Velvet Shadows

IV

Angel stepped out of the Uber, her mind still swirling.

The grandeur of the Faena Hotel was etched into her memory—she had never been in such an opulent setting, let alone stayed in a room so luxurious. The extravagant decor, the plush bed, and the breathtaking view of Miami had felt like a dream. But now, as she walked towards the real estate office to pick up her commission check, the dream was fading, replaced by a harsh reality.

Whispers and stares from her colleagues were palpable. Their curiosity and judgment followed her like a shadow, and she could feel their eyes boring into her back as she made her way to the front desk.

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with a stern demeanor, eyed Angel coldly. Her composure wavered under the weight of humiliation and anxiety.

"I'm here to pick up my commission check," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

The receptionist's response was curt. "It's in the mailbox at the back."

Angel felt a lump form in her throat, the sting of humiliation burning beneath her skin. She wiped away a tear that threatened to escape, struggling to contain her frustration.

"I don't understand why I'm being treated like this," she muttered softly, more to herself than to the receptionist.

With a deep breath, she turned away and hurried towards the back of the office. The whispers grew louder as she passed her colleagues, their curious gazes following her every move. Anxiety gnawed at her as she wondered if the person who had drugged her was among them, hiding behind polite smiles and feigned concern.

She found the mailbox and retrieved her check, relief washing over her momentarily.

She didn't want to be here when Dante arrived—avoiding him was the least she could do to spare herself further discomfort.

Feeling the need to escape, Angel decided to visit her mother at the mental hospital.

The familiar bus ride brought back a flood of memories, each one tinged with sadness. Her mother had been there for years, her mental state deteriorating steadily.

Today, Angel felt an urgent need to see her, to find some semblance of comfort in a world that felt increasingly unstable.

The hospital was a stark, sterile place, filled with the echoes of whispered conversations and the distant hum of machinery.

Angel signed in at the front desk, her heart heavy as she made her way to her mother's room. The long corridors, with their dim lighting and antiseptic smell, were a constant reminder of her mother's suffering.

Her mother was sitting in a chair by the window, staring blankly into the distance. Her once-vibrant eyes were now dull, her spirit crushed by years of illness.

Angel approached her cautiously, her voice soft. "Mama, soy yo, Angel."

There was no recognition in her mother's eyes, no flicker of awareness. Angel felt a pang of sorrow, her heart breaking all over again.

She reached out to take her mother's hand, but the older woman recoiled, her expression turning to one of fear and anger.

"No me toques!" her mother screamed, her voice filled with a panic that Angel had never heard before.

Before Angel could react, her mother lashed out, her hands striking Angel's face with unexpected force.

Angel stumbled back, shock and hurt flooding through her. Her mother's nails dug into her skin, leaving deep scratches that began to bleed.

The scene escalated quickly. Her mother's screams echoed through the sterile hallways, and Angel could barely see through her tears and the blur of movement as nurses rushed in.

They restrained her mother with practiced efficiency, but not before her mother landed another blow, this time catching Angel on the lip, splitting it open.

The nurses gently but firmly led her mother away, who was now sobbing and shouting incoherently.

Angel stood there, her cheek stinging from the slap, blood trickling from the fresh wounds on her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The pain of her mother's rejection was almost too much to bear. She knew it wasn't her mother's fault, that the illness had taken away the woman she had known and loved, but it didn't make it any easier.

One of the nurses approached her with a look of sympathy. "Are you alright? Do you need any medical attention?"

Angel shook her head, still in shock. "No, I'm fine. I just need a moment."

The nurse nodded and handed her a tissue. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's hard for everyone involved."

As she left the hospital, Angel's thoughts turned once again to Dante. His presence in her life was like a dark cloud, full of uncertainty and danger. Yet, despite everything, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was the only one who could help her make sense of it all.

The way he had been there for her, protective and commanding, had stirred something deep within her—a confusing blend of fear and desire.

The bus ride back was a blur, her mind consumed by the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt lost, adrift in a sea of doubt and fear, with no clear way forward.

As she neared her apartment, her phone rang.

Dante's name flashed on the screen.

For a moment, Angel's heart raced, torn between the urge to answer and the desire to distance herself from the turmoil he represented.

In the end, she let it ring, the unanswered call a silent testament to the chaos in her life.

Angel entered her small apartment, the silence of the empty rooms offering no comfort. She walked to the bathroom and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The scratches on her face were angry and red, her lip swollen and throbbing. She cleaned herself up as best as she could, feeling the sting of antiseptic on her wounds.

Rummaging through the sink cabinet, she found it; the razor blade.

She climbed into her bed, took deep breaths and with a shaky hand, she ran the blade on the skin on her left arm.

The first stroke and small drops of blood pooled on her skin. She ceased crying and could not look away from the scar. There was a pause where emotions she had never felt overcame her, and so she ran the blade on her arm deeper this time.

Again and again and again until finally there were lines of blood and Angel could not see a surface to continue on, so she went to the bathroom and cleaned up her mess.

Exhausted, she collapsed back onto her bed, staring at the damp patches on the ceiling.

Her thoughts drifted back to Dante, his intense gaze, his strong presence.

She was drawn to him, despite the fear and uncertainty he brought into her life. But tonight, she needed to rest.

In the quiet darkness of her room, Angel's mind finally began to quiet, her thoughts slowly fading into the depths of sleep as her arm bled through her sleeve.