Girls Who Dreamt of Castles

Chapter Ten

"He told me he was used to getting what he wanted."
- Celia Conrad.

Brenda Okoro was home alone dressed in an oversized grey T-shirt and a pair of rainbow-coloured shorts.

She laid on the sofa in her living room watching the NTA news on full volume, a pack of cigarettes on the centre table, a lit one between her fingers, and an ashtray on her belly.

She dragged the smoke slowly into her lungs and tapped on the cigarette stick just above the ashtray, leaving a remnant of the ash on her T-shirt.

"Fuck," she whispered.

There was a heavy knock on the door which she chose to ignore. A few seconds later, the door swung open, inviting an uncomfortable silence.

She heard faint footfalls coming towards her but she didn't care to look.

"Didn't you hear me knock? Why didn't you get the door?" said a voice. It was angry and husky and it belonged to a man.

Brenda wasn't trying to ignore the man. In all honesty, she was trying her hardest to give him all the attention she could give. All the attention he needed. Her brain just had a way of shutting people out when it wanted to and she had absolutely nothing to do with it.

"Ahead on our news..."

"The world is coming to an end," she whispered, the slim cigarette dangling on the tip of her soft lips. She could hear the sound of a voice but it wasn't coming from the television.

"Can you-"

Can she what? Can she stop watching the TV? She couldn't. Staring at the television was her escape from reality. Well, music was. But still, she liked knowing what was going wrong with the country. If she didn't watch the news, how was she supposed to know?

"If you could just stop staring blankly-"

Blankly? Well, he was right about things being blank. Her mind was blank for one, his too. Why wouldn't the man just let her watch the telly in peace?

"Are you even listening?"

Of course, she was listening. She wasn't deaf. She was stubborn but she wasn't deaf, there was a huge difference. Everyone knew that.

"What is your problem today, Brenda?"

"The telly," she snapped and immediately regretted her action. She hadn't realized he was the owner of the voice.

The man turned to the television. "Oh, you haven't been listening, have you? What are you watching the news for?" he continued, turning to face her. "This stuff isn't good for you. You're a model, you're supposed to be at the studio or the runway. These things don't do your brain any good," he whispered.

"It somehow helps," she nodded to herself. She didn't even realize what she had said.

Who was she trying to impress?

The man nodded as if agreeing with her. "Certainly, you'd say that but those kinds of thoughts should be dispelled, Brenda," he caressed her hair as his venomous words bit into her.

She blinked. "Don't touch me," she spluttered in a strangled voice, knowing fully well that she's pushing her luck.

"Oh, just shut up!" he snapped, immediately taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his moist face and some ash of cigarette away from his clothes. After he was done, he slowly put it back into his trouser pocket and examined her pensively with his dark, horrid eyes.