“When are you finally going to do something about your appearance?” Lisa leaned over the counter and tugged at the fabric of my old, slightly stretched-out hoodie.
“Dammit, I almost spilled your coffee.” I barely managed to steady the cup, gritted my teeth, and shot my friend an irritated look.
I was already exhausted as hell.
The last thing I needed was to burn myself or break a cup.
I’d have to pay for it out of my own pocket.
Lisa snorted and dropped back onto her tall stool.
“Lately, you look like a pack of dogs dragged you through a hedge.” She propped her chin on her fist and gave me a critical once-over.
“And you used to be so pretty.
You actually took care of yourself.
Dressed nicely.” “Don’t exaggerate.
I look perfectly fine now.” I sprinkled some cinnamon into the coffee and set it in front of her.
Neither of us had much money, but at my job I was allowed to make myself one free cup of coffee a day.
I always gave it to Lisa instead.
That was why she stopped by almost every evening.
“Sure.
Of course.
How old is that hoodie, anyway?
I swear you were wearing it back in middle school.
Don’t you have newer clothes?
Where are they?
Seriously, why are you always dressing in this ancient crap?” “You won’t believe this, but the worse I look, the less people bother me.
You excluded, obviously.” “What, are you getting too many admirers?” my friend asked, picking up a spoon she’d polished until it gleamed.
“Not really.” “Exactly.
If you made more of an effort, you’d probably get more tips too.
But looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge by dogs?
Who’s going to find that attractive?” “The old perverts who come in every morning for an Americano would disagree with you.” I tapped my index finger against the tip jar.
There was even a twenty-dollar bill inside.
“They seem to like me just fine exactly as I am.” “Clearly, they’re in love with your personality,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes.
“But seriously, why have you stopped taking care of yourself?
And it wasn’t sudden, either.
Over the past year, you’ve gradually started looking worse and worse.
It’s beginning to worry me.” I moved to my side of the counter, sat down on a stool, and started polishing the glasses with a spotless white cloth.
“I don’t know.
Maybe I’m just tired.
Or maybe it’s because I hate the way some of my brother’s friends treat me when they show interest.
And trust me, there’s nothing flattering about the way they do it.” I knew perfectly well that I was attractive.
I had my biological parents to thank for that.
Or, more accurately, their genes.
Ever since I was little, I’d constantly heard things like, Oh my God, what a beautiful girl.
Once I hit my teens, I even started getting invitations to audition for modeling agencies.
Apparently, I fit their requirements.
My height helped, too.
I took after my father in that respect, as well as inheriting his dark hair.
From my mother, I got my pale skin and blue eyes.
My appearance was a blend of both of them.
My beloved parents, whom I resembled so much.
The people who had given me away to another family when I was still just a child, using me as nothing more than a “guarantee.” “Is it still happening?” Lisa asked.
She was about to raise her cup to her lips, but her hand suddenly stopped.
“Your adoptive parents still haven’t done anything about it?” “Well, they apparently talked to my brother, but it didn’t really accomplish much.
Now he just makes sure they don’t find out about anything.” When my brother’s friends had broken down the door to my bedroom, my “parents” had finally learned about it.
I’d genuinely hoped that would change something.
In the end, though, it seemed to make everything even worse.
“Maybe you could stay at my place for a while?” Lisa asked cautiously.
She’d suggested it before, but we both knew what my answer would be.
“I can’t.
You know I can’t leave this house unless I’m given permission.” I placed the perfectly polished glass on the counter and picked up another one.
My friend let out a heavy sigh and set down her cup.
Then she propped her head on her fist again.
“So you’re hoping that if you make yourself look less attractive, those bastards will finally leave you alone?” “Something like that.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my eyelids with my fingertips.
It wasn’t as though I looked completely awful.
Lisa was exaggerating that part.
I simply didn’t wear my hair loose anymore.
Most of the time, I twisted it into a messy bun.
A few strands would stick out here and there, but nothing too terrible.
And my clothes weren’t exactly fashionable–– just jeans and old hoodies.
But they didn’t make me look ugly.
They were just…
easier.
And I seriously doubted that would be enough to make those bastards leave me alone.
More than anything, I was probably just trying not to stand out.
Besides…
I really was tired.
Two part-time jobs.
School.
Probably the worst period of my life so far.
And my already strained relationship with my brother.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of state of mind that made me want to dress up.
I simply wanted peace.
A little comfort, even if I could only find it somewhere deep inside myself.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lisa asked.
I thought I caught a mixture of concern and sympathy in her eyes.
“No.
But believe me, things aren’t quite as bad as they seem.
Maybe I’ll be able to leave this house soon.
Until then, I’ll just keep saving money.” By the time I headed home, it was already dark.
As I stepped onto the garden grounds, the first thing I did was look over the house.
Not a single light was on anywhere.
That always reassured me.
It was a sure sign that no one was home.
The moment I thought about it, however, a trail of icy goosebumps spread across my skin.
I remembered what had happened yesterday.
That man…
Matteo.
I still had no idea what it had been about, but one unsettling thought had been nagging at me ever since morning: My brother really hadn’t been home last night.
I’d realized it when he’d spoken to our parents over breakfast.
As I approached the house, I checked the garage just to be safe.
Empty.
Not a single car inside.
So there really wasn’t anyone here…
Feeling considerably more relieved, I entered the foyer and headed upstairs.
But after walking partway down the hallway, I noticed a narrow strip of light beneath my bedroom door.
The light was on.
My bedroom windows faced the other side of the garden, so I hadn’t noticed it from outside.
But…
What the hell?
Had I forgotten to turn the lamp off?
I pulled my key from my backpack, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.
Or at least, I tried to.
Nothing happened.
Was the door already unlocked?
For some reason, my heart skipped a beat, and I straightened nervously.
There were too many things about this that I didn’t like.
Too many things were setting off alarm bells in my head.
Living with my brother had left me constantly on edge, and I instinctively took a step backward.
But eventually, I forced out a breath and opened the door.
The bedroom was empty.
Damn it.
Apparently, I’d slept so badly that I hadn’t even turned off the light—or locked the door.
Although I still couldn’t understand how I’d managed to turn the light on that morning in the first place.
Had I done it accidentally?
I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.
I slipped my backpack off my shoulder and froze, still holding it in my hand.
Sitting in the armchair, in the part of the room hidden from view of the hallway, was the man.
Matteo.
He was lazily resting his head against one fist, a smoldering cigarette resting between the fingers of his other hand.