Where Am I? In Hell?

By the time I was fifteen, I used to go in and help Dad for he had fired the young man who came in the afternoons, for some inexplicable reason. I helped my father, having watched him back over the years. Old Alice remained but I suspected that she worked for a nominal wage now. Dad’s cake stands became sad-looking and desolate and we had fewer customers. 

On the home front, Heather was a disaster in the kitchen but luckily, I loved to cook. So I was practically running the kitchen at home as well. This was how I knew that Dad’s finances were in a bad shape for he would ask me to make do with the cheapest ingredients... 

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One afternoon, I saw him arguing with a man in a cheap suit with a pockmarked face, in the bakery. I had walked back home, for I had to help Dad with the scones that evening. 

They were arguing and the man was speaking in a loud, threatening voice, 

“Either you pay up or…” 

Dad froze when he saw me at the door, my backpack slung over my shoulder, mouth open. 

The man who had been speaking in a high voice turned and smiled, a smile that made my flesh crawl. His eyes took in my figure, lingering on my full chest, my mouth and my hair. I turned beet red. 

“Get inside,” barked Dad in a voice I had never heard. I rushed inside but my flesh crawled. 

That was my introduction to Dean Nelson. 

He was a loan shark, but a small one, compared to the big guns in the game. 

But Dad had borrowed from him and was over his head in debt, as I found out from Alice. 

In my childish way, I tried to ask him about it but he cut me short, brusquely, 

‘I can manage it. You’re too young to bother your head about it, Bianca!” 

And then, pleadingly, he added, 

‘Don’t tell Heather, my dear.” 

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A few months later, he was dead. Committed suicide, declared the policeman who came to inform us. Drove ¬¬off a cliff.to 

* 

The Present Day 

I have followed Finn St Just like a little puppy, down the hall, deeper into the shadows, away from the controlled chaos of the front rooms. There is a staircase, I notice as I trot, trying to keep up with the man as he takes me down the hall which is strangely deserted. Doors flank the hall but all of them are closed, like lips sealed tight, holding their secrets within themselves. 

When he opens the door at the end of the hall, I just have time to see that it is a thick wooden door, and beyond that, is a room, dimly lit, all cherrywood and cut crystal, bottles gleaming with their golden contents, and heavy drapes, dark maroon in colour. Leather and smoke seem to fill the sir and I stop, hesitating for a minute. I can see men, with dark, curious eyes and dark suits. And I feel the panic rising up in me. What have I done? Where have I let myself? 

The man shuts the door behind me, shutting out the sounds of the office behind us, the mechanical and smooth everyday murmurs of employees going about their daily tasks before leaving for their warm houses, away from the evening dark, the light rain. 

I turn to him blindly, the only refuge in this room where I can feel eyes stripping me of my poor weathered old hoodie, and I gasp, 

‘I…think…I want to leave.” 

The hard set to the golden-eyed man’s mouth tells me the answer even before he speaks. I am dimly aware of the broad strength of his shoulders but I plead anyway. 

“Please Sir.” 

The golden eyes; can they be called tawny? I wonder hysterically, flicker over me, with a sudden flash of something that is quickly gone, even before I can comprehend it. 

* 

I’m a virgin. 

No, I have never made out with a boy, although I am turning nineteen next month. 

Simple: once Dad passed, I took over the role of father and tried to run the house. 

With the deteriorating health of my stepmother who was steadily becoming an alcoholic in denial, and with the added task of taking care of my sisters, along with running the house and the business, I was exhausted. 

My old school friends went to parties, had boyfriends, and break ups. 

At first my besties, Sadie and Gladys tried to make me come along. 

But soon they gave up. Besides, they had their own lives … 

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And so, I remained sleeping exhausted at night, too weary to care. When I looked in the mirror, it was only to brush out my cascading chestnut hair, which I had yet to get cut. It hung to my waist now, a mane of untamed, unruly curls. 

And as for make up; forget it. The only thing I did was dab a little moisturizer, and this afternoon, I had pulled out an old lipstick and run it over my full lips. 

* 

Now I look up into the unflinching golden gaze that seemed to strip me, to see into my very soul. 

But somehow, for some bizarre reason. I want to hide behind the man, behind his wide, tall body. From somewhere, I realize that his hands are large, so large, they could wrap around my waist, plump though I am. Finn St Just’s like a giant before me, a giant hewn of stone. And as hard as one, I think, my mouth falling open slightly. His tawny gaze lands on my mouth and stays there. 

* 

I hear an impatient chuckle behind me and I turn, trembling. 

“What have you brought in, Finn?’ growls a bored, gravelly voice that makes my insides turn to jelly. 

Dear God, I think, clasping my hands before me, wringing them unconsciously. Where am I? In Hell? 

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