.
I forced myself to get up, though my body screamed in protest.
I was weak, weaker than I'd ever been, and the distance to the kitchen felt insurmountable. But I pushed forward, one agonizing step at a time. The kitchen was cold, the tiled floor unyielding beneath my bare feet. I glanced at the stove, knowing I should eat, should try to keep my strength, but the sight of food only turned my stomach.
Still, I reached for the bread, letting it drop into the pan. The butter sizzled, and I watched as it burned, blackening at the edges, a charred reminder of the futility of it all. I wasn't cooking. I was surviving. The smell of the burnt toast filled the air, acrid and bitter, and I forced myself to take a bite, the taste as awful as I had imagined. I chewed mechanically.
"Not hungry?" Kyle's voice cut through the silence. I hadn't heard him enter, but there he was, leaning against the doorway, watching me.
"What does it look like?" I shot back, my voice a rasp. He didn't answer, just continued to watch, his gaze heavy with something I couldn't place. Pity? No, that wasn't it.
"You're angry." It wasn't a question.
"Brilliant deduction, Kyle." My sarcasm was a flimsy shield, and I knew it. But it was all I had left. I no longer cared if I'd get punished.
"He's not here to hurt you."
I laughed, a short, bitter sound. "Is that what he told you? To keep an eye on me and make sure I know how generous he's being?"
"You should eat something more than that." He nodded toward the sandwich in my hand, now cold and unappetizing.
I threw it into the sink, the clatter louder than I intended. "Doesn't matter."
"It does." There was a firmness in his tone, a command that reminded me of Judas in its own way, and it made me hate him a little too. He didn't understand. None of them did.
I turned away from him, hating the way my hands shook as I gripped the counter for support. "Leave me alone, Kyle."
He didn't move, and for a moment, I thought he might push it, might try to convince me to talk, to open up in a way that would expose everything I was desperately trying to hold together.
But he just watched, his eyes narrowed slightly, before turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the silence, the burnt toast, and the gnawing sense that I was slowly coming undone.
I sighed and tossed the sandwich into the dustbin, feeling its weight in my chest more than in my foot. The window drew me and the cold glass a barrier between my world and the one outside. The city moved, indifferent to my suffering.
People with lives, with purpose, walked the streets. I watched them, feeling a distance so vast it was almost incomprehensible. I envied their ignorance, their freedom.
My thoughts spiraled, dark and consuming. I questioned everything. How did I end up here, a puppet in Judas's hands? What was left of me? Each day in this apartment stripped me of something vital, something irreplaceable. I wondered if I would ever get it back, or if I was doomed to become nothing more than a hollow shell.
The sudden ringing of the phone broke the silence. I froze, the sound jarring, before recognizing the number. It was my mother. Relief washed over me, though it was tainted with a dread I couldn't shake.
I answered, my voice strained. "Hello, Mama."
Her voice came through, warm and bright. "Darling, I received more money today! Thank you, thank you so much. I'm so proud of you, working so hard."
The words stabbed at me, sharp and merciless. How could I tell her? How could I explain that the money she praised was a poison, that I hadn't earned it, but sold pieces of my soul for it?
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I'm glad you're okay, Mama."
She continued, oblivious to the pain in my voice. "I was so worried when you left, but now… now I see you're doing well. It means everything to me."
I wanted to scream, to tell her the truth. That I wasn't working, I was surviving. That this money wasn't earned, it was thrown at me, soaked in degradation. But the words wouldn't come. I couldn't destroy her happiness, her pride in me.
"I'm doing what I can," I said instead, hating myself for the lie.
"You're my brave girl," she said, her voice full of love. "I know you'll go far."
I couldn't bear it. "Mama, I-"
She cut me off, her tone light. "Don't worry about me, darling. I'm fine now, thanks to you-"
Her words drifted into background as a sudden chill ran down my spine. My body stiffened and so did my thoughts. I was facing the glass window but I could tell… the monster was here. I didn't had to look back. I knew he was there.
The lump in my throat became hard to swallow as I lowered the phone. My mothers voice still could be heard through the phone but I could care less. Clearing my throat and taking a deep breath, I turned my head to meet his pale indifferent gaze.
The kind that always froze me.
Last time I saw him was last night, sitting on the chair and somewhere I fell asleep and couldn't recall when he left. My broken foot was an excuse for him to not touch me and I was glad he at least let me have this time to myself.
Pale eyes moved to the phone in my hand and I quickly cut the call. I'd make an excuse later. I didn't know what he was here for, so I kept sitting just staring at him.
Judas let his eyes take over me with that shameless expression. "I'm leaving for Italy,"
I blinked, processing his words. "Oh."
"Tomorrow." His gaze didn't waver. "I'll be gone for some time."
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Alright."
"Youll have this apartment to yourself."
The relief that should have come with his words was tainted by suspicion. "For how long?"
He shrugged, a casual gesture that belied the weight of the situation and walked towards me. "As long as it takes."
I didn't dare ask what "it" was. Instead, I nodded, unsure of what else to say.
He took a step closer, and I forced myself not to move, not to show the discomfort that pulsed through me. His eyes locked onto mine, searching, calculating.
"Don't get too comfortable," he added, his voice dropping a notch. "I'll be back."
Judas's words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. His presence had a way of turning even the most mundane statements into something sinister.
He moved closer, each step deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. I didn't flinch, though every instinct screamed at me to do so. His eyes, cold and calculating, never left mine. They were the eyes of a man who saw people as possessions, and I was no exception.
"Don't get too comfortable," he repeated, his voice now a low, almost dangerous murmur. "I'll be back."
He was close enough that I could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something dark and overwhelming, much like him. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against my cheek, sending a jolt through my body. But it wasn't affection-it was ownership, a reminder of what I was to him.
"Did you miss me?" he asked, his voice taking on an almost mocking tone. His thumb traced the line of my jaw, and I fought the urge to pull away. "Even a little?"
The question was a trap. Any answer would only feed his twisted sense of control. I kept silent, my heart pounding in my chest.
He leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "I think you did," he whispered, the words sending a shiver down my spine. "I think you like having me around, even if you won't admit it."
The breath hitched in my throat. He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "It's okay to admit it," he said, his tone almost coaxing. "You'll feel better once you do."
"I don't-" The words died in my throat as his hand tightened its grip on my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"Shh," he whispered, a mockery of tenderness. "No need to lie. We both know the truth."
His grip loosened, and he brushed his thumb over my lower lip, his gaze following the motion. "You've been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you," he said, his voice soft yet laced with something dark. "And that won't change, whether I'm here or in Italy."
He straightened, but his gaze never left me, as if he was memorizing the sight of me before he left. "Don't forget it," he added, his voice carrying a subtle warning.
As he turned to leave, I could finally breathe again, the air rushing into my lungs like a lifeline. But before he reached the door, he paused, glancing over his shoulder with that same twisted smile. "I'll be watching you," he said, the words dripping with possessiveness. "So be good while I'm gone. And get ready, I'll be taking you out on dinner tonight."