My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 31

Chapter 31: 31/The ABCs of Revenge

Chapter Thirty-One:

Julie’s Point of View

I emerged from the bathroom, feeling the water cleanse my skin, though it could not wash away the boiling rage within my heart.

I headed toward the bags Robert had brought, and with sharp, mechanical movements, I picked out black trousers and a blue shirt and put them on.

I felt the fabric against my body like a shield I was forging anew to protect myself from the world.

I took the watch out of the bag; it was still there, cold and shining. I looked at its hands it was eleven at night.

How deathly slow time passes here! Those hours I spent naked and violated on that bed felt like long centuries of torment, centuries in which my soul aged a thousand years.

I placed the watch on the dressing table with a sharp tap, then picked up the hairdryer and began drying my wet strands.

The hot air lashing my face and neck reminded me of Robert’s disgusting breath hitting my skin, and anger flared in my veins like fire in dry hay.

With every gust of air, my resolve for revenge grew stronger and firmer; revenge was no longer just an idea it had become the fuel that granted me the ability to breathe and survive in this hell.

I will shatter his arrogance, just as he tried to shatter my dignity.

After drying my hair, I lay on the bed that cursed bed that, only hours ago, had witnessed my most hideous moments of weakness and brokenness.

The texture of the sheets beneath me wasn’t soft this time, nor did the bed embrace me with a warmth that calmed my fear. Instead, I felt it like a forest of sharp thorns pricking my skin again, as if every thread in its fabric was conspiring with the memory of the examination to wound me.

The coldness inhabiting the room had seeped into the bed, and even though I was fully dressed, I felt as if I were still exposed upon it.

I closed my eyes, clutching the pillow tightly, trying to convert every "sting" and thorn into a force of malice to feed my coming revenge.

In the morning, the usual scenario repeated with all its tedious details. The nurse entered alone first, and as usual, began blaming me in a cold tone for the bandage I had ripped off, then finished and left.

Minutes later, the cook entered, wheeling in the food trolley to place the meal and leave in silence.

The rituals proceeded with a military precision that drove me mad.

I watched them come and go, feeling as if I were living in a vicious, endless cycle the same faces, the same words, the same scenes repeated every day with a nauseating accuracy.

It was as if time had stopped for me at this point, as if my destiny had become a mere repetition of scenes from a wretched play, where nothing was new except that each time the scene replayed, an additional part of me died, and the fire of revenge in my chest grew hotter behind this silent endurance.

I could no longer stay on this bed for a single extra second; whenever I surrendered to its touch, I felt my weakness and fragility seeping into my bones, as if this mattress were absorbing my will.

I realized then that I couldn’t be weak all the time, nor strong all the time; my state was like the exchange of night and day. If the sun of my strength rose, it must set at the end of the day to make room for the darkness of my brokenness, and if the moon of my weakness appeared, it would inevitably vanish with every new sunrise that repeated each day.

I shook off the shroud of lethargy and stood with a sturdiness I hadn’t known before. If Robert’s dictionary "doesn’t know the meaning of loss," then my dictionary written with my tears and pain "doesn’t know the meaning of surrender."

I would face today’s sun with a warrior’s spirit, and I would not allow this vicious cycle to grind down my pride anymore.

The room was cluttered with bags and boxes scattered in every corner, and disorder had always provoked my nerves and sparked my desire for control.

I walked toward the remote control with confident steps and turned on the television.

It was connected to the internet but "neutered" like everything else here, sufficing to display channels while blocking access to any social or chat sites, keeping my isolation absolute.

I searched through the menus until I found my favorite upbeat song, "I Feel Good." As the loud melodies filled the corners of my luxurious cell, I began organizing the clothes inside the closet with quick, rhythmic movements.

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