I wake up slowly, not wanting to become fully conscious. The blankets are so heavy and warm, cocooning me, and I snuggle down. The mattress is different. Newer and better. The pillow is different, too. So plush it’s like I’m in a cloud rather than a bed.
It feels amazing.
And it feels wrong.
This isn’t my bed.
My eyes fly open, and I sit up like I’ve been electrocuted. I hold the blankets around myself, looking at the room, remembering everything that happened last night. I swallow, my throat tight and dry, as I stare ahead through the open doorway that leads into Elio’s room.
I don’t see him, but it almost doesn’t matter. The sight of him standing there, a shadowy figure illuminated only by the glow of light spilling from my room, is burned into my brain from last night.
My whole body flushes hot with shame. I stared at him. Like, really stared at him. He undressed, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of him, off of the thick bulge beneath the smooth black fabric of his underwear. And then, when he took those off…
I groan, burying my head in my hands. What the fuck is wrong with me? When his cock was out, huge and long, my heart was going absolutely ballistic. Part of it was fear, but a larger part, a part I want to run away from and deny, was wondering how hot and smooth his skin there would feel under my fingertips.
It’s a completely different reaction from when I was with Brian. When I was in Brian’s bedroom that night, I’d been completely repulsed by him and the situation. It was like my entire body shut down with the fear. Everything turning to ice.
Elio is a thousand times more dangerous than a guy like Brian. There’s no denying the huge, masculine threat of him – the power in that muscled, scarred body. So my response to him doesn’t make sense. I shouldn’t have been staring at his half-hard dick, wondering what it would look like fully erect. I should have been terrified out of my wits. But I wasn’t frozen, my blood cold in my veins. I felt like I was on fire.
I’m not as scared of Elio as I should be. And that is fucking dangerous.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and rub. My eyes feel dry and grainy, and I’m dying for something to drink.
The sound of a door opening, then a clattering, rolling sound, makes my head jerk up. I relax slightly when I see that it’s not Elio, but rather a short, round woman with greying hair tied in a bun at the back of her head. She’s pushing a cart on wheels, and I gawk at the feast laid out on the tray on top.
“Breakfast, breakfast!” she says in a thick Italian accent. “Food. Caffè.”
“Hello,” I say tentatively as the woman brings the cart to a stop beside the bed. There are pastries, warm slices of buttered toast, a cup of yogurt drizzled with honey, and what looks like espresso in a small cup. I could definitely go for some caffeine right now, but I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker.
“Do you have tea, by any chance? Irish breakfast?”
The woman looks at me like I just spat on her mother’s grave.
Coffee it is. It was probably stupid for me to ask for something else, anyway. I’m not a guest here. I’m a prisoner.
I pick up the small cup and take a tentative sip, wincing at the bitterly strong flavour that coats my tongue. The woman is watching me and mutters something in Italian that sounds kind of judgmental. She sighs and plants her hands on her hips then says, “Tomorrow, caffè macchiato? Some milk?”
I nod and smile weakly. “Maybe with some sugar?”
She snorts and tosses her hands up in a resigned sort of gesture.
“Thank you,” I say, not wanting to offend her further when clearly my taste in drinks already has. I can’t afford to push away any allies, even if they work for Elio. “I’m Deirdre.”
“Sì, sì, I know,” she says as she unloads the food onto the bedside table.
“What’s your name?” I ask her, though she doesn’t really seem up for much conversation. I take another swig of the espresso as an expression of goodwill, hoping it will encourage her.
“Rosa. I cook for Mr. Titone. Clean. Keep the house nice.” At those last words, she glares at the doorway that leads into the bathroom, noticing the chunks of plaster and flakes of paint left behind by Elio’s hammer rampage. She opens the cupboard-like doors on her cart and takes out a small handheld vacuum, marching over to the mess like a soldier. For someone who’s got to be at least sixty, she attacks the mess with gusto, grumbling in Italian the entire time.
Now that she’s preoccupied and won’t notice, I put down the espresso. Thankfully, there’s also a glass of ice water, and I chug it. Rosa finishes vacuuming, then returns to her cart for a rag and a spray bottle, heading for the bathroom.
I realize at that moment I desperately have to pee. For some reason I don’t think Rosa would take it well if I went in there and interrupted her cleaning process.
Which means crossing my legs and waiting. Or…
Or using his bathroom.
I said I would last night. And he told me to go ahead. Rosa didn’t greet anyone on that side when she came through with the tray, so I’m sure that Elio isn’t over there.
Now that I’m aware of how full my bladder is, I can’t ignore it. I didn’t go before bed, and between the champagne last night and the water this morning I’m bursting.
I slide out of bed, padding across the room in my bare feet. I hesitate in the doorway, but a quick glance around tells me I was right. Elio isn’t here. I sigh at the lack of door on his bathroom, and swear when I see yet another camera in there, just like the one in mine. I’d hoped that his bathroom wouldn’t have one, but no dice. I can’t imagine someone like Elio lets other guys sit around watching him on the toilet, so I keep everything crossed that no one’s actively watching this feed right now. Even so, I grab a towel from a nearby rack and wrap it around myself as I shimmy my pyjama shorts down with one hand, then perch on the toilet.
I realize too late that the towel is slightly damp. It smells like Elio’s fancy cologne, along with another scent, the spice of men’s soap. He obviously used this towel after his shower this morning, and now I’m wrapped in it, the same fabric that was rubbed on his naked body covering my bare legs and pussy.
I should fucking pee on it. Use it as toilet paper, I think bitterly. But I don’t believe that would send much of a message to Elio considering it would probably be Rosa who has to clean it up.
Holding the towel in place with one hand, I quickly wipe then hop down, flushing the toilet then awkwardly hiking up my shorts under the towel. As I do so, I glare at the camera, not quite brave enough to flip it the bird.
I let the towel fall to the floor and then wash my hands before putting it back on the rack. When I emerge from the bathroom, Rosa is busy stripping my bed.
No, not my bed, I remind myself quickly. Just the bed I slept in.
Even though I have nowhere else to go, I feel like I’ll be in Rosa’s way if I go back in there. Instead, I wander around Elio’s room, perusing the books and stopping in front of the music system with its small shelf of CDs. I wondered about those CDs last night. About why he has them. Curiosity getting the best of me, I lean forward to examine the sides of the cases. There are no labels on the sides – they’re just generic, plain plastic cases. Frowning, I take one of the cases off the shelf.
And I fucking freeze.
Because I recognize this CD. I recognize the shitty, almost homemade-looking label on the front with its curly font.
Maeve’s Music School
August Performance
Shaking, I take all the other CDs off the shelf, more than ten of them, and sit on the floor, shuffling through them like they’re cards. They’re all recordings of Maeve’s Music School performances. The school where I teach violin.
Because I’m a teacher, not a student, I don’t perform at every recital or concert. As I look at the dates on the labels, I realize that Elio only has recordings of the recitals I played at over the past year and a half.
These CDs were only available to purchase at the concerts themselves. Which means…
He was there.
At every single public music performance I’ve had over the past year and a half, he was there. Listening. Watching me. And I had no fucking idea.
I drop the CDs like they’ve burned me, confusion turning my stomach upside down. I wondered why he took me, why he wanted me when he could afford to hire any musician in this city. But more and more I’m starting to understand that, for some reason, it has to be me. Elio has been watching me for far longer than I could have ever comprehended.
Why? Is he a stalker?
Don’t stalkers do other stuff, though? Like break into your house and move things around? Steal your panties? Shouldn’t they do something other than just skulk in the shadows of your public music performances?
I have no idea what any of this means. I grab all the CDs and shove them back on the shelf, hurrying out of the room. Rosa looks like she’s just finishing up, piling bedding in a basket attached to the side of the cart. As she passes me with the cart and heads out towards the hallway, I notice Elio’s jacket on top of the heap. With a jolt, I wonder what’s become of my ripped dress and panties on the bathroom floor. One look in the bathroom tells me they’re gone, no doubt in Rosa’s basket.
What was that about stalkers stealing panties?
I grit my teeth, humiliation making my skin prickle and heat. It’s fine. She’s just collecting the laundry. She might throw away the ruined dress, but I’ll get my underwear back.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.