Blame it on the shame Part 3

 

Chapter 15 (Lou-Lou)

 

Marlene ducks just in time and the bowl of piping hot soup hits the wall instead of her head.

I hear her mutter that I'm a bitch and I give her the finger.

I don't want to be so mean to her, but she's clearly on Ricardo's side and enabling my hostage situation.

She also refuses to tell me why he's keeping me here...and the way she purposely avoids looking at my eyes when I ask, tells me she knows.

“You need to eat, Lou-Lou. You were passed out for over 24 hours and you've been arguing with me for the last 5 that you've been awake. It's not healthy.”

I kick the food tray and send it sailing across the floor. “Being held prisoner isn't healthy.”

“He's not holding you prisoner, he's—” She slams a hand over her mouth and scurries to the bedroom door.

“Please, Marlene.” My voice cracks with emotion and she looks down. “You know the things I've been through...you saw some of them first hand. So I'm begging you to either let me go...or tell me why I'm here.”

For a second, I think I've gotten to her but she shakes her head and says, “I can't. You'll have to discuss it with him.” Before she opens the door and runs out.

“But I don't want to see him,” I shout, my voice breaking on the last word.

I have no desire to see this new Ricardo DeLuca...not when my heart still yearns for the old one.

I sink against the wall, draw my knees up to my chest, and bury my head in my hands.

The man who set me free...is now holding me captive.

God, he was so mean and cruel to me in that basement.

I fight back a shudder...that basement.

Jesus, the things he did down there.

Why didn't Emilio intervene? I didn't see him down there, but I know Ricardo's always looked up to him and valued him, there's no way he's not his right-hand man now that Ricardo's the one in charge.

Despite what Emilio did to me, I know he's always watched out for Ricardo and put him first...so where the hell is he now? How could he let Ricardo go down this path and not do anything to stop it?

Hot tears stream down my face and I let them fall freely, because I can no longer stifle them.

I feel like I've officially lost everything.

When the door opens again, I stand up and reach for the vase of dandelions on the nightstand, intending to chuck them at Marlene.

Only it's not Marlene standing there.

It's him—Mr-fucking-DeLuca in the flesh.

His eyes flash when he sees the vase in my hand and he crosses his arms over his broad chest and stares me down.

He doesn't say a word...he just keeps staring...like he's daring me to throw it at him. I almost feel myself shrink down because his presence is not only commanding...it's overpowering.

It's not because of the way he's standing there in a perfectly tailored suit with the perfect amount of stubble on his stupid, gorgeous face...it's the way those eyes of his seem to know my every move before I even make it. Like my body is his personal game of chess, and he's already killed the pawns and claimed the queen.

It's because his silence is more perceptive and methodical than any philosopher's words could ever be.

It's because I hate him so fucking much for everything he's done...for breaking me into even more pieces...and yet feeling whole in his presence.

It's because my savior has now become my captor.

But unfortunately for him? This dance with the devil is all too fucking familiar.

So I'm sitting this one out.

I match the intensity in those dark eyes of his and give him a smirk of my own as I wind my arm back and throw the vase full force. Giving it everything I've got.

Because I want to. I want him to know that I'm not some weak bitch who's going to take this ass up and face down like I did for his father for so many years.

I want him to know that prisoner or not, he doesn't get to claim me again, not now, not ever.

I want him to know that he doesn't get to leave me when I need him the most and hurt me again...because I want to hurt him this time.

I want him to know that I'll never forgive him...because it's me who lives with the hurt. It's me who lives with the loss day in and day out., the loss of the life that never even had a chance to live....while he's out there taking people's lives.

I am so angry...so fucking angry inside...I can feel my entire body stewing and seething with rage.

I expect him to either move out of the way or block it and toss it back at me like I probably deserve...but he doesn't.

He stands tall as it hits him, let's it break and shatter against him, and remains indestructible...just like always.

I hate him for it. Nothing can penetrate him...nothing gets under his skin...nothing causes him to break.

He only became stronger while I became weaker when we were apart.

He wipes the glass off his suit, ignoring the cuts that are now on his hands and the fragmented pieces I can see digging into his new wounds and takes a step forward.

I do as well but then he speaks. “No. There's glass all over the place, you'll end up hurting yourself.”

“No more than you already have,” I say, gesturing to the bandaged wound of my own.

For the first time since I've been here, I see the faintest trace of an emotion other than anger in his eyes. “I didn't do that to you, Lou-Lou.”

I know he didn't. I don't even need the affirmation dripping in utmost sincerity to confirm it. Ricardo would never physically hurt me, unless I wanted him to—my wounds from him are all emotional. But still, I enjoy making him think I would think that about him...because he's clearly not moved by anything else...so I'll use it to my advantage.

Do you really want to be this bitter, Lou-Lou?—my mind questions.

Yes—it dulls the pain. Or rather, it bounces the hurt I'm feeling onto him. Where it belongs.

I'm rubber and he's motherfucking glue...if only for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” he then questions, taking another step.

I back up, not wanting to be in his atmosphere, afraid I'll get sucked in. “Imprisoned...you?”

He sighs and lifts his hand to most likely run it along his jaw like he usually does when he's frustrated, but looks down at the glass that's embedded it in and thinks better of it. “I meant your head.”

When I open my mouth to give him another smart-ass reply, he says, “Your memory, Lou-Lou. Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Sure,” I tell him, moving to sit on the bed. “I remember going to class—”

“I heard about that. I'm proud—”

I cut him off with the most fake, yet sweetest smile I can muster. “I remember my boyfriend meeting me in the parking lot after class.” When I see his eyes harden I continue. “His name is Atticus, by the way. And he's really smart, smart enough to teach other people things.”

I watch as his hands clench, crushing the glass into his skin and I smile wider.

“Anyway, we met in the parking lot after I got out of class so we could meet up for our date at the bar since it was Friday night. We usually spend Friday nights with one another.”

I give him a wink. “As I'm sure you already know by now, I was staying with Momma...and well—”

I pause for dramatic effect and bite my lip i