I wake up feeling sore. It’s hard to open my eyes, but I force them open; my throat is dry. The room is very dark; I try to let my eyes adjust to the dim light so I can find my table lamp. I stretch out my arm, but the bed seems to go on forever, and I realize I’m almost slipping off these sheets. I start to panic and feel the anxiety returning.
- Hello!
I try to speak, but my throat hurts terribly; my voice comes out with great difficulty and is quite rough, but even so, it seems someone heard me.
The door opens, and a soft yellow light begins to appear at the far end of the bed on the ceiling—it’s a straight line that starts in the center and expands to the edges of the walls. It really looks like sunrise. Beautiful.
- Blair!
I turn with effort toward the door and see Claire rushing in. I realize that everything that happened wasn’t a nightmare, and that I’m not in my room.
She hugs me so tightly that my body reacts by shrinking back automatically.
- Ouch! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you or hurt you! Oh, Blair! – I see her tears welling up. Her eyes are swollen and she has dark circles under them; it looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. – Forgive us, forgive me! If I hadn’t chosen that bar, no one would have known anything and this wouldn’t have happened!
She breaks down and cries, lamenting something that isn’t her fault.
- It’s not your fault, Claire, don’t think that.
My voice comes out hoarse, and it hurts so much to speak. I put my hand to my throat, and she understands.
- Oh, I’m sorry, don’t talk. Wait, I’ll get you some water.
She gets up quickly and goes to a long beige desk on the side of the room. Only then do I allow myself to take in my surroundings; in front of me are thick gray curtains that stretch from the ceiling to the floor, the walls are a dull, matte burgundy that contrasts with the varnished wood floor. There’s a wooden door with a black doorknob, which I assume leads to the bathroom. It’s a huge room, almost as big as my apartment.
Claire comes over with a tall glass of water, and I drink it too quickly, trying to ignore the pain that feels like knives. The water runs down my mouth and slides down my neck. As soon as I finish, I feel full and slightly satisfied. My throat even seems to have improved, and I dare to speak again.
- Where are we?
Claire looks guilty, the same expression she makes when she knows I won’t like the answer.
- Well, it’s better to show you first and explain later.
She stands up and presses a round button on the wall, right next to the nightstand that’s the same color as the floor. Automatically, the thick curtains spring to life and part from one another, gradually revealing a… magnificent landscape.
My view is an entire plain of vineyards, with small lights embedded in the ground illuminating them. The black sky is lit by the stars. It looks like a mirage. After realizing I’ve been mesmerized by the view for too long, I tear my gaze away and turn to Claire, looking for an explanation. She starts with her habit of twirling her finger in her hair, but then begins to explain.
- After what happened at your job, well, you got a little… nervous. You were seen by doctors, who treated you and your injuries to your nose and lip. Your glasses broke and one of the lenses cut your cheek; you had to get a stitch. – She realizes I’m about to burst into hysterical tears and hurries to add. – But you’ll be fine and won’t have any scars! So then… your boss refused to let you go home because it might be too dangerous, and so, well, he… he sent us to his vacation home. You’re on paid sick leave! You don’t have to worry about a thing! That monster is still in the hospital because he took such a beating, but as soon as he’s—unfortunately—better, he’s going to jail. Mr. Parker was here twice, but he had to go back to give more statements to the police and provide the surveillance footage. Don’t worry, Blair, you’re safe here. The man has put security guards everywhere as if we were celebrities! And every day a lady comes to deliver breakfast, lunch, and dinner! All your medication is in the drawer, and we have a doctor on call 24 hours a day who lives in the house next door. Just give him a call and he’ll come right away. Your boss took care of everything.
My heart sinks, and I nod slightly. Did he do this out of remorse?
- On Monday I want to go home, Claire.
- Yeah, but I don’t think that’ll be possible. - I look at her suspiciously, without realizing why. – It’s just… Mr. Parker gave express orders for you to stay here until you’re fully recovered.
- But he doesn’t control me.
- But also for your safety, Blair. We don’t know if there might be retaliation.
- What do you mean?
She sighs and looks at her hands. Fear begins to creep in.
- That bastard is in the hospital and is going to jail, but we don’t know how long he’ll be there. He might even stay there for quite a while, and I’m sure that’s what’s going to happen, but we don’t know if that scumbag might send someone to hurt you. And until we’re certain of that, it’s better not to take any chances.
Anger gives way to fear. It seems my nightmare isn’t over yet.
- But I can’t stay here forever, Claire! I have my life, my job!
- Don’t worry about work; it’s always safe.
We’re startled by that deep voice. My heart races and I look toward the door, coming face to face with my boss. Our eyes are locked on each other, and only when Claire stands up does he break eye contact with me.
- Mr. Parker, good evening. I was explaining things to Blair.
He leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression reveals neither hatred nor anger, but rather weariness and understanding. His voice, though firm, has a gentle tone.
- Of course. May I speak with Blair alone, please?
She looks at me and I give her my “NO!” look, but she ignores me.
- Yes. I’m in the next room, Blair.
He steps aside, letting Claire pass, like the gentleman he appears to be. He enters and closes the door, approaching the bed, but doesn’t sit down; he gives me space, and I thank him mentally for that.
- How are you feeling?
She crosses her arms again, hiding her hands, but to no avail—I’ve already seen the raw knuckles.
- Not too well, and you? I mean, Mr.?
My voice comes out hoarse, as if I’d smoked fifteen packs of cigarettes. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair, which, for the first time in two years, I see isn’t impeccable. I notice that even though he’s already changed his shirt, it’s wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it, and he’s unshaven.
- Let’s skip the boss-and-employee thing. Call me Leonard.
I feel myself blushing. Even after everything that’s happened, this man still affects me.
- Okay, Leonard, thank you for… for having…
I can’t finish the sentence without my eyes filling with tears. I feel a lump in my throat and look at my clenched hands. I feel so weak, so helpless, so dirty. So worthless. I feel the bed move; he sits down in front of me and gently places his hand under mine, easing the grip I hadn’t even realized I was applying. He gently wipes away another tear running down my face. I shudder involuntarily at his touch.
- You don’t have to thank me for anything. Nothing. I’m the one who has to ask you to forgive me. I… It was never my intention to leave you in that state, and I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I’m a man, and I know that men are pigs, and many of them are beasts. - He removes his hand from my face and lowers his head. For the first time, I see this man’s vulnerability. - Forgive me.
- You don’t have to ask for forgiveness, Mr. , I mean, Leonard. It’s not your fault. No one is to blame for what happened except him and… me.
His gaze meets mine, shock and anger mingling in those blue eyes. He gently cups my face, and I look at him. With his thumbs, he wipes away the tears streaming down my face.
- Never blame yourself for what happened, Blair, never. You weren’t and aren’t to blame for anything that happened; you…
I can’t bear his words.
- I am! I am! I’m the one who drank too much at the bar and talked and made a fool of myself, without thinking I was in a public place! I’m the one to blame! ME!
He pulls me toward him and hugs me, placing his hand under my head and letting me cry on his shoulder. And I let myself cry. I cry out of anger at myself, out of fear, out of my weakness in not being able to defend myself, out of my stupidity, out of disgust with myself. I cry for everything, right next to the person who saved me.
When I finally start to slow down, to calm down, he presses his mouth to my ear and, softly, speaks so only I can hear.
- You’re not to blame for absolutely anything. And no other man in this world will ever touch you again. If they try, they won’t be here to tell the tale, just like this son of a bitch who touched you is. Unfortunately, he got lucky.
I cling to his arm as I hear his words. I manage to close my eyes; I feel exhausted. He lays me down gently. He tries to leave, but I grab his hand. I want him close to me; I’m afraid that if he leaves, something bad will happen.
- You’re safe here, Blair. – He runs his hand over my face. – I’ll stay here, don’t worry. Rest.
His voice is a whisper that calms me. I fall asleep right away.