Ciao Amores,
I hope you its a worthy read. Bare with me. It's intense. Note that I do not condone use of obscene language. It is only used to vivify the story.
Here's the Thirty-eighth installation of Italian Coffee House.
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Ang
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Niccolò's Chocolate House
Chapter 38
*Dari*
**Please be advised that the following chapters contain adult subject matter, graphic scenes, profanity, racialism and are not suitable for readers under the age of 18. Consider yourself forewarned. **
A sickening heat circulated me. Beads of sweat traced a path down my forehead, accumulating so that they resembled teardrops at the edge of my brow. Were they tears? It was difficult to tell from my position on the calloused ground beneath me. However, it didn't matter. Both seemed to align for one purpose. To rub me of fluids that were necessary to keep my body hydrated.
Maybe someone forgot to turn on the A.C. I scoffed, shaking my head at the terrible attempt of a joke. Marveling at my fabulous timing.
Remember that feeling?
Waking up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat?
The only difference? My nightmare was compounded. As real as the breathe of air in my lungs. My clothes wreaked of perspiration, clinging to me like a second skin. The moment I roused from my comatosed state, a pitch black darkness surrounded me, bringing with it uncertainty. Regardless how many times I'd tried to convince myself, that everything would turn out alright.
The fact remained that I was on my own, in an unfamiliar territory. Alone, in a hole somewhere, closed off from civilisation. My eyes had a tough time adjusting to the shadows that swallowed me up entirely. My attempts to ascertain clues that would help to decipher my location proved a frivolous task. The silence was my only companion.
All in all, I had not a grain of food, not a drop of water. No way of gauging where I was taken or how to get out. No way of telling how long I'd been here, though I easily discerned that it was concrete based room. A concrete box — but how would that help me? How would knowing any of that help the three little ones gestating within me? It wouldn't.
I chuckled humorlessly, pressing my chapped lips together, applying moisture to them. In this spell, it was imperative to hold on to any cooling agent my body produced. Manipulating them to my advantage, for as long as it was possible.
Tangy traces of blood percolated my tastebuds, causing me to shiver slightly. An involuntary reaction, in conjunction with a memory that suddenly surfaced. Examining my jaw, I was not surprised at the stab of pain that lingered there.
It wasn't a dream!
Briefly, I wished myself unconscious again. Numb to this strange and terrifying reality. To close my eyes, and awake in the arms of the man I love. To the sensation of his arm, as it held me in place against him, in his protective shell. The sting of tears glazed my eyes at the thought, before I quickly suppressed them, willing myself to be strong. A frustrated groan escaped despite my attempt to pacify my woes.
I was uneasy at the fact that I had attempted something so perfunctory ... so reckless. Especially, given my condition. Mostly, I was ashamed to even call myself a mother. Clearly, that title didn't fit.
My jaw hurt, and with good reason, since — that bastard had struck me there.
In an effort to relieve some of the discomfort, I rolled unto my side, wincing at the areas that protested the action. No such luck. Instead, the action caused a wave of dizziness to wash over me. I lingered there a moment, waiting patiently as the sensation dissipated. The room was submerged in a blank of silence. The only noise, the rhythmic echo of my pulsing heart.
I welcomed the distraction, reminded of our trip to the obstetrician. Where we heard the sound of their heartbeats — met our babies for the first time. Involuntarily, my hand shot to my abdomen, rubbing soothing circles against it as their father did. My mind wandered off to him. How he'd coped with the news of my disappearance. Sooner or later, he was bound to know that something was up.
By now, Krysta or Tey had made a call to the relevant authorities. My heart fluttered at the idea briefly, then it didn't. I considered my position. I may be naïve about a lot of things, but I wasn't entirely oblivious to the rule of law. An african female missing, may not turn as many heads as it ought to. Justice seemed to be a privilege, swift and sure to a select few. But what did I know?
Casting aside the thought, I forced myself to focus extensively on my next move. Namely, what superficial details would serve to provide some form of comfort -- even in this prison, for the time being. Like the wall. Stretching an arm out, I surveyed the arena before my hand connected with a surprisingly cool vertical surface. The tips of my fingers lightly traced the texture before I crept on all fours making my way towards it. I sighed in content, for the first time in a while, as my back pressed against the partiton.
The simple things we took for granted. It was astounding that something so trivial could bring me some relief, then the realisation hit that there was much to be grateful for. I was alive wasn't I? That had to count for something. So many things could've gone wrong, but I caught myself before my mind could venture down that path.
Placing my head lightly against the cool concrete, I willed myself to think positively. Like about Papa's incredible recovery. I don't think I've mentioned enough how proud he made me. He'd gone through so much, and had come so far. My heart sank. I didn't want anything to send him into regression. Having an intimate knowledge of his ailment, only I really knew the full extent of condition. Anything had the potential to offset a meltdown.
Folding my arms, I drew my knees together and to meet my chest, cradling my head above them.
-::-
Several times, I thought I'd imagined it. That my brain was having a hard time distinguishing between irreality and reality. However, when I regained my consciousness at the back of a strange vehicle, it was then I knew I hadn't. That the nightmare I had dubbed a fragment of my imagination, was in fact very active.
My cheek was pressed against the cold metallic surface. A sudden jolt of the van, echoing throughout my body. Slowly, I had inched the dark fabric stealthily, just over my nose to take account of my surroundings.
It was still dark out. Probably, later, by the bright glow of the streetlights that went by us in a flash. The vehicle was almost completely consumed by darkness. All except the cockpit, where the lanterns cast a soft glow over the man behind the wheel from the windshield. Ample enough to tell he wasn't wearing a mask, but not enough that I could make out any features beyond his dark hair.
The minivan abruptly took a sharp turn to the left, sending my body careening into someone's lower legs. Though not before I pulled the mask back over my face, feigning unconsciousness. My eyes squeezed shut. Partially at the rough contact, partially at the thought of the assailant in the back with me discovering my status.
It was urgent that I act as naturally as possible. To assume the posture of an unconscious person. Even if that meant suppressing a yelp upon impact. Further, feigning indifference as the bastard pushed against me, the raggedy sole of his boot no doubt leaving an impression on my arm under its weight. My body revolving, revolting in the opposite direction.
Wham!
I winced slightly swallowing a cry, praying that my cover remained intact. Any sudden movements, noises, would put me and my babies at risk. Not to mention, take away my advantage.
It was uncanny. The primitiveness that still existed on this earth, yet some claimed that we were an evolved species. Despite the urge to retaliate, I focused on breathing therapeutically. Finding a spot beyond the thin fabric to direct my rage. Oddly enough, the longer I stared at that point, the less agitated I became given my situation. My heart rate returned to a level I could keep up with.
"Fucking baboon!" A deep groggy masculine voice muttered under his breath just loud enough that I could registered it.
The nerve of that racist bastard. My temper flared, reaching an all-time high, my eyes shutting instantaneously behind the mask willing myself not to pay him any mind. Instead, my focus surrounded gaining access to devices I could manipulate to make an escape. Obviously, stealth was an ally and God knows I needed it.
"Hey Clyde, what the fuck is going on back there?" Another voice called from the distance and my thoughts drifted to the man upfront.
Clyde? The racist bastard I presumed.
"That black bitch rolled into me Johnny. The fuck is your problem?" Clyde spat, obviously a little too defensive, at Johnny's line of questioning.
"Well, I'm the fucking driver aren't I? So, I shouldn't have to worry about your abilities to keep things under control." Johnny hollared back, coaxing a string of words I wouldn't dare repeat, from Clyde.
"Fine fucking drive and I'll man this bitch."
The familiar glow of streetlights illuminated the front seat in intervals, through the windshield, as Johnny zipped past them, in a hurry to go heaven knows where. Taking a chance, I slowly inched my hand up the cool surface, searching for anything that would help me get out of there. My nerves were in a bundle, but I managed scarcely to keep them at bay. Finally, my hand found the handle for a door and I immediately yanked on it. The door rolled open and the cold air came rushing in.
"Dafuq," came the voice I'd pegged as Clyde's.
For a split second, I weighed the pros and cons to jumping out of a moving vehicle on to the asphalt. It was worth mentioning that the minivan took on such a high speed. That it would be unwise to leap, having no assurances that I wouldn't harm my babies. The impact might very well have a dire effect on them and that's a risk I wasn't willing to take. But it was now or never? While I had the opportunity to do something to help my situation. Instead I panicked, yelling at the top of my voice, pleading for someone — anyone, to help me. However, my attempt failed I realized as Clyde gathered my locs into a fist, yanking me backward.
"There are two ways you can get out of this you black predator-looking bitch. Either by a ransom, or the asphalt! What's your choice?" Clyde yelled, shoving my head out of the door.
Choking on a sob, I conceded relaxing as much as I could into his hands.
"That's what I fucking thought!" Clyde yanked on my locs, pulling me just enough, so that he could whisper into my ear. He slammed the door shut with the other hand, causing me to wince slightly. Tears spilled from my eyes and I chided myself for allowing him to get to me. Without warning, his fist connected with my jaw in a sickening thud, knocking me out cold.
-::-
Muffled cries escaped me. To say I was terrified would be understating things a bit. More than anything, I was worried about the little ones growing inside me. My little episode in the minivan couldn't happen again. Above all else, it was my maternal duty -- a right given to me by God himself -- to ensure the safety of my babies. I may have been doubtful about my abilities to be a mother, but I would protect them. Put them before myself.
My GOD in Heaven, you know my afflictions. I cover these three growing in my womb, with your precious blood and I leave them in your care. I pray that YOU lead us through this wilderness and sustain us. That YOU return us to the ones we love in Jesus's name I pray. Amen.
From henceforth, everything ... everything I did would have to be a calculated effort to keep my babies safe. Our babies. God knows how much I missed my husband, their father. My Nicky. I tried to imagine, as best I could, the sensation of his embrace. The smell of his aftershave, or his intoxicating cologne. Anything that might free me, even briefly, from this wretched place. Try as I might, nothing could not sway the hold of the darkness that encapsulated me.
It was better to try and have failed right? Better than going crazy, even given my dilemma. I had to be strong for him — for our little Casimiros. It proved a difficult task, in this dungeon, but I tried nonetheless. After trying for what felt like ages, I gave it a rest, deciding to shift my focus elsewhere for a while.
Since the return of my consciousness, I hadn't gathered enough willpower to examine the horrid place they stored me in. It hadn't escaped me that Clyde was a practising racist, or a barbaric mule. If his words were despicable, imagine what unsavory thoughts he harbored in that mind of his. His behavior towards me spoke volumes. It was not so farfetched a notion, that he put me in a place as degrading as he was.
It was necessary to face the truth of my reality. He wasn't fooling anyone. Least of all, me. Nor did he try to. I wiped under my eyes, opening them again only to be stonewalled by the deep nothingness. If it weren't for the sensation in my arms and legs, along with the rest of my body, I might be convinced that I was in a void.
A sudden pain shot through my body. I inhaled in short breathes, rubbing circles into my abdomen again. The sensation lasted for what felt like a few minutes, before it passed and I realised it was a merely contraction. My uterus relaxing and contracting to better prepare the babies to descend my womb as Dr. Henriques had put it.
Despite everything, my spirits lifted a bit. Pain wasn't always bad. It was a signal that I was still here. Still human. Also, it signified the progression of first trimester. The hope for the months that were ahead. The three new lives Nicky and I would welcome into the world together.
A cool shock abruptly registered at my left leg, which I noticed rested in an awkward position. I couldn't know why it hadn't bothered me before but now that thought about it, there was something cold at my foot. As I pulled on my leg, a metallic noise clamored through the air in resistance. It proved futile, trying to be quiet. Especially when there was, quite obviously, a heavy antimonial shackle around my ankle.
So besides my being surrounded by darkness, there was a shackle at my foot. Apparently, bolted to the wall. These people were obviously a sadistic bunch with a terrible sense of humor. Where could I possibly go in the pitch black?
The sound of another metallic clanking caught my ear. At first, I wondered if someone had been in the shadows with me the entire time. Maybe too weak to say anything, but then, the idea was easily dismissed when the realisation hit that the noise was in fact the sound of a door being unlatched. The sound gave me quite a chill. It meant that someone was coming in.
Defensively I gathered my legs in my arms again, propping it against my chest, wincing at the first source of light to pierce the fabric of my reality in a while. There -- in the doorway -- stood a man. My eyes squinted reflexively to take in his aura. A silhouette formed around his frame, the light distinguishing him from the rest of the dark interior. Time seemed to stand still in this hell-hole, especially without natural light like the sun or reflective light of the moon for guidance. Even now, I could tell that he was studying me. My focus drifted past him to the concrete and metal beyond the threshold.
Not even a window.
The figure stood in place for some time. His output, casual. As if this were somehow as normal as rainfall. I was uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He flipped a switch. My eyelids shut instantly. All at once, the amount of light coming my way, was too much to bear. I opened them slowly again to view my captor.
His black hair, contrasted starkly with the olive eyes that were hooded as he gazed back at me. Pale ivory skin and an athletic build. He was much younger than I'd thought. A man in the prime of his life. His stature rested roughly at five feet eight inches give or take. A days worth of stubble peppered his chin. He was attired for work, as if he came here immediately afterwards. A blue waistcoat, a white cotton button-up long-sleeve shirt, a pair of black slacks paired with chestnut dress shoes.
"Hello beautiful," He grinned sadistically, stepping forth into my prison.
*End of Chapter Thirty-eight*