The Dela

Two

São Paulo Brazil...

Camila

I wake up to a very soft, fragrant mattress and sheets.  Mmmm, I smile, stretching, eyes still closed, my body enjoying this treatment after a few months of sleeping in a horrible single bed.  That thought makes my eyes widen, the events of last night being processed.  Which?  I gasp at the images evoked.  Lauren Jauregui.  She went after me and forced me to come back to fulfill an immoral deal worthy of the Feudal Lords.  I will be her whore for as long as the ridiculous woman wants me.  More images come back to my brain, still sluggish from sleep, and I moan in mortification.  I let her finger fuck me, suck my breasts and make me come.  I behaved exactly as she wants: a whore, giving me no shame.  Revulsion surges through me and I lift my torso, my eyes darting around the half-dark, silent room.  It's a huge room.  The bed I'm in is absurdly large, extravagant-looking and expensive sheets slide across my body.

My eyes widen further when I realize I'm wearing a short silk nightgown – which isn't mine – equally expensive, like everything else in this room.  Who undressed me and wore this?  Wait... Who brought me here and whose room is this in the first place?  I crawl across the huge bed, slipping my legs to the floor.  I stretch, yawning, and my gaze falls on the nightstand.  The clock is showing 11:45 in the morning.  Are we in Brazil, possibly at Senhora Feudal's house?  I snort ironically, but I smile gratefully when I see the Havaianas sandals on the floor.  These are mine.  I put them on and get up, heading toward the beam of light from a half-open door, which I assume is the bathroom.  My right ankle complains of the simple effort.  Damn it.  My shoulders slump in defeat.  It was once a dream to be a dancer.  Unfortunately professional dance had its days numbered for me, this is the sad truth I'm hiding from everyone.  Looks like if I don't tell, it doesn't come true.  The doctor forbade me to dance since I suffered a stress fracture on my supporting foot, just a month after I arrived in New York.

To be honest, it's a chronic injury, I've felt it since I was fifteen.  I started ballet very early.  It was a strategy to escape from home and my sad family life, however, I came to love dancing and dreaming of a career.  I wanted to be like Ana Botafogo, the Brazilian dancer who had the most worldwide projection.  Just a silly girl's dream.  Like everything else in my life, it also had to be ripped from me, of course.  My mom, my dad—and I'm not just referring to your vegetative state now, I lost it the instant you brought those two vipers to our house—and now my dream slipped through my fingers.  Everything is gone.  The doctor categorically said at my last appointment that if I insisted on dancing, I would use crutches in the very near future.  I shudder, my eyes filling with tears.  I would have had to stop, even if I hadn't had the sad luck of being chosen for that tyrant's private incubator.  A sob of pain and disappointment escapes me.  I sigh shakily as I reach the door, confirming it's a bathroom.  A bathroom bigger than where I've lived for the past few months.  Okay, that was an exaggeration, however, this looks like something out of this world.  It's a lot of wealth.  I walk in, my attention being caught by the huge mirror on the marble countertop of the sink.  I rest my hands on the cold stone and stare at my reflection.  I am the image of defeat.  My brown eyes are opaque, lifeless, hopeless.

“There's nothing left for you, Camila.  My voice barely comes out, choking, my cheeks bathing in hot tears.  - You have nothing.  Never had.

I'm cursing my luck when something catches my eye on my neck.  He gasps, raising his hand, touching the slightly bruised and slightly sore skin.  It's a hickey, or a bite, I don't know.  Anger boils in me.  The bitch marked me.  However, even angry, I remember the indescribable sensation I felt when I came in his fingers, his mouth sucking, biting my neck.  My core throbs, wetting against my will.  My God, I'm going crazy!  Nothing else explains my attraction to Lauren.  She is the most cruel and unscrupulous woman I have ever met.  I was supposed to hate her, completely, but that's not what happens.  Something about her turns me on too much, makes me weak, easily surrendered when I'm in her presence.  A blurry image comes to mind.  A nice scent of perfume right in my nose.  She laid me down on her lap as we got into a black car that was waiting for us in the private flights area at Guarulhos airport after we got off the jet.  Then she brought me here.  I only remember parts of this journey.