Cristina wipes her eyes, trying to hide her tears. I’m sure she doesn’t want this bunch to see her cry. Her chest heaves with her breaths, and I imagine her heart is racing.
“Bennie,” Michela says.
Bennie turns to face Cristina and I’m not sure who’s paler right now. I make Cristina turn to me, take her face into my hands, wiping smudged eyeliner off her cheek. “Get it together. You’re almost done. He’s a boy, younger than Simona. Then you can go upstairs.”
She nods frantically, sniffling and wiping her eyes and nose. She’s about to crack.
“Go on,” Michela urges my nephew.
He looks up at her, then slowly makes his way to Cristina.
Bennie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He’s about to cry too.
Fuck.
Why the fuck did we do this in front of him?
And why did I let Lucas get to me?
“What’s that, Bennie?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound light.
He stares up at Cristina who sniffles, turning her face away. She can’t keep up with the tears.
“I made a drawing for her.” He gestures to Cristina.
“Look at that, Cristina,” I say to her. “Isn’t that nice?”
She nods, crouching down to take the drawing. “You made that for me?”
He nods but looks frightened.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Bennie,” Michela calls out.
He turns to her, then back to Cristina. “Welcome to the family,” he says and leans in to give her the tiniest peck on the cheek before running back to his mother.
When Cristina stands, I give her a nod, and without a moment’s hesitation, she disappears around the corner, heels clicking as she sprints up the stairs.
9
Cristina
I take a chair into the bathroom and lodge it under the doorknob, hoping it will keep out anyone who might try to come in. I can’t get this dress off fast enough. Can’t get under the burning hot water of the shower soon enough to scrub off their hands, their kisses.
I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life. And I’ve never felt so disgusted.
I want to peel my skin off. I swear I can still smell the old man’s breath on me. Death and hate. That’s what he smells like.
Lucas kissing me on my mouth? I can’t even begin to understand what he was thinking. Then their conversation about rules after Elise showed them the sheet?
I scrub my face, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes.
God. She showed them the sheet.
I don’t understand.
Even under the hot flow of water, I’m shaking. Freezing. I switch it off and dry myself with a towel, then put on the thick robe hanging behind the door.
I dislodge the chair, walk back into my room, and take a deep breath in, forcing it out slowly.
The phone. It was in his pocket. Did he put his jacket on before going downstairs? I can’t remember.
I open the door between our rooms tentatively but find it empty. A lamp shines on the nightstand at the far end of the freshly made bed. I guess Elise did that before taking the bloody sheet downstairs.
Did he know she’d do that?
And what if I wasn’t a virgin? What would have happened then?
The whole thing makes me nauseous.
I find Damian’s jacket hanging off the back of a chair. Grateful for that, I hurry to it, patting the pockets until I find the one with the phone. I slip my hand inside, relieved when I lift it out and see it’s mine.
Upon my return to my own room, I spot Damian’s bottle of whiskey. Without hesitating, I grab it by the neck and hurry back to my room, closing the door behind me.
I don’t like whiskey and have never been a big drinker, but tonight is a good time to start.
Twisting off the lid, I take a sip directly from the almost full bottle before setting it on the floor. Sitting down beside it, my back against the bed, I hold my hands out in front of me.
They’re shaking. I’m trembling.
I look at the phone, my one solace. Although it’s late, I dial Liam’s number.
The phone barely rings once before he picks up. I’m not surprised. He rarely sleeps.
“Cristina?”
“Hey.” There’s a long pause as I try not to cry. “You weren’t sleeping, I guess?” I ask, feeling my voice tremble.
“Sleep is overrated. Are you okay?”
I nod, wanting to say I am, but I’m not, and I can’t really speak for a long minute.