The Guardian

I don’t turn around. I don’t want to see contempt, hatred, or irritation in his eyes. Usually he looks at me only like that. Never have I seen anything bright in the eyes of my guardian—and as for affection, I won’t even mention it. Probably, if it were up to him, he would drown me in the sea, tying me to a weight—so it would be certain. I hear footsteps—slow, but loud. It feels like all sounds have been turned off and only his steps remain. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, smashing through my ribs, tearing my lungs. It hurts. Unbearably painful to wait. He goes around the chair I’m sitting on and stands in front of me. I see his boots—clean and shining, as always. The shine blinds…

At eleven, I lost my parents; at eighteen, I lost the dream of being freed from the care of a man I hate. His feelings for me are mutual. One careless act, and I become a hostage in his house.