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𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀

I remembered feeling strongly wrathful and enraged. My body shook with fury as I stared in outrage at the sight in front of me.

I was practically naked in my bedroom, my closet, my dressing room, the studio, at magazine shoots. I felt bare in front of the officers, Aife - even Leonardo. My clothes felt invisible. What if the officers took secret pictures of me? What if the pictures were leaked? How did the creep get them?

I was shown bending down, close ups of my cleavage at events, wearing short dresses and skirts, my bare neck while dancing, my open cut back dresses at parties, my butt in tighter dresses.

I questioned everything; my safety, the people around me, the lack of protection I had. How did the stalker know everything? How did they gain access to me? My heart was thumping hard and I could barely breathe, beginning to feel the intensity of the situation. I wasn't safe in my home, my company - anywhere. Whoever was on me, knew everything.

The pictures were layered on each other, hundreds sprawled across the wall. The stalker even had the audacity to add little fairy lights to my bed, covering it with red rose petals too. There was more lingerie on my bed - unwashed lingerie from my laundry basket. I felt sick at the thought of what he was thinking or what he did with my garments.

It was at that point I had lost it.

I had enough.

My fingers pulled each picture off the wall as I ignored the protests of the officers and yanked each one away from my wall despite the tack begging to stay on the wall.

One with me taking a bath, I crumpled it as I tore it away. Another with me putting on my bra, I pulled it down. I kept going like that continuously, finding myself getting worked up the more I took them down. I was breathily heavily, pushing away Aife's hands attempting to stop me. "Help me, Aife! Stop!" I snapped, my voice shaky and vulnerable.

I found myself heaving, struggling to take down everything. It came to a point where my hands were shaking so much I couldn't pull anymore away. I screeched in frustration, there were so many on the wall. I couldn't reach them all, I was frantically trying to get them all down.

My head was pulsating, I started to feel dizzy as I continued to stare at the mountain of photos in front of me. Though I started to feel numb, my body began to sway and before I knew it, my body was in Leonardo's arms on the floor.

He was saying something to me, he seemed desperate to get his words across but I couldn't clearly hear him, merely the vibrations of his deep voice.

I was still heaving, my breath fast and uncontrollable - maybe he was telling me to breathe. My eyes hurt and I blinked extremely slowly, I could barely see his handsome face. My eyesight felt blurred, everything felt so out of place, like I wasn't there.

I felt hot though, it felt humid. My body temperature was rising and causing a wave of nausea to hit me. With my head spinning, I couldn't move or comprehend what was happening to me.

Eventually, my body gave up. I remembered blinking one last time before completely shutting my eyes and in turn, shutting off from the rest of that night.

The dream I had was more of a nightmare flash from the past.

It was the day I saw my mother die.

As usual, the married couple were arguing in their bedroom opposite to mine. I was used to this as a child. After practicing for hours and hours during the day, I was in my bedroom late at night, perhaps even after midnight, getting ready for bed.

I had dried my hair after washing all the grease from it and was gently combing it as I stared at myself in the mirror. I thought about how short my brunette hair was. It was only a few days ago since my mother had apologised for snipping pieces out in a rage and later trimmed my hair neatly as an apology. I wished to grow out my hair as long as hers. She was beautiful and was adored by her audience. My mother always had compliments for her bouncy, shiny hair. I wished to receive them too but it would take months for my hair to grow from my shoulders back onwards.

I settled with a loose braid and made my way to my bookshelf where I searched for an appealing book that would pull me into another dimension as I read to sleep, away from my prison. It had been a stressful day and my mom was full of anger. She was more tense than usual and of course, it impacted me. I glanced over at the bruises beginning to form on my wrists. I sighed, remembering I would have to sort that out again in the morning.

She wanted me to read literature to be a 'well informed and educated young woman'. I guessed one of the good things she taught me was that women had to be strong and educated - that would be the lottery ticket in life. I was homeschooled for a period of time in my childhood where I learned many, many subjects such as civilisation, Latin, art, history. She much preferred the more essay based subjects than science and maths. That was where public school came in to help. Nevertheless, I was still an intellectual and clever child.

I settled on reading a classic which I thoroughly enjoyed reading, though my mother frowned upon fictional, romantic books.

I slipped under my heavy bed covers and propped my pillow behind my back and leaned backwards, comfortably reading the story again.

My bedroom was old fashioned, too vintage for my age. My walls were pastel with drawings of flowers swirled across. It felt too big for me, lonely more like. My bed was a grand, double sized one with a massive headboard that I often hit my head against during the night. The sheets were cotton and smelt like vanilla, probably from the air freshener the maids always used around the house. She loved the smell of vanilla, as did I.

There was not a speck of dust in my room, mother was a huge germaphobe. The wooden floor was polished and my chests of drawers were cleaned to perfection. I had a large, antique mirror above one drawer and a large dressing table near the window.

There were hints of my childishness in there with an old dollhouse at the corner, which I was still debating throwing out, and some classic dolls on shelves waiting years to be played with. I was older, but still couldn't let go of them.

My parents were screaming at each other in their bedroom. Their voices were over each others and I could hear the sound of things being thrown off the wall. Usually, whatever argument they did have, it was my dad's fault. He was always so selfish - it didn't make sense for him to be married with a child, he didn't like being committed. He married my mother more to be content with owning her - she was a masterpiece, one of the greatest ballerinas to exist.

She too had ties with the mafia too so it was only right for him to swoop in and snatch her before anyone else could. He most likely just used her for safety and sex. There were times I heard encounters that weren't always consensual, especially when he was drunk.

But my mother wasn't exactly so innocent either. Her actions towards me could be cruel and I heard the rumours about her adultery though I wasn't sure whether they were true or not. Plus, my father wasn't so shameful about his cheating ways. It was that night that they were arguing about it.

I heard them arguing about me even though I was still in the house. I tensed up at the sound of my name, unable to concentrate on the book.

"You need me! I'll take her and leave, you'll see who will be begging!" She was yelling about ending it with him. This wasn't a first, they always threatened each other with divorce but that night felt different. I saw her bringing out suitcases earlier that day, something was clearly wrong. I wasn't sure what my father did, but she seemed dead set on leaving with me that night.

The thought of leaving with her both scared and comforted me; I would no longer need to worry about dealing with my father and his wrongdoing but being alone with my mother would mean my daily torture, those practices would never end. She wanted me to be just like her - a perfect ballerina to take over her company. They were both bad to live with but somehow I couldn't completely hate them. They were too pitiful.

I even considered my sister. What would happen to her? How would we live? She had no idea of the situation at home.

I continued to read, ignoring the argument between the two. I was happy to receive the novel as a prize months before, it was touching.

Whatever was being thrown intensified, I could hear him bellowing at her and she was screaming, demanding him to let go of her. I felt slightly panicked hearing her crying, she never usually cried, she made both of us immune to it. She said crying was for the weak which I disagreed with.

I never got involved with their arguments, it only made things worse and plus, there were things I didn't want to see even though I could hear.

Just like how I could hear him taking her against the wall.

I quickly shut the book and slid under my blanket, raising it above my head. I didn't know what to do. It wasn't the first time I heard him forcefully having her, but she was crying, pleading for freedom unlike usual. She wasn't a weak woman and hated begging and yet she had been reduced to it. That night she was desperate to leave, I wondered why even as I got older.

I had left my earphones downstairs in the conservatory and my phone was taken away as per usual every night. I had no choice but to sit and hear it.

I flinched at the sounds of slapping, her muffled shrieks, his evil voice mocking her and asserting his dominance. I hated this and wished I could escape. I usually did during their arguments, but my secret door to escape outside was locked after they found out where I had been going instead of sleeping. I didn't know what they thought I was doing before, just sitting and listening to them? They had no sense of guilt for exposing me to such trauma that still affected me as I grew.

I wiped the tears beginning to stream down my cheeks. It would be this that made me hate marriage, intimacy and love for a period of my life. Why marry if they hated each other? Why put me through all of that?

I heard her footsteps quickening to the door and it temporarily opened until it slammed shut again and she was sobbing. This repeated a few times before the door fully locked. She was thumping her hands against the door and started calling my name urgently through his shouting.

I hesitated before moving the covers and getting up, quickly moving to my door, opening it wide and banging my hands against their door, trying to open it with trembling fingers.

It was locked and she seemed more and more desperate on the other side. Unconsciously, I started screaming at the sound of what seemed to be a belt against her body. I was covering my ears, though it didn't help, and sobbing, hyperventilating at the fact that I couldn't do anything.

She seemed to have manage to unlock the door through all of her torture. I pushed the heavy door open and they were already by the balcony.

My eyes widened in horror at the right of him choking her over the balcony. She was practically naked with her velvet red dress ripped, exposing her. I could hardly see her face. I screamed for him to stop the evil unfolding in front of me.

There was splattered blood on the floor and evidence of the forceful intercourse. The belt was near my feet and I stepped over it, beginning to run across the large room towards them. I was about to jump on him, grab his head and yank him back but I was too late.

Mother horrifyingly screamed my name one final time as he pushed her off the balcony right before my eyes.

She died instantly.

I woke up uncomfortably drenched with cold sweat and in a state of shock. I sat up immediately, practically gasping for air at the haunting memory.

With my hand on my wet chest, I fought to catch my breath and wiped my eyes, still shaking.

Maybe she did love me. Was that why she called my name before she died?

I should've saved her.

I buried my head in my hands and groaned, trying to calm myself down. There was no need for me to get so worked up, I forced myself to believe. I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slowly as I tried to get her screams out my mind.

I began to remember the event that happened last night. My mind ran me through all the memories I had made; performing, meeting Leo, the incident, my panic attack. I felt embarrassed that I got so upset over another incident, embarrassed at the pictures. I groaned louder at the thought, realising I would have to confront all that again. I sighed in the darkness.

Taking in my surroundings, it occurred to me that I was not in my home, which comforted me. Instead I was in such a dark bedroom that even I struggled to see it.

I turned to see a lamp and flicked it on, taking in the gloom room. It was decorated quite nicely; simplicity was key there. I was in a huge bed with grey sheets covering me. My body felt great despite not having my usual evening stretches; I felt renewed, it was clear that I had slept well. The pillows were large and memory foam; I poked my finger in one of them, smiling as it slowly rose.

The floor was dark brown with an ash rug underneath the bed. A grand fitted wardrobe was on the opposite side of the room, filling the space. Vertical mirrors faced me and I could see the mess of the hair I had on my head. There was small abstract lights above me that was turned off and the walls of the room were charcoal coloured, making the room seem more compact than it really was.

There wasn't anything lying around like in my room, everything had been tied away. It seemed too clean to be someone's bedroom.

The room smelt good though; it reminded me of . . Leonardo. It was then that I put two and two together and realised I was in his home. I lifted the sheets and smelt the cleanliness of them - the detergent. The room was so clean it felt strange.

I slipped out of bed and pulled the covers of the corner. As I stood, I realised my feet no longer hurt despite the bruises and I was wearing a familiar lace night dress that I hoped Iris had changed me in.

Noticing a door near a black chest of drawers, I opened it slowly to reveal a clean bathroom which I used to pee, wash, after all that sweating, using what seemed to be a new, unscented soap, fix my hair and brush my teeth using an fresh toothbrush from an unopened pack.

I found some face cream in a drawer, surprised to see it there. The Vitamin C written across it caught my attention. I used it to hydrate my skin. Placing it back, I noticed how unreal the place seemed. Why was everything so new and unused?

I ensured I left the place clean and made my way back into the bedroom where I decided to snoop a little as I started to question if this was really Leonardo's house.

I tightened the soft, black towel around me and made my way to the wardrobe, carefully opening it to reveal a bunch of white and black shirts, all readily ironed and lined up nearly. I inhaled like a creep but they all smelt like laundry detergent with a hint of Leonardo's natural scent. I decided it was his room and quickly closed the door so I felt less guilty for investigating.

I ended up in a dark walk in closet and opened the chest of drawers to find some casual t-shirts but there wasn't many. Picking up another black one, I slid it over my body. I found some navy trousers and tried them on but they slipped off me immediately. I sighed, the shirt was too big for me and made me look like a child. I settled on wearing a oversized, comfy bath robe I saw earlier in the bathroom closet and slipped on some white socks that I found. I folded his clothes, placing them back where they belonged and my own I folded too, leaving it on top of the dresser. I couldn't wear that sweaty dress again.

Making my way to the door, I pondered on how simplistic that room was for such a huge and powerful man. I expected him more there.

The corridor was lighter with small lights beaming from the floor to provide illumination. I went past the glossy, faded white walls, along a balcony, my feet against the grey floor. There were grand bookshelves stacked with many books in an order, I was making my way past what I perceived as real plants, some drawers and a few pieces of art hung on the wall.

His place screamed expensive and modern yet it was simplistic which I liked though it was in stark contrast to my own apartment.

I headed down some spiral stairs with recessed lights that brightened the dark stairway. His home was classy and had a cozy aesthetic, and I took in more of its appeal as I moved down, noticing an open bright living room space. It was small and luxurious, the light from outside the large windows showing the city life.

I heard voices coming from behind me. I was almost sure I also heard a bark. Thus, I turned, making my way towards the sounds.

There was a group of people near what seemed to be the front door.

Leonardo, dressed in a simple black shirt and trousers, probably from that wardrobe I had been searching in, talking with who I could recognise as my doctor and Iris.

I blinked in surprise as they all turned simultaneously and looked at me.

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~ Author's Note ~

Another glimpse into the past! Domestic abuse is never okay. Maria has some trauma she still needs to address.

Thoughts on the flashback?

The obsession of the stalker has been evident. It's clearer now that Maria does need Leonardo's help but how will that go?

For more, please vote, comment, share and follow. Votes and comments really help me know how the story is going, if the book is enjoyable or not, and helps boost my confidence for more updates :)

Thanks for reading!

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