Daniel penetrated her slowly. Clara let out a small cry of pain, her body stiffening beneath his.
"It hurts," she whispered, her eyes squeezed shut.
Daniel froze for a moment. "Gently," he said in a low voice, trying to sound reassuring. He waited a few seconds, giving Clara time to get slightly used to the new sensation.
Then, he began to move very slowly. Clara took deep breaths, trying to relax despite the discomfort. She gripped the sheets tighter.
As Daniel moved more gently, Clara's initial pain began to fade, replaced by a strange and new sensation. Her muscles relaxed slightly.
Daniel continued his slow and steady movements, watching Clara's face intently. Her eyes remained closed, but her expression was less tense.
Clara woke up with a strange sensation in her lower abdomen. A dull, almost distant pain clung to her like a shadow. She slowly opened her eyes, recognizing the familiar ceiling of the room. For a few seconds, she forgot where she was. Then, her memory came back—vague and distorted like a fever dream. Daniel. The night. Their bodies.
To her right, Daniel was still asleep, peaceful, one hand resting carelessly on the sheet. He looked perfectly detached, as if the night had meant nothing more to him than just another moment, without consequence.
She sat up cautiously, each movement reminding her of what had happened. There was no more doubt. Her body still bore the marks of what they had done—the lingering shivers, the fading warmth, the numb muscles. A mix of pain, confusion, and something more insidious. She didn't know if she should feel guilty, surprised, or simply forget.
Her gaze returned to Daniel. His sleeping face, relaxed, almost innocent, contrasted cruelly with how she felt. Nothing in his features betrayed any tension, nor how overwhelmed she had felt.
She pulled the sheets over herself, suddenly aware of her nudity. The silence in the room was broken only by Daniel's slow, steady breathing. She sat there for a moment, staring into nothing, unable to put a name to what she was feeling.
Then Daniel opened his eyes, seeing Clara already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, her gaze lost.
— "Are you okay?" he asked, in a neutral, almost casual tone.
Clara turned her head slightly toward him, uncertain, then replied softly:
— "I… I'm not really sure."
— "Alright," Daniel said simply, as if nothing had happened.
Silence fell again. Clara looked at him, disturbed. He didn't seem to want to talk about it. As if it had all been just a meaningless episode, already filed away in a drawer of unimportant memories.
— "Last night… Did it really happen?" she murmured, her eyes avoiding his.
Daniel raised an eyebrow, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
— "You thought it was a dream?"
— "No… but I still can't believe it. And then… I slept here, with you…"
— "Yeah, so?"
Clara clutched the sheet tighter, suddenly feeling foolish for hoping for some tenderness or explanation. Then, as if struck by lightning, she jumped up.
— "Oh my God! I didn't tell my mom! She has no idea where I am. And if my dad finds out… I'm dead."
She panicked, grabbing her clothes in a rush and putting them on quickly.
— "Calm down," said Daniel, getting up a bit wearily. "Just lie to them. You know how to do that."
— "I just hope they believe me… I'll go wash up, then you take me home, okay?"
— "Alright. I'll start the car."
Clara rushed to the bathroom, leaving behind the scent of a night she couldn't quite define. The shower water didn't manage to wash away what she felt. A part of her remained stuck in that room, in that bed, with him.
A few minutes later, they left the house. Daniel dropped her off not far from home. She got out quickly, barely thanking him. He said nothing. Clara slipped discreetly into her house, heart pounding, and went straight up to her room.
Her mother came in shortly after.
— "What time did you get home last night?" she asked in a neutral tone.
Clara took a breath, trying to stay calm.
— "Around 10 p.m.… but you were already asleep."
Her mother stared at her for a moment, arms crossed.
— "You shouldn't be out so late. Especially not with a boy. If your father found out…"
Clara lowered her eyes.
— "I know, Mom. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
— "Good. I'm making breakfast. Come down if you want to eat."
— "Thanks, Mom."
Clara sighed, relieved. They didn't notice… Thank God. She sat on the edge of her bed, pensive. One question hit her like a dagger: After what happened between us… what are Daniel and I now?
At Hena's Place
For the past two days, Elene Ferza hadn't gone to work. For once, she and Hena were spending time together. They talked, cooked, even laughed. A rare moment of peace, a shard of light in their often heavy and grim life.
Hena had rediscovered a gentle mother—almost maternal. They shared childhood memories, improvised meals, silly movies watched curled up under a blanket. For two days, they had been a family.
But the peace didn't last.
In the late afternoon, just as Hena was setting the table, someone knocked violently at the door. The kind of knock that never meant anything good. Elene froze.
"Don't move," she whispered to her daughter.
She stepped toward the door, hesitated, then opened it. A tall, broad man with a hard stare stood there. His jaw was square, his eyes bloodshot. He reeked of sweat, stale tobacco, and barely contained violence.
"So you think you can disappear for two days and not say a word?" he said, his voice ice cold.
"I… I was planning to come back today. I just needed—"
The slap came before she could finish. Brutal. Inhuman. Elene fell to the floor, dazed. A thin line of blood trickled from her lip.
"Mama!" Hena screamed, rushing to her.
She placed herself between her mother and the man, arms raised, furious.
"You can't do that! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
She lunged at him, hitting him with her fists. But another man appeared behind her—massive, shaved head, blank expression. He grabbed her roughly and held her back. Hena thrashed and screamed.
The first man—the one who had hit her mother—looked her up and down slowly, from head to toe.
"This your daughter, huh? She's pretty. Real pretty. Maybe I'll take her instead, as payment for your absence…"
Elene struggled to her feet, sobbing.
"No, please… she has nothing to do with this. She's just a child!"
"Then maybe think twice before wasting my time. Two days, Elene. Two days without a word. You thought I was just gonna let that slide?"
He took a step toward Hena, reaching out and brushing her cheek like one would inspect merchandise.
"Let me go!" she screamed. "Touch me again and I swear I'll kill you!"
The thug shook her violently. Elene's heart shattered.
"I'll work double shifts," she begged. "I'll make up for the lost time. Just don't hurt her…"
The man straightened up, thinking.
"Lucky you. I'm in a good mood today. But next time you bail on me, I'm taking her. And trust me—I'll put her to good use."
He spat on the floor and nodded at the guard. The latter let Hena go, and she collapsed to her knees, gasping.
"Tomorrow morning, Elene. Not a minute late."
They left, the door slamming behind them. A heavy silence filled the apartment. Elene ran to her daughter and wrapped her in her arms. Hena cried silently, her face trembling.