Chapter Two:
It wasn't just a fall; it was an explosion in my consciousness that refused to believe. When my face collided with the marble, I heard a muffled sound inside my skull resembling the shattering of pottery. Anxiety began to dance within me, enjoying the party.
The coldness of the floor was harsh, but it was the only medicine for my blood, which began to boil like a volcano under my skin. I remained for seconds not knowing where I was; my vision was glued to the polished edges of the marble. His iron grip was enough to stop time from moving.
The pain began to creep in slowly; my heartbeat migrated to my jaw, each pulse like the strike of a carpenter's hammer on a nail. I tasted the flavor of metal in my mouth; my blood was coming out like a heavy sap from my torn lip, coloring the whiteness of the marble with crimson drops that ruined the exaggerated cleanliness of the floor.
I tried to swallow my saliva, but my teeth were moving inside my gums. I felt a childish terror... will I lose my face? Is this the price I will pay for my father "selling" me? Am I now a damaged commodity whose place is the trash?
While I was drowning in my bloodstain, my ears could no longer hear anything but an annoying buzzing, until a strange vibration began to transmit through the marble to my skull. It was the sound of a sharp heel striking the ground with a military and rapid rhythm, dripping with confidence and authority. From my position, as I embraced the floor, I caught a glimpse of a pair of red shoes the color of blood; they were shining under the strong lighting.
Her words did not reach me at first, but her perfume did; she exuded a scent of 'heavy vanilla' that mixed with the metallic taste in my mouth to make me nauseous. Then the silence was pierced by her sharp feminine scream:
"You wretch... what have you done?"
I felt her shadow covering my trembling body. I tried to lift my body a little and stop embracing the floor. I caught sight of her short black dress which fit her perfectly, then her smooth short black hair, and a red lipstick that didn't scream femininity but rather a warning.
She approached me, examining me with hands that made my body shiver—even the marble now seemed warmer! I saw the astonishment in her brown eyes; she wasn't afraid for me, but she was afraid of something else different that I didn't know. Perhaps the fear of her savage boss who would punish her for not maintaining his expensive commodity.
She turned to the massive guard who was standing like a statue watching, or perhaps seeing the disaster his hands had committed. She said in a trembling voice:
"Bring the nurse now, hurry!"
The guard went with immense speed to bring help for me; anyone seeing him now wouldn't believe that he was the one who hit me... yes, "he killed the victim and walked in her funeral."
The broken scents escalated to blend with one another; the smell was not acceptable, it had turned into a toxic and lethal gas poisoning everyone in the room. I wondered about their prices, which exceeded my purchasing power many times over; I felt a sting in my heart as I saw them lost now.
"Come on, take my hand, I will help you up,"
she said this to me while extending her hand. Had I not touched her skin, which resembled my own, I would have thought her a robot disguised as a tan woman; her tan wasn't dark but closely resembled the color of caramel.
She seated me on the bed covered in soft silk. Now I realized why this fabric is expensive; my eyes now want to sleep despite all this massacre. This is how girls are lulled to sleep here, with luxurious and soft things they have never seen in their entire lives. It is like tasting drugs; even though they kill you, you get used to them and cannot live without them.
I said to her, my eyes announcing the closing of the curtain after the play ended:
"Is this silk fabric or a sedative pill?"
She looked at me with surprise and said indifferently:
"I am Olivia, the supervisor responsible for training all the girls here, and I will be your supervisor who makes you a female in every sense of the word."
I laughed despite myself and said:
"You mean a high-quality commodity."
The silk turned into a black hole that swallowed me without realization. I couldn't find any other justification; it is impossible for a person about to be sold to sleep this deeply in the midst of all this collapse that occurred.
Voices began to rise within that blackness; I couldn't distinguish them, they were very far, unrecognizable, mixed with the smell of hospitals. Then suddenly the voices began to approach and become clearer:
"How much time is needed for the bruise to disappear from her face and her lip wound to heal?"
This voice was familiar; yes, it was the voice of the caramel woman. A strange female voice I didn't know replied to her:
"Two weeks, Madam, and her face will return to its normal state."
Umm, so they are now discussing the subject of my disfigured face. The caramel woman answered with extreme tension:
"This will not please Mr. Robert at all."
I opened my eyes with extreme difficulty; I glimpsed the ceiling decorated and engraved with golden lines—how beautiful it looks from here, as if I were in an old Victorian palace. I felt a sting in the right side of my face; I touched it with my hand, thinking this would ease the pain. There was a bandage preventing my hand from reaching it.
I tried to rise from the bed with my weak hands; damn, all my strength had failed, and I am now like a phone whose battery has run out. I tried several times while Olivia was busy calculating my healing time, and perhaps now she is looking for a miracle or magic to make my face whole again.
Finally, I was able to sit up on the bed; this was the most my body could do. Olivia was conducting a deep conversation with a woman wearing a white nurse's uniform; her skin was as white as her uniform, and she gathered her blonde hair perfectly. Oh my God, I was never able to gather my hair with this professionalism.
The caramel woman finally noticed me and approached me quickly, trying to make me lie down on the bed again. But I did not surrender to her attempt; I do not want to be the Sleeping Beauty anymore. Her cold hands were pressing down on my shoulders significantly, forcing me to play the role of the patient. I pushed her back with my hands, which began to obey my orders, and said:
"Enough, I don't want to sleep."
But she spoke with the sentence of a tender mother that did not suit her:
"My dear Julie, you must rest until your face heals."
Oh my God, she isn't even good at acting; they should have hired another girl who might make me believe it. I replied to her sarcastically:
"And where is the cup of hot milk that I drink before my sleep?"
My sentence was enough to drop the masks; she approached and said in her real voice:
"Look at me well, am I someone you can mess with?"
I looked at the pearl necklace around her neck and said coldly:
"Your necklace is very beautiful."
She was stunned, stood up straight, and then said to the nurse:
"This girl is crazy."
Olivia left the room, her heels tapping the marble like a professional drummer, as if the floor knew her well; it was clear she had played upon it for long years. The nurse approached me like a soulless ghost; I swear her skin was not natural, she is more like a vampire. Yes, a good possibility—doesn't she live underground? Don't vampires fear the light?
She interrupted my thoughts:
"I will come every day to check your face and apply the ointment to it; rest now and do not strain yourself."
Another person who doesn't know how to act; even the hospital nurses who see the ugliest wounds every day do not have this cold face. This is not an ordinary nurse; she looks like a butcher.
The nurse also left, but she wasn't like Olivia playing on the floor; she was like a ghost flying in the air. The silence that filled the place as she left was not natural. The door did not close this time; two guards entered the room as if my being alone had now become a threat. They began to collect the glass and arrange the mess that filled the place, but soon other guests joined us. Oh my God, my visitors today are many; how lucky I am.
The smell of tobacco entered, preceding its owner by several steps, and the guest of honor finally appeared to inspect his precious merchandise. Robert Cross entered through that door, which seemed smaller than usual, and behind him was Olivia, who restored the door's grandeur that Robert had shattered.
Robert distributed his gazes over that mess like a scanner; the pieces of glass decorating the floor with signs of rebellion, and the broken mirror that shattered the image of a submissive female, while the broken television completed the scene of the coup against his authority. Then he fixed his gaze on my disfigured face, which had ruined all his plans.
His leather shoes created a strong shield unaffected by the pieces of glass; he didn't avoid them but stepped on them so they turned to dust beneath him. He finally stopped at the edge of the bed covered in black silk, while I was like a small cat sitting on it, watching him. He exhaled the smoke of his cigarette, which I doubt could ever leave his fingers, and said in his raspy voice:
"I see you didn't like the room's decor, Julie."
I knew from his response that he wanted to provoke me; I am not dealing with Olivia now, but with someone much bigger. I said to him, doubting my voice would reach him from this place:
"I don't like many things here, even you."
His facial expressions did not change, as if he were studying my answer inside his head only, maintaining his control. Then he said in a voice like a hiss:
"Commodities do not like their masters; it is enough that I liked you and bought you."
My heartbeats quickened as I saw the veins of his tightened hand and his black eyes trying to make me submit, while all of this pushed me to rebel more. I gathered my strength and stood up on the bed, trying to stabilize my balance and hide the tremor in my legs that might make me fall and embarrass myself.
For the first time, I felt I was at Robert's level, and there was no longer a need to tilt my head back to see him. I wasn't looking at him, but I placed the entirety of 'Julie' inside his eyes and said:
"You bought my body, but you will not buy my submission."
Robert smiled and his face muscles relaxed; he approached me more, and those few small centimeters between us remained as a safety distance that was never enough. He said to me:
"Is this why your father sold you to me? Because he couldn't bear a crazy daughter."
Despite the fact that his buying me explained his hideousness, my father was much more hideous than him. I couldn't bear that my father who sired me was the one who put me here. In a moment, I didn't see Robert, but I saw my father with his long face and his wicked eyes, which I never suspected would look at me as merchandise to be bought and sold.
The scene passed over me when he asked me to accompany him to his job interview; I was surprised by his request because it was unlike his usual self, as I had grown accustomed to being the invisible person in the house. I was happy for the first time and felt that he was truly my father; I was flying with happiness like a blind butterfly that fell into the hunter's nets.
I went with him despite my studying for an exam—everything lost its importance before this request which fell within the realm of miracles. I didn't expect that he would present me to these monsters who know no mercy. I cursed him in my secret and cursed my stupidity and folly, and in a blind moment, I raised my hand with all my might, as if all my feelings had fused into it, and I slapped his face.
That slap recoiled upon me without me realizing; Robert's face, which didn't move more than one inch to the right, and Olivia's face, with her hand over her open mouth, and the two guards who turned into statues from shock.
Silence spread in the room, announcing that what would come next was a devastating tsunami. As for me, I wasn't on the shore, but I was inside the sea, facing it alone without any means of protection.