Sweet Collateral

“Anna?”

She’s just shut down, unresponsive, dead. I step away from her, and though there are only inches between us, it feels more like a crater just ripped wide open at our feet. Clenching my fists, I take more steps away from her. Finally, she blinks and focuses on me.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes fill with tears before she hurries away. I drag both hands through my hair and slam my fist into the wall.

“Dammit!” I have to fucking control myself around her. Or maybe I don’t. Maybe people like her and I should never be in the same realm. Darkness and light will consume each other, after all.

19

Anna

I stand in front of the man on his knees. His face is indistinguishable. He’s no one I recognize, and yet I instinctually know I hate him. The gun sits in my hand, the metal cool against my palm. I don’t look away from him, but I feel a presence behind me: strong, powerful, ruthless. Rafael. It’s like his power bolsters me, soaking through me until I feel it coursing through my veins. For the first time in my life, I feel in control.

“You want power, Anna? Then take it,” Rafael says, his voice deep and commanding.

The man on his knees looks up at me, his eyes pleading with me to show him mercy, but I know he hurt me. They hurt me. They raped me. They took everything from me. Anger builds inside me, filling me until it’s boiling over, bursting to get free. I lift the gun and slide the safety off. My finger presses over the trigger and a sense of rightness fills me. This is justice, this is power, and I want it. I want to be like Rafael. I want to be untouchable.

The man looks at me one more time, and I see him, I see all the disgusting acts, all the wrongs, in his eyes. I squeeze the trigger, and the gun explodes. His head jerks back, and he collapses on the ground.

With his body bowed at my feet, I feel like a goddess, someone strong and untouchable. I turn around and face Rafael. His dark hair and black suit blend into the shadows behind him, and he looks like a demon called from hell itself. He steps forward, wrapping a hand around my neck. A warm hum drifts through my body, and I bow forward into him like a junkie succumbing to the rush of a drug. His lips brush mine, and my eyes drift shut.

“Take it, little warrior. It’s yours,” he breathes. And so I kiss him, pulling from his strength, acting on this deep-seated and yet inexplicable need for him. My lips part and his tongue strokes across mine reverently. He unlocks parts of me that I didn’t know existed, and at this moment, nothing else matters but him and me. Two halves of a whole. “I’m yours,” he whispers over my lips.

I’m torn from the dream by a knock on my door. I touch my lips, still able to taste the dark allure of Rafael, the sensation so foreign and yet intriguing. Maria bustles into the room with a tray, the scent of coffee following her as she enters. She acts like everything is fine—like I haven’t noticed that she’s been bringing breakfast in here ever since the night Rafael pinned me to the wall. I haven’t seen him since then either, and apparently, that’s the way he wants it. I no longer go to the kitchen each morning, and he no longer seeks me out in the garden each night. I didn’t even realize how much I liked being around him until he withdrew, and it’s my fault. I wanted his kiss, but then my mind lost its grip on reality, and Rafael started to become a faceless figure, just like all those before him. No wonder he doesn’t want to see me. Why would he? He probably remembered just how used, and dirty I am.

Maria pulls back the curtains and sets the tray of coffee and toast on the bedside table. “Good morning,” she says.

“Morning,” I respond flatly as I slide out of bed, ignoring the tray. I get in the shower and allow the hot water top wash over me. It’s been over a week since I last saw him, and I’m sinking into a dark pit. I’ve never felt like more of a prisoner or less wanted, but even beyond this…thing for Rafael, is the fact that without his affection, I’m once again left fearing for how this will end. He distracts me, and without that, I’m left with the cold reality that I am indeed his prisoner. A favor—nothing more. Which means that this is actually a good thing. I may be something that’s fun for him to play with for a moment, but he’ll use me just like all the rest because eventually he’ll hand me over to this Nero guy, and it will all amount to nothing. This is good because it allows me to remember where my allegiances lie, and it’s the same place they always have: with myself. A few kind acts don’t change years of self-preservation. I’m done being someone’s pawn.