Two weeks had passed since that night—the first and last time I saw the masked man.
The man who saved me… and almost simultaneously erased my peace, took my virginity, and in the days that followed, he wouldn't rest until he tasted his favorite dish, my delicacy.
Since then, it felt like eyes were always watching. Even in class, even on the corner. I didn't know if it was just paranoia or reality. But every time I turned around, a cold breeze ran down my neck—and I felt like someone was standing in the darkness.
"Girl, are you okay?" Lioraine asked, dropping her bag onto the chair.
I smiled, forcing it. "Of course."
"By the way, who's attending your graduation? Seriously, El, who could have spread the gossip about you?"
I looked down. "No one. Papa… it's unlikely he'll come." I didn't answer her second question. I didn't know either. The rumors, the whispers, the stares – they followed me everywhere, a constant reminder of the night that had changed everything.
"That's a shame. It's only a few weeks away, huh?"
I sat in the shade of a tree at the edge of the hallway. Quiet, it seemed even the wind carried a weight. The weight of my secrets, my fears, my stolen innocence.
"After graduation, I'll just look for a decent job," I whispered. A normal life, a chance to escape the darkness that had enveloped me.
"Why not model? You're pretty, and sexy." Lioraine's words were well-intentioned, but they stung.
I smiled faintly. "I'm an architect, not a display." My dreams were bigger than just being someone's pretty face.
She laughed before finally leaving. I was left alone, staring into the distance. The future stretched before me, uncertain and daunting.
With each passing day, the feeling became heavier. The feeling of being watched, of being hunted.
There was always a shadow. Always a silent presence. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, unable to escape the darkness that pursued me.
At five in the afternoon, I arrived at the bar where I worked as a server. The bar was a refuge, a place where I could lose myself in the noise and the crowds.
"Elaris, are you okay? You're pale again," said Carla, the new coworker who replaced Martha. Carla was kind and compassionate, a ray of sunshine in the dimly lit bar.
"Just lacking sleep. It's almost graduation," I said, forcing a smile. I didn't want to burden her with my fears.
"Promise, I'll come to your graduation, okay?"
I nodded before heading to the locker. I changed into my uniform, trying to shake off the feeling of unease that had been plaguing me for weeks.
When I returned, Carla called me. "Table 30, please."
I grabbed the tray and approached. They were men dressed formally, but obviously—not from around here. Their eyes were cold and calculating, their demeanor predatory.
"Miss," one said, "tell the manager, we need six women. One for each of us." His words were a threat, a demand.
He smirked, rude, this kind of scene felt familiar. The bar was a place where women were often treated as objects, their bodies commodified and exploited.
"One moment," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. I forced myself to remain composed, to not show my fear.
When I returned, I told Carla. Just a few minutes later, Yassi came out with six women. Yassi was the manager, a woman who had seen it all.
"Yassi is really something, so kind, right?" said Carla. Carla admired Yassi, seeing her as a strong and capable woman.
"She's like an older sister to everyone," I replied. I appreciated Yassi's kindness, but I also knew that she was hiding something.
But as time went on, I noticed that the air was different that night. The atmosphere was heavy, charged with a sense of foreboding.
There were more people. The gazes were heavier. It felt like they were waiting for something. The bar was a tinderbox, waiting for a spark to ignite it.
"Carla," I asked whispering, "why are there so many men today?" My voice was trembling, betraying my fear.
She approached. "There are new arrivals. From the province. You know—fresh, cheap, so the animals want them." Her words were harsh, but they were true. The bar was a magnet for predators, men who saw women as nothing more than objects to be used and discarded.
I swallowed. I tried to compose myself, but my hands were cold. I felt like I was drowning, suffocating under the weight of my fear.
Just a moment later, a hand touched my back. The touch was invasive, violating.
Hot. Heavy.
"You smell so good," whispered the man who suddenly approached. His breath reeked of alcohol and desperation.
I immediately hit his head with the tray. My reaction was instinctual, a desperate attempt to protect myself.
He flew away, cursing. He stumbled backward, clutching his head.
"You little—! You're acting pure! I'll taste you first!" He lunged at me, his eyes filled with rage.
He choked me, tightly, I was almost out of air. His hands tightened around my neck, cutting off my air supply.
MMK
"Let me go!" I shouted, almost without a voice. My vision started to blur, my body started to tremble.
But he tightened his grip. My vision was darkening—
Until CRASH!
A bottle broke. Carla—standing, holding the bottle, with blood on her hand. Carla had come to my rescue, risking her own life to save me.
But just a few seconds later, one of the men choked her instead. The man grabbed Carla, his eyes filled with malice.
"CARLA!" I almost screamed. I crawled closer while she was falling on the floor. My heart was pounding in my chest, my mind racing with fear.
"Elaris…" she called weakly, before she completely lost consciousness. Her voice was barely audible, a whisper lost in the chaos.
"What's happening here!?" shouted Mr. Armstrong, the owner of the bar. His voice was filled with anger and confusion.
I couldn't speak. Everything was chaotic. Yassi, approached, trying to calm me down. Yassi was trying to maintain control, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
"Are you okay? Don't be scared," she said. But I could feel her hand trembling too. She was trying to reassure me, but her fear was contagious.
Outside the window, I saw a black van. Parked. The van was a symbol of the danger that surrounded me.
Silent. The headlights were pointed at the door of the bar. The headlights were like eyes, watching, waiting.
The next day, we were sent home early. But I, was numb. The events of the previous night had left me shaken and traumatized.
While I was walking on the dark corner towards the terminal, I heard the hum of a vehicle. The feeling of being watched returned, stronger than ever.
Fast. Approaching. The sound was a threat, a promise of violence.
Before I could turn my body—a hand pulled me from behind. The touch was rough, forceful.
Hot, heavy, brutal. I was dragged into the darkness, my screams stifled.
A hand covered my mouth. I struggled against my attackers, but they were too strong.
"Shhh…" His voice was cold, devoid of emotion.
I was pulled inside the van. My world turned upside down, my senses overwhelmed.
"Don't—!"
Nothing. My voice was cut off by fear. I was trapped, helpless.
Only the laughter of the men like demons was the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness. Their laughter was a symphony of evil, a soundtrack to my nightmare.
When I opened my eyes, it was dark. It smelled like rust and dust. The air was thick with the stench of decay.
Wet cement underneath, and chains around. The chains were a symbol of my captivity, a reminder of my powerlessness.
"Is there anyone here!?" I shouted. No one answered. My voice echoed in the darkness, unanswered.
But there was laughter in the dark. Deep. Terrifying. The laughter was a chorus of madness, a symphony of torment.
Until a light turned on—from the headlights of a vehicle. The headlights pierced the darkness, revealing my prison.
Men wearing bonnets. The men were faceless, anonymous. They were the enforcers, the instruments of my torture.
And in the middle of them, a man wearing a black mask. The masked man was the mastermind, the architect of my suffering.
Tall. Silent. But his presence—was maddeningly heavy. His presence was overwhelming, crushing.
"You're awake," he said deeply. His voice was a low rumble, sending shivers down my spine.
I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his gaze. It felt like he was examining my entire being. He was dissecting me, analyzing me, stripping me bare.
"Leave us for now," he ordered his men. His command was absolute, unquestioned.
He approached. Slowly. Planned. His movements were deliberate, predatory.
His cold hand touched my thigh. His touch was a violation, a desecration.
I was shaking. Not from the cold—but from fear. My body trembled with terror.
"I've been looking for you for so long," he whispered. "I can't stop this anymore." His words were a confession, a declaration of intent.
"Don't come closer!" I shouted. My voice was hoarse, desperate.
But he came even closer, bringing his face closer to mine. His presence was suffocating, overwhelming.
Tear.
He tore my blouse with the small dagger. The sound was like a gunshot, shattering my last vestiges of hope.
While my tears were falling, I tried to loosen the rope on my hand. My fingers were numb, clumsy.
Almost torn. Just a little more. I struggled against my bonds, my muscles screaming in protest.
"Stay away from me!" I shouted, and pushed him. My voice was a desperate plea, a futile attempt to ward off the inevitable.
PAK! He stumbled back, surprised. I had caught him off guard, giving myself a momentary advantage.
I untied the rope, ran away—but before I could get far—I was desperate to escape, to flee from the nightmare that had consumed me.
He pulled me, ruthlessly destroying my blouse and greedily pressing his lips on my chest. His touch was brutal, degrading.
One of the bonneted men fell. The sound was a thud, a sign that the balance of power had shifted.
I stopped. Who did this? Who had intervened? My mind was racing, trying to make sense of the chaos.
The door suddenly opened. The opening of the door was a beacon of hope, a promise of salvation.
A man—tall, his stance familiar. The man was a savior, a warrior.
Not even holding anything, his gaze was cold. His eyes were like ice, devoid of warmth.
"Long time no see," he said to one of the enemies. His voice was a low growl, a challenge.
In a flash, they exchanged fists. The fight was swift, brutal.
Shouts. Bodies. The smell of dust and metal. The air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat.
I was on the floor, weak, almost unable to breathe from fear and trauma. I was a broken doll, discarded and forgotten.
When I felt the warm liquid on my side—blood that I didn't know where it came from. The blood was a reminder of the violence that had consumed me.
I was shocked. My breathing was doubly heavy. My lungs were burning, my body was shutting down.
"Elaris!" called a voice—low, sure, familiar. The voice was a lifeline, a promise of rescue.
It was him. The masked man. He was my tormentor, my savior.
He approached, quickly, holding my hand. His touch was gentle, reassuring.
"Stay with me," he said. His words were a plea, a desperate attempt to keep me from slipping away.
"Who… who are you?" I almost didn't have a voice. My voice was a whisper, barely audible.
"Not now," he replied, while carrying me. He was focused on getting me to safety, on protecting me from harm.
Around, the building was silent except for the footsteps from his men. The silence was eerie, broken only by the sound of footsteps.
Men in black, men I had seen in the bar. The men were his soldiers, his enforcers.
"Not yet, Elaris," he whispered while wiping the cold sweat from my face. His touch was tender, caring.
"You can't disappear yet." His words were a promise, a declaration of intent.
And before I completely lost consciousness, I saw in the darkness—those eyes. His eyes were the last thing I saw before I succumbed to the darkness.
Those eyes. Both cold, but behind that, there was a fire that seemed to be saying— The eyes were a window to his soul, a glimpse of the darkness and the light that coexisted within him.
The next time you open your eyes, a different world will greet you. His words were a prophecy, a promise of a new beginning. My life was about to change, forever.