CHAPTER 6

As Alisa’s gaze fell upon the risotto on her plate, she experienced intense, internal heat, like rivers of lava. She was stirring around her meal, every now and then nibbling at it, but rage had taken over her hunger. She felt a burning wave of humiliation rip through her.

How dare he do this to me? Who does he think he is?

That piece of shit apparently didn’t know who she was, what she was capable of, what her parents were capable of. He thought he could end their relationship through a quick text message, with no further explanation, discarding her as he pleased.

But what really got to her, what made her see red, was that he’d blocked her, that sonofabitch had actually blocked her and thought he could get away with it.

She could feel the heat of her blood rising, as if it were scalding.

“You’re very quiet tonight,” her father said. He was clad in an expensive suit, his thin gray hair combed neatly to the side, his blue eyes fixed on her. “Everything all right?”

Alisa didn’t look at him, just went on stirring the food on her plate. She didn’t enjoy sharing her thoughts or feelings with her parents; she didn’t feel comfortable opening up to them. Each time she did, they had the ability to increase her anger, they didn’t seem to understand her.

“Yeah, everything all right, just tired.”

Her mother, Diana, glanced at her. She was dressed in an ivory silk-satin shirt and expensive wool pants. She swallowed her food, then said, “You’re on track with your studies, right?”

Alisa rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

“You better.”

Alisa couldn’t contain herself and spat, “Or what?”

Utter silence spread throughout the wide dining room. Her parents left their forks on the plate and stared at her.

Diana knit her brow. “Well, looks like something is bugging you, after all. What’s going on?”

Alisa huffed and decided she might as well let it out. “All men are scumbags, that’s what’s going on.”

Jeff Dowling raised his eyebrows, a knowing smirk on his face as he looked from his wife to Alisa. “It’s that boyfriend of yours, huh? Sorry, sweetie, I know you don’t like to hear this, but you should have known better than to fall for–”

“Oh, come on,” Alisa spat. “Don’t give me that no-mingling-with-working-class bullshit.”

“Alisa!” Diana screamed. She pointed a finger at her.

“You watch your mouth, young lady. Besides, your father is right. You could at least have chosen a guy from college, instead of that white trash.” She snorted.

“I mean, come on, he works at a goddamn garage, for heaven’s sake. You can do a lot better than that.”

“All the guys I’ve met in college are pricks,” Alisa said, fed up. “Steve is different…or at least I thought he was.”

“You have to impose yourself,” Diana said. “Be firm with him, let him know it’s not okay to disrespect you.”

“Oh, really?” Alisa scoffed. “Thanks for sharing such valuable insight, Mom. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

Diana sighed. “God, you’re in a mood. I’m just trying to help.”

Alisa was exasperated. She shouldn’t have told them anything. They were only making her feel worse.

Jeff took a sip of wine and said, “Sounds to me like you should just forget about him. He’s not worth it. There are plenty of men out there, sweetie, I’m sure you’ll–”

“That is not the point, Dad.” Alisa felt like her eyes were about to well up. “The point is, he’s made me feel awful. He’s blocked me on his phone, so I can’t contact him anymore, and I didn’t deserve that!”

Jeff wiped his lips with his napkin. “You’re right.

You didn’t. But you’ll get over it, you’ll see.

Tell you what, why don’t you go on a trip once you’re done with your exams?

Go to Costa Rica. Or Thailand. I’ll pay for everything.

” He winked at her. “It’ll be great for you, it’ll help you forget about the whole thing. What do you say?”

Alisa clenched her teeth. They were not listening to her. They didn’t know how hurt she felt. She felt a surge of anger, wanting to scream at them.

“Alisa?” Diana said, raising her voice. “Your father is talking to you.”

After some seconds of silence, Alisa muttered, “A trip to Costa Rica isn’t going to help me feel any better. I find that suggestion pathetic.”

Diana slammed her palm on the table. “What did I say about watching your mouth? Your father is trying to help you. You could at least show some gratitude.”

Alisa’s simmering resentment finally boiled over. “And you could at least try to understand how I feel, instead of lecturing me.” She peered into her mother’s emotionless gray eyes.

Diana said, “I do know how you feel. You feel like your honor has been damaged. But the thing is, whining won’t get you anywhere.”

Alisa glanced at her father, who was busy tapping on his phone, looking at old-fashioned cars to add to his collection—apart from his Mercedes and the Porsche, which he let Alisa use whenever she liked, he kept in a private garage a 1963 Chevrolet Corvette, a 1962 Jaguar, and a DeTomaso Pantera.

He brought his face closer to the screen to have a better look at one in particular.

She felt furious. Here she was, trying to get them to sympathize with her, but he was more interested in his damn cars. And her mother was getting on her nerves big time.

Creasing her face, Alisa dropped her fork.

“You guys are only making things worse.” Her father looked at her, and she thought she could see a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

She got to her feet. Tears were stinging her eyes.

“I don’t need a stupid vacation.” She locked eyes with her mother.

“And I don’t need any of your verbal diarrhea.

All I want to do is hurt that motherfucker.

” On that last word, her voice shot up to an ear-splitting scream.

With a sudden turn, she stormed to her room, the urge to throw her plate to the floor becoming almost unbearable.

◆◆◆

She slammed the door of her luxurious room, kicked off her slippers, and threw herself on the bed, bitter tears descending her cheeks. She unbuttoned her long-sleeved beige blouse, revealing her bra, as if that could help get rid of part of the anger.

I fucking hate them.

She balled her hands into tight fists, her knuckles white, and gnawed on her lower lip. They couldn’t understand the hurt she felt.

Alisa closed her eyes, letting the quiet darkness cocoon her. Were all guys the same? All she wanted was a man who would always do as she said, a loyal companion who’d never leave her. Was that asking too much?

She didn’t care how men treated other women, but with her, she felt it was a man’s duty to serve her, to submit to her, to lick her fucking shoes. That’s why she’d asked Steve to do it. Sure, it turned her on, but it wasn’t just a fetish: she felt it was his freaking job to do it.

Alisa had chosen Steve because he was weak.

After he lost his mother in a car accident when he was fourteen, he’d developed a profound need to be loved by a woman—he never said it out loud, but she could perceive it.

That was his weakness, and she’d used this weakness to her advantage.

She thought he was cute, sure, with his crewcut dark hair and blue eyes but, in essence, she’d chosen Steve because he helped her feed her sense of superiority.

That was also the reason she always went with him to those disgusting bars frequented by all those miserable proles: to feel superior to them.

Suddenly, an image invaded her mind where Steve was in a dungeon, his wrists chained to the ceiling, his upper body naked, and she whipped him incessantly, making him scream.

This fantasy provoked a tingling sensation in her gut, and her hand shot down to her crotch and began massaging the area.

And when she pictured herself drawing gushes of blood from his back with each whip, she pulled down her pants and underwear, and her middle finger got down to business.

She’d watched plenty of videos on the internet of men being tortured. Staged, obviously, but some of them were done in such a sophisticated way that it almost looked real.

She felt calmer now, as if she’d let go of a lot of hatred through the orgasm. Her breathing steadied.

But soon she remembered all the guys who’d dumped her throughout her life, and she felt her blood boiling up again. At least all of them had had the courage to break up with her in person, but Steve had just sent her a text message, like the cowardly scumbag he was.

All of them had in common that they’d come up with lame, pathetic excuses—“I’m going through stuff” being one of the most popular ones—but Steve had gone a step further by blocking her. Not only was he a coward, but he was an insensitive one too. Not cool.

He’s not going to get away with this, she thought as her teeth clenched. I won’t let him.