the law of attraction | reus + lewandowski

FOUR

May, 1943

—

In the days leading up to the party, we began to set everything up. Young workers from the camp were ordered to rearrange furniture and set up outside, a small stage had to be created for the singer that would be performing, and Elena and I had to cook up almost everything imaginable.

The thing about Marco was that he was almost methodological in the way he taunted me. Anything he knew I had an aversion to, he wanted me to do. Cooking foods that the religion forbade me from eating or touching, asking me to feed his scary animals—and, in this moment, making me read him an excerpt from his bible.

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." I looked up from the pages and at Marco, who lay in his bed but stared at me. I felt my blood boil with anger. He knew, of course he knew, just how much I hated him.

"That's enough for now," Marco stated. I closed the Bible and put it back in the drawer on his nightstand.

"Yes, sir." I began to stand up, but he grabbed my hand.

"Don't go anywhere."

For a few moments, I froze. I shouldn't have acted so clueless, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest with apprehension as to what I could only presume his intentions were. Slowly, I sat back down on the stool, my eyebrows knitting into a small frown.

Marco stared at me from where he sat, straight up against the headboard. He was shirtless, though I didn't have the courage to look. My blue eyes found his gaze before he broke it, looking past me at something. I took this as my chance to stare at his abdomen, and the tattoos on his arms. They were beyond intriguing, as I had only seen tattoos on other Jewish people that'd been branded with identification numbers. Before I knew it, I was quietly attempting to analyze each one, and much to my surprise, the commandant let me.  Then again, he'd had more than enough to drink during dinner.

"Do you like them?" He inquired, after a few moments. Nervously, I looked down at my lap. Did I like them? What did it matter to him, anyways? He'd scold me for whatever answer I gave.

Before I could give my routine response, I felt his cold fingers beneath my chin. He lifted my head up to face his and leaned forward. "I asked you something."

I stared at Marco, my eyes wide. He grinned. "Mein gott, you're afraid of me. Aren't you?"

I lied. "No, sir."

"No?" Marco grinned even more. "Then why do you tremble like that?"

I looked down. Sure enough, my body was shaking. Of course I was racked with fear, but something in me so stubborn refused to let him know. But he knew, of course. Marco trailed his fingers under my chin and to my shoulders, where he frowned and spoke.

"I know that you were lying, Magdalena, when you said that you liked to be touched by me. Of course you were lying." His hand landed in my lap. "But the thing is, as disconcerting as it may be, that I do like to touch you." He lifted his eyes and stared at me. I felt my face burn as I pressed my thighs together, nervously. Even with Max, I had rarely ever been touched in this sense. We were both fairly conservative. I felt slightly appalled by the thought of Marco being the first man to explore my body, but when I looked in his eyes, I knew those were his intentions—and I knew there was nothing I could do about it.