The days had settled into a gray and predictable routine, each dawn bringing with it the same pang of longing and the same unanswered question fluttering in the confines of my mind. What was Aunt Mariela trying to tell me in that vivid and disturbing dream? What was that important thing I was supposed to remember, that elusive message that danced at the edge of my consciousness without ever fully revealing itself? While my hands mechanically performed the assigned tasks, dusting opulent furniture or polishing floors that already gleamed, my mind spun incessantly on that enigma, trying to unravel the hidden meaning behind the dreamlike images.
Amidst that internal search, memories of my friends, Brianna, Anna, and Louie, inevitably surfaced. Their laughter, our lively conversations, the promises of a future together... everything contrasted painfully with my present isolation. I wondered what they would be doing, if they would miss me as much as I missed them, if Louie would still remember our promises under the party sun. A pang of guilt shot through me when I thought of his possible anguish over my forced silence.
I entered one of the mansion's many rooms, a secondary living room that was rarely used, and began to dust the porcelain figures on a mantelpiece. I was absorbed in my thoughts, trying to sort through the chaos of my memories, when a familiar and ominous presence made itself felt in the doorway. Andrés. In recent weeks, his "casual" encounters had become a disturbing constant, his lewd glances and veiled comments leaving me with a sticky feeling of vulnerability that made my skin crawl.
This time, there was something different in his attitude, a disturbing intensity that emanated from every pore of his being. His eyes were more dilated than usual, injected with a strange, almost feverish gleam. He approached me quickly, with a determination that chilled the blood in my veins.
"How about we pick up where I tried to leave off years ago, Josephine?" he said in a hoarse and thick voice, laden with a repulsive insinuation that made my stomach churn. His breath, heavy with a sickly sweet and unpleasant odor, reached me like a sting.
Panic instantly washed over me, like an electric shock that paralyzed every muscle in my body. Before I could react, he grabbed my arms roughly, his fingers squeezing tightly on my skin, trying to bring his sweaty and repulsive face closer to mine. A silent scream choked in my throat as terror immobilized me, confronting me once again with the dark threat that lurked in the shadowy corners of this gilded prison.
The grip on my arms intensified, his bony fingers digging into my flesh like claws. A nauseating stench of stale sweat and cheap alcohol invaded my nostrils as his face drew closer, his bloodshot eyes fixed on mine with a voracious lewdness. Terror, cold and paralyzing, seized every cell of my body, immobilizing me for an instant. My mind screamed, a deafening alarm resonating in the void, but my voice had caught in my throat, a tight knot of pure dread.
"Let go of me!" I finally managed to articulate, my voice barely a trembling thread that broke instantly. I tried to break free, twisting with desperation, but his brute strength far surpassed mine. I felt his nails digging into my arms, the fabric of the maid's uniform stretching under his relentless grip. The mantelpiece with the delicate porcelain figures trembled dangerously with my abrupt movements, threatening to crash to the floor.
"Come on, little doll," he hissed, his hot and foul breath brushing my cheek. "You know you want it. You've always wanted it." His words, laden with a disgusting arrogance and a false certainty, chilled my blood. How could he even think something so vile? A wave of nausea rose in my throat, struggling to escape.
"No! I don't want anything from you! Leave me alone, Andrés!" I screamed with all my might, my voice now torn by fear and fury. My tears began to well up, blurring my vision, as I continued to struggle desperately, trying to create a distance between his disgusting body and mine. The panic intensified with each second, the claustrophobic sensation of his closeness suffocating me.
I looked around frantically, searching for an escape route in that room that had suddenly become a trap. The door, a few feet away, seemed unreachable. My mind worked at a dizzying speed, desperately searching for a strategy, anything that could stop him.
"Shut up, little whore," he growled, tightening his grip even more, his dilated eyes gleaming with a sickly excitement. "No one's going to hear you. This house is big, and no one cares what happens to a simple servant." His words, cruel and contemptuous, echoed in the silence of the room, confirming my terrible vulnerability. I felt like an insect caught in a spiderweb, defenseless against its predator.
In a desperate act, I raised my knee with all my strength, aiming for his groin. A choked groan of pain escaped his lips as the blow landed, causing him to stagger backward, momentarily loosening his grip. It was the opportunity I needed. With a sudden impulse, I broke free from his grasp and ran towards the door, my feet tripping on the edge of the rug.
My heart pounded with dizzying speed as I bolted the door with trembling hands, just before he could reach me. I heard his furious pounding and curses echoing on the other side of the wood, making me shudder with fear and revulsion. I leaned against the closed door, gasping for air, feeling the hot tears run freely down my cheeks. Terror still coursed through my body like an electric shock, leaving me trembling and vulnerable in the sudden stillness of the room. The threat, a dark shadow I had always felt lurking, had materialized in the most brutal and repulsive way, leaving an indelible stain of fear and disgust on my soul.
And suddenly, like a gigantic wave emerging from the depths and sweeping away everything in its path, an avalanche of long-repressed memories burst into my mind, hitting me with brutal force. Andrés's slimy words echoed in my head with chilling clarity, mixing with Aunt Mariela's spectral whisper: "Remember..." "How about we pick up where I tried to leave off years ago..." The fragmented phrases danced in my consciousness like pieces of a dark and terrifying puzzle that suddenly began to fit together, revealing a monstrous image that my childhood mind had buried deep to survive.
England. The vast and cold family mansion, with its endless dark hallways and rooms filled with silent echoes. Me, a little girl, barely eight years old, playing carefree in the garden bathed in the pale light of the English sun. Esperanza's sharp laughter resonating from inside. And then, his presence. Andrés. His forced smile, his dark eyes watching me with an intensity I didn't understand then, but which now, with the perspective of the lived horror, revealed itself as a repulsive lewdness.
I remember the time in Dad's study. I was looking for a storybook, clumsily climbing onto one of the high shelves. I felt his hand on my lower back, a cold and damp touch that made me shudder with discomfort. His voice, deep and honeyed, whispering near my ear words I didn't fully understand, but which instinctively made me feel dirty and scared. I managed to get down quickly, feeling his eyes burning into my back as I fled.
Another time was in the playroom. He offered to teach me a complicated board game. His hands moved over mine, supposedly guiding me, but his touches became increasingly prolonged, his fingers lingering in places that made me feel a chill of revulsion. I tried to pull away, telling him I didn't want to play anymore, but he held me with a strength that surprised me, his smile tight and his eyes gleaming in a way that frightened me.
But the clearest memory, the one that now hit me with the force of a fist in the stomach, was in the stairwell, a dark and secluded place. I was running down, happy for some trivial reason that now escapes me. Suddenly, he appeared, blocking my way. His breath smelled strongly of wine. He grabbed me by the waist, pulling me towards his body. His face was very close to mine, his eyes bloodshot. He tried to kiss me. I felt his rough mustache brushing my cheek. Disgust overwhelmed me. I struggled, kicked, screamed.
And then Esperanza appeared. Her face, usually haughty and disdainful, was livid with fury. Her eyes flashed sparks. "What do you think you're doing, you disgusting pig!" she shouted, her voice trembling with rage as she pushed him with all her might. He stumbled, cursing. Esperanza hugged me tightly, her body shaking. I felt protected in her arms, although still scared and confused.
I remember the terrible fight that followed. Esperanza's screams echoing throughout the house. The harsh and accusatory words directed at Andrés. He denied everything with feigned fury, but in his eyes I could see the fear. I saw Mom's face, a mixture of disbelief and horror. Dad, with his always impassive face, finally intervening with a coldness that chilled the soul.
After that, everything became blurry. I remember suitcases being packed hastily, whispered arguments between my parents. And then, the news. They were leaving. They were moving to France. They said it was for "job opportunities" for Andrés. But now I knew. They were leaving because Esperanza had found out. Because he had tried to... abuse me. And that's why he hit her. I vaguely remember Esperanza's face, with a bruised cheek, her gaze full of deep sadness and silent determination.
My God! Everything fit now with terrifying clarity. Andrés's attempts, Esperanza's fury, their sudden departure... it all made sense. The threat I had always felt in his gaze, that sticky and repulsive feeling, wasn't just my childish imagination. It was real. He had already tried it before. And now, here, in this strange and hostile house, he was trying again. Panic transformed into a cold and visceral rage. I wasn't going to allow it. Not again.
With my heart pounding wildly in my chest, each beat an echo of the newly revived terror, I turned and ran. Not towards the door he would surely try to enter again, but in the opposite direction, desperately seeking a hiding place, a sanctuary within this opulent prison. My feet barely touched the ground as I raced through the labyrinthine hallways, my lungs burning with each gasp of air. I needed to disappear, to become invisible, to turn into a shadow that slipped between the walls unnoticed.
I reached my room, slamming the door shut and bolting it with trembling hands. I leaned against the cold wood, panting, my body shaking uncontrollably. Tears continued to fall, silent but abundant, as I begged silently, with every fiber of my being, that no one would look for me, that no one would notice that I was no longer cleaning, that my absence would go unnoticed in the vast indifference of this house. I needed time, I needed to hide until the storm passed, until Andrés forgot about me or found another prey. At that moment, the only certainty I had was the imperious need to disappear.
With my heart beating like a runaway drum and my breath coming in ragged gasps, I threw myself onto the bed, seeking refuge under the sheets as if they could protect me from the ghosts that now danced wildly in my mind. The tremor in my hands barely allowed me to hold the pen, but the need to capture this torrent of terrifying memories on the pages of my diary was imperious, as if writing the words could somehow exorcise the horror that invaded me.
The ink danced tremulously on the paper as the first wave of memories lashed out at me with ruthless cruelty. The music room in England, the piano teacher with her severe face and bony fingers striking my knuckles every time my fingers didn't reach the correct note. My small resistance, my childish longing to play in the garden instead of practicing tedious scales, punished with extra hours of confinement in that cold and silent room. And when tears finally welled up, there was no comfort, only Mom's cold reprimand: "Stop sniveling, Josephine. You must learn to be disciplined."
Another pang, darker and more oppressive. The basement. The impenetrable darkness that enveloped me like a shroud every time I dared to ask for a little more attention, a hug, a simple kind word. The door closing with a dry thud, leaving me plunged into a terrifying silence, only interrupted by the echo of my own sobs. The days without a bite to eat, my stomach twisting with hunger, my throat dry, and the only lesson burned into my childish mind: my needs didn't matter.
A memory sharp as a whip. The constant scolding, the hurtful words thrown with calculated coldness, undermining my self-esteem day after day. Every small mistake magnified, every attempt at expression stifled. "You're clumsy," "You're rude," "You never do anything right." Those phrases echoing in my head even now, eroding any glimmer of confidence.
And then, the darkest shadow, the silent fear that had accompanied me for years without me being able to fully understand it. Fragmented dreams, blurry images of Andrés in the house in England, his shadow lengthening over Esperanza. A silent struggle, a dull thud, my sister's face contorted in pain. I would wake up with my heart pounding, an inexplicable anguish weighing on my chest. I tried to tell my parents, but their looks were of disbelief, their words disdainful: "They're just nightmares, Josephine. Don't make things up." And I, a little girl, feeling powerless and alone, knowing deep down that something terrible was happening, but unable to confirm it, with no one believing me.
Now, all those broken pieces of my childhood came together, forming a horrendous mosaic of neglect, cruelty, and silenced abuse. Each memory was a stab in the soul, a chilling confirmation of the darkness that had always lurked on the margins of my life. Tears ran ceaselessly down my cheeks, soaking the paper, blurring some of the newly written words. The tremor in my body intensified, a chill running through me to the bone. It was as if all the defenses that my mind had carefully built over the years had collapsed, leaving me exposed to the brutality of my own past. The wave of traumatic memories kept coming, unstoppable, threatening to drown me in a sea of pain and horror.