Valentina's Dairy

Fifteen years old.

I vividly remember papa telling me (yes, told me, not ask) that I was going to get married to him. Nikolay Semenov. The man who had a scar down the side of his cheeks, the man who I'd mutter Nikolay Semen every time he'd swear at me for not being able to give him the correct proportion of food whenever he'd visit my papa.

I was fifteen years old when my papa promised my life to someone else, and I didn't even realise that my life had just been signed away. I'll never forgive myself for not releasing soon enough that I was meant to marry that man, because when papa said:

"Nikolay will feed you and clothe you as long as you live in his house and obey his orders. Lo entiendes?"

And silly fifteen-year-old me thought I was going over there to work. Because that's what my papa normally does when he wants peace and quiet in the house from time to time. So, did I truly understand?

Maybe I didn't, but I remember nodding yet I didn't feel happy or excited even. Maybe because something inside of me knew that my papá normally never sends me over to a man's house to work, so this must've been serious if he was sending me there.

But I was fifteen; fifteen and innocent, fifteen with a childhood, fifteen and I shouldn't have known the meaning of bondage by that age.

But my mama used to tell me that no one can ever control fate because it decides itself who it wants to be its next victim.

I didn't understand what she meant by that, so I acted like it was one of those things she says to sound old.

Oh, but Dios, I wished I asked her more about what she meant by that before she died, no, before she was murdered.

It's Felipe's graduation today. I remember when mama was still alive, and she wished my big brother good luck at the start of his internship by buying him a brand-new phone. I also remember sixteen old me being angry at my mamá buying my twenty-five-year-old brother (who was perfectly capable of buying a phone himself) when I had been asking her for a new one for the past two years.

The ceremony had already finished after two long gruesome (and boring) hours, and now finally it was the after-party. Papá didn't let me eat anything before coming to Felipe's graduation and when I asked him why he simply said:

"No man wants a fat virgin. People like virgins, skinny, flexible. Being fat doesn't equal flexibility, Valentina."

I'm not fat. Or I like to think so. I have curves in all the right places, but papá keeps telling me no one likes curves anymore; men like women skinny, not curvy or what he calls 'fat'.

But I knew what he meant by what 'men' like; what men like Nikolay Semen like.

I knew he was going to be here today, he's always where I am—watching me, scrutinising me, or praising me for what I'm wearing. He thinks no one notices but I see that glimmer in his eyes whenever he sees me in dresses (like now). He hasn't been able to stop watching me—and if he were any other man, I'd call that cute, I think I'd throw in a little blush even—but when it's him when it's Nikolay Semenov, I feel nothing but repulsion. Disgust.

I'm seventeen and he's forty-four. I'm a child and he's an adult. This shouldn't be right. Out there—out in the legal world—this isn't right.

And how I wish sometimes I was out there, I know my life has been signed, secured, and passed down in here. In this illegal world that I call hell.

I'm feeling uncomfortable so I turn and walk somewhere, anywhere really, just so I'm out of Semen's gaze for a couple of minutes. But I know, deep down, that I'm never out of his sight because I always feel his eyes all over me.

I'm not really paying attention to where I'm going so it takes me by surprise when I suddenly bump into someone and my steps falter for a second, causing me to lose my balance. I shut my eyes, waiting for the impact to hit me, but nothing comes.

My eyes open and I'm facing a chest, a hard one, that weirdly smells nice. Fresh. And, weirdly, the only thing that I can focus on is how this person smells, but I can't blame myself.

My whole life, all I've ever smelt is blood. Left, right and centre—blood.

But after bumping into this person, I feel like I've just come up for a breath of fresh air after swimming deep into an endless ocean.

"Careful," Fresh Air muttered. Fresh Air is what I'm calling him now.

In the mafia, they make women attend disciplinary lessons when they hit the age of twelve. About the time puberty hits. So, when I turned twelve my father enrolled me on disciplinary lessons for Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday evenings. It was just like a normal school, except it was only allowed for girls like me.

I made friends as soon as I joined but then lost them the week after as the teachers taught us to never trust other women because they may steal our husbands.

So, I didn't. I don't.

That rule was the second one we learnt—the first one was to never, ever look a man in the eye. 'No matter who the hell they are' my teacher said, 'never, look a man in their eyes. It's disrespectful and dominant. Women in the mafia are not dominant, they are submissive, to be submissive. If you want to survive here, to not die before you see your children, remember that.'

I did remember that in fact. Yet, that memory vanished right after I looked into Fresh Air's eyes.

Green, emerald eyes. Green eyes that looked like they'd light up in a room full of darkness. Green eyes that I knew held secrets behind them. Green eyes that seemed to pull me out of the ocean that I am drowning in.

I clear my throat and offer him a smile in return for the one he's giving me. "I'm sorry. I should watch where I'm going."

Fresh Air nodded, his smile growing a little bit larger. I shouldn't have noticed how his smile grew but I did. And quite frankly, I'm not quite sure I care.

His green eyes left mine and then focused on something behind me, and I already knew what that meant. He wanted to leave. Fresh Air doesn't even know it, but he's given me hope; hope that I can feel something other than that feeling of being watched by Semen every day.

So, when he was about to move, I stepped in his path, blocking his way.

Stupid, a stupid move of mine. And the disciplinary lessons come rushing back.

'Never stop a man from going his way or leaving a conversation if he wants to. You don't hold the power. The man does. He decides if he wants to talk to you or not.'

But for some reason, for some very stupid, probably hormonal, reason, I looked back up at Fresh Air's beautiful face. A face that must've been intricately carved by the very gods themselves. A face that I'll probably remember when I'm making love with someone else.

Fresh Air stared right back down at me, his face filling with obvious confusion. "Is everything alright, Miss?"

"Valentina." I abruptly answered, the answer leaving my lips before I could even process them.

"Valentina," He muttered, testing my name on his lips, his lips forming every syllable of my name, and just like that; he made my name sound like it's royalty.

"My name is Valentina, not Miss."

My manners. Oh, Dios, where the hell are my manners?

Gone. I'm not quite sure where, but I know when it comes back down to this man it's definitely long gone.

"Okay," Fresh Air nodded, his head lifting to search the hall for a couple of seconds and then his eyes landed back on mine, a full smile gracing his face, "Lorenzo. My name is Lorenzo."

"Lorenzo," I muttered, just like he did with my name, testing the way it rolled off my lips, forming every syllable possible. "I like your name."

Fresh Air—I mean Lorenzo chuckled and then pocketed his large hands into his pockets. "Thank you, Valentina. I like yours too."

My face feels like it's heating up, and I feel my heart picking up an extra pace, and I feel my fingers, toes and ears starting to tingle. I catch a glance at the tips of my fingers and realise they're red. Pinkish-red.

Oh, my god.

I think I'm blushing.

I've never blushed, not for a man, not for a woman, not ever. But Lorenzo, this man who made me feel like I'm coming up for a breath of fresh air somehow made me blush.

Then my eyes trail to his lips. His pink and full lips that managed to make my own name, a name that I've heard every single day, hour and minute of my life, sound like music to my ears. I've never kissed a boy—a man, before.

Papá has always managed to preserve everything of me for Semen. So, I've never been allowed to kiss a man before. I've never been able to go on dates with a man before. I've never even been able to have sex with a man before.

I'm all pure and innocent for Nikolay Semen.

But suddenly, I don't want to be all pure and innocent for him. Suddenly, I want to become tainted, not with blood, but with him. With Lorenzo. I want Lorenzo to be my first. My first kiss, my first date, my first love and even maybe the first man I have sex with.

"Lorenzo," I whisper, looking around to see if he's watching me. He's not.

"Valentina." The lull of his voice brings my attention back to him again.

I clutch the sides of his blazer and tug him slightly closer towards me. Lorenzo's eyes looked down to my fingers that were wrapped around his blazer but he didn't do anything to stop me or move me. He simply stared at me, one brow raised, and the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Would you kiss me?" I whispered so quietly I didn't expect him to hear, but he did. He heard me. He heard me and tilted his head to the side slightly.

"Do you want me to kiss you?" Lorenzo asked me like the ball is in my court.

Because I know it is.

I'm promised to Nikolay. I'm meant to be all pure, all new, all shiny and innocent for Nikolay.

But this is one little kiss, one little kiss is all this will be, and no one will know. No one will care because it won't be him facing the repercussions, it'll be me. But for this one little kiss, I will take from Lorenzo will be all worth it.

No matter what happens, it'll be worth it.

So, instead of waiting for him to kiss me, I pushed my body against him and pushed my lips on his. I held them still for a second, my eyes squeezed so tightly I felt like my eyes would shrink in their sockets. Our lips were not moving but I loved it. I'm kissing Lorenzo. A man. And I fucking love it.

Or I was loving it until suddenly, Lorenzo pulled away from me harshly and then raised his gun to point it at someone behind me.

Nikolay. I feel him, and I feel him stronger than I've ever felt something else before. He's here, he's behind me and I know he has a gun pointed in my direction.

I'm no longer pure or innocent and he's angry. I've made Nikolay angry.

Obey his orders, my papa told me. And even though Nikolay never told me to stay pure and innocent, I knew he wanted me to. I knew from the way he talked to me, I knew from the way he touched my hair, I knew from the way he looked at me.

Yes, looked. I turned around and I saw him a couple of metres in front of me, his gun pointing towards me.

I was right, though. No one cared, no one even seemed bothered as long as the gun wasn't facing them. Because here, everything illegal, is legal.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, sure enough, that Lorenzo could hear me, but he didn't say anything in response.

'Put your life before others,' my teacher had once said, 'Protect yourself if it meant sabotaging others. Protect yourself if it means letting someone else die.'

I'm sorry to the man who gave me a breath of Fresh Air, I'm sorry to the man who made me feel like Nikolay wasn't always watching me, I'm sorry to the man who I felt equal to, I'm sorry to the man's life I have just stolen away. I'm sorry, Lorenzo.

I watched as Nikolay's finger wrapped around the trigger and when it was the right time, I ran out of the way and bumped into another woman who gave me a dirty look before turning around and sipping her wine.

Lorenzo was too late. He didn't pull his gun fast enough. He didn't free me from my bondage, from the man who's always watching me.

BANG!

No one turned around. A couple of gazes but they didn't linger very long before turning back to what they previously occupied themselves with. It was like the bullet wasn't even pulled like the bullet wasn't loud enough for them to hear, to startle them.

But for me, it was loud enough. More than loud enough. Loud enough to realise that I hadn't protected my own life, because life is something that blossoms, something that's beautiful enough to take your breath away.

Lorenzo was life and I had just killed it.

His body met with the floor; an entrance wound directly in-between his brows.

Dead. I killed the man who gave me a breath of fresh air. I killed the man who made me feel. I killed the man who tainted me and now won't wash away.

I've seen a lot of dead people before me, but this one...Lorenzo, he hit way too close to me. He was the life inside of me. And when Nikolay sauntered over, raised his gun and aimed it at him—dead. He killed the life inside of me.

Where is my father, where is my brother?

Where are the men who claim to protect their families?

Nowhere.

"You filthy tainted virgin," Nikolay whispered, his grip strong and hard around my forearm. "What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? Don't you know how crazy I am for you? Look what you made me fucking do! Made me kill another fucking man because you can't keep your virgin lips to yourself!"

My eyes found their way to the ground, my lips now sealed and my heart that had suddenly picked up the pace just a couple of minutes ago had suddenly died down to its normal, boring rhythm.

"I told your father I like my women fucking pure and innocent. Which means they can't be used beforehand. And you wanted to fuck that up because of what?" He gripped my chin and tilted it up, forcing me to look at his brown eyes, brown not green, "I've been patient just like your father told me to, but I swear Valentina I will fuck the shit out of you tonight. I don't want you to be a virgin anymore. Some virgins are too bold. Like you."

I felt broken, destroyed. I felt empty because my life had just been zapped away, right out of my lungs, right of my heart, right out of the very blood of my arms, right before me. Just a couple of minutes ago.

I know the definition of bondage and I can't do anything to forget it, because no matter how hard I try, I'll always see him. Nikolay Semenov.

My rapist.

Yeah, I put up a fight tonight. I put up a fight when papá permitted Nikolay to take me home, I put up a fight when he forced me into his car, I put up a fight when he pushed me into his house, I put up a fight when he pushed me onto his bed, and I put up a fight when he had sex with me. Raped me.

Every minute and second, I put up a fight. And when he finished, he lifted the flower vase and held it above my head and then whispered:

"Pathetic little virgin."

And before I could say anything else, the grip on the vase he was holding softened, and he let it fall on my head.

I blacked out. I blacked out straight away and I lost the will to live. To breathe.

I wanted to say something else to this man. I wanted to say something else to the world I'm trapped in.

What is wrong with being a virgin?



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-this is a brand-new extra chapter because I thought the side-characters needed more explanation on their back stories! so, this is val's story!

-thanks for reading guys!

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