Eric watched the boy. Kid. The name is very catchy. His face was as smooth as a child's, his lips a little too full, like his own. Something evil took root within him. He'll let this guy live, and the blonde. Soon, though, they'll wish he hadn't. Eric finally looked at Kitten. Her face was bruised and stained with blood. Her eyes were closed but her lips were still moving, shaking violently like the rest of her body. Her head tilted to the left, her arms stretched out over Kid's. A little below, her outstretched legs were streaked with bruises and boot marks in places that had clearly been stepped on. Eric swallowed. “Khalid,” his voice was even, “put a blanket over the girl. She is in shock. Then bring these two to me.” When Eric turned, Dani was standing with Khalid in the foyer. Two men entered as Eric left, and yet he heard the blonde resist them. Eric allowed old memories to flood back as he strode toward the living room, mingling with the image of Kitten bruised and shivering o
I'm sinking, very fast. I tried to open my eyes, but the world around me was just a blur, an illusion. Unreal. Could it be real? I was surrounded by bright lights and muffled voices, but I couldn't lift my head to see where they were coming from. A man wearing a white shirt appeared in the field of vision and spoke up. Agent Mulder? I'm in an episode of X-Star Profile. No, it's absurd. The scientist? Doctor? Crazy man with a scalpel? I couldn't make out what he was saying, but his face seemed full of assurance, false promises, clichés meant to appease me. Then a tunnel of blue light surrounded me. I wanted to say something, or sit up, but the pain was too intense. My heavy eyes closed, and I sank back into silence. There were times when I was half awake and half asleep but couldn't remember anything. Time is not clear. Not now, or next, or after. Only pain. More pain, less pain. That's the only thing that doesn't change. I am sinking. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. There is no botto
"I'm sorry, Kitten," he whispered. Is he apologizing? In Eric, guilt was almost never the case, and the last thing I expected. My face showed at the same time a snort-joke-funny-crying-cry, making me feel excruciatingly painful. I almost laughed again. Would laugh if breathing wasn't so painful. "For what they did to me." Yes, he's sorry, but not for abducting me from the house. "Good." Home. My family. Everything happened because I wanted to go back to my trash mother. Even if she didn't want me there. Never. No matter how many times I said sorry. My eyes ached. Can't believe I'm still in tears for her. I hate her. I hated her, for loving her so much, and she clearly didn't feel the same way. Eric cleared his throat and swallowed. “I made them pay.” They. A bunch of people, which could be worse than Eric. I felt shaky again, but hearing those words from Eric's mouth gave me a little satisfaction. "Well," I said smugly, "you like that." A smile crept across his lips, and for some r
“I made them pay.” He whispered again, his voice cold and short, but the words meant nothing to me, even though I suspected they were extremely important to him. Only his arms mattered, just the hard, solid feeling of tangible flesh enclosing me was enough. His embrace does everything his lips can't or won't do, they tell you you're safe and I'll protect you, even look like you care for me, even if It's chaotic, but everything is chaotic. Through it all, his lips just kept repeating, "I made them pay," and I felt something different but still very real, more real than anything. I hate him but at the same time I don't hate him, I don't understand anything anymore, worse than myself. I wept for a long time, taking solace in his deceptively comfortable arms. Illusions, fantasies, very helpful. I never wanted to leave. I want to stay here forever, clutching his chest, his fingers brushing my hair, his heartbeat in my ears: you-be-safe, trust-me-love, love you. Love. Do I want him to lov
“Eric…” “It's not, you know.” He must have read the confusion on my face and looked forward to it, for he immediately went on, “While sleeping. I said it's not all my fault, that's true - I'm not at fault here. It's…It's just not.” There is a tight knot in my throat. No matter how hard I tried, I still couldn't swallow it down. It got stuck there, choking me. Eric's fingers slide across the sheets toward my feet, then pause and then retreat back into place. Why can't he just be a cruel, emotionless bastard so I know his roles and mine? Why does he keep changing from cold and unforgiving, to pleasant and warm? pressure? “What have they done to you, Kitten? Can you talk to me?” His eyelids closed and I wondered what he was hiding. Is it because of me? No reason at all. He tortured, imprisoned, beat and forced me into circumstances beyond my imagination. And now, now he feels…something to me? A voice in his head reminded him that, despite everything he'd done to me, there would alway
What happened to you, Eric? Who did this to you? And why are you doing this to me now? I looked at his face, his features hard but not showing his usual attitude. But I still feel it. At one point, in all the knowledge I gathered from movies and radio, I realized the intensity of humanity and why I was drawn to that fantasy world. Each work tries to show the human condition, in all its good, bad and worst aspects. At first, it was just an extension of my own life, strangely reflected in that 'fictional' world. Every story wants, doesn't - needs to - to reveal the fragility, the bond that connects people to what they do and who they have in mind. Those stories are a bit real and sometimes horrifying, but people are still people, and parts don't tell the whole story. I have seen many different parts of this man named Eric. What would his whole being, unprotected and vulnerable? Who is this man that can do this to me, to anyone, and still be able to live well? And what kind of person a
“He kissed me. That was my first kiss. He had a taste of beer, but that wasn't too bad. For some reason, I've always loved the taste of wine. He kisses me and my mind spins. When he told me to open my mouth… I did. Then everything was different. I'm not interested anymore. His tongue was sticky and kept moving inside my mouth like a snake, in and out. It's horrible. I tried to pull away but he wouldn't let me." “My mother came in and caught me. Paulo jumped. His damned erection bulged in those ridiculous panties. But she wasn't mad at him. She was mad at me. She looked at the TV then back at us. I tried to explain but she just said, 'Is that what you do when I go to bed, Nana? Are you wearing some prostitute clothes and trying to seduce your father?" “'He's not my father.' I said that, but that's not the point. I tried to explain that he was the one who kissed me. Not by my request. I don't really want him to do that. Paul said nothing. It's like he knows it's all about us and about
There's a reason I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream. I don't want to think about my mother, or Paulo, or my brothers and sisters. Or everything between Eric and me. I especially don't want to picture Nicole, beautiful, lost Nicole wandering around Mexico looking for me. If anything happens to her, I will never forgive myself. I was tossing and turning as anger, sadness, and worry swirled through my mind. The pain in my shoulder didn't help, and rolling over caused a dull ache as if it were part of my bones. And then the inevitable happened. Whispering voices. Memories of being crushed while they stripped me of my clothes. The way they ignored my screams while they sucked and held me. Once again, I felt it again - the crushing blow. Against the power of the potion, I forced myself to open my eyes and shouted. Trying to draw in air for my burning lungs, I tried to focus again. Eric's body jerked in his seat, then he turned on the light. Awareness comes. I'm safe. I'm her