Chapter 4 MASKED PAIN

ELLA MARTYR'S POV:

I woke up on her couch, the dim light of morning brushed against the gauze she'd around my

knee.

Her apartment was big and exquisitely furnished. It was warm, organized in the way that made it

feel lived-in, Safe. Something I hadn't felt in.... I don't know how long.

She was in the kitchen, barefoot, humming softly. I could hear the clinking sound of plates. She

came out with a mug in her hand, handing it over to me. I took in everything, I felt better than

before.

She let me crash at her place after pulling me away from the hungry monsters. She was kind and

that was rare. She just tended to me, not asking many questions, quiet and patient.

I told myself I was straight, that this was just gratitude, nothing more but every time she looked at

me with those eyes, dark, calm and unapologetically soft. I felt something twist in my stomach.

And then came the moment I can't stop replaying.

As I stood up ready to leave. I stumbled, but she caught me just in time, closing the distance

between us. Suddenly, I was in her arms, steady, safe, and breathlessly close.

And without warning her lips crashed into mine, knocking the air out of my chest and the thoughts

away from my head.

I returned the kiss, then paused, our eyes locking in an intense stare. She leaned in again; this time

it was fierce, soft and desperate, like something we'd both been craving for."

I didn't know what came over me. My lips moved with hers like they already knew what to do.

Her hands roamed all over my body, claiming me with a hunger that felt like she wanted to devour

me yet every touch was tender. It sent chills down my spine.

I managed to break free from her grip, breathless and dizzy. She just smiled, like she knew

something I didn't.

She apologized but I knew that apology was not genuine not after the weird smile. She led me

towards the door. A taxi was waiting outside her home.

I got into the taxi and waved bye at her. The taxi took off and I was sitting there wanting, confused

and alive.

For the first time in a long time, I felt something that wasn't fear or numbness.

But the feeling curdled the moment I got home.

I got to my door and reached for my key, but the door was already unlocked. Panic surged through

me.

I pushed the door open slowly, gripping a stick in my hand, ready to strike whoever was inside.

Then I heard his voice;

He was here.

I 'd forget he had the key.

"Where the hell have you been?" His voice was low and dangerous, already shaking in fury.

"Where did you keep your fucking phone whore?"

I didn't even have the time to explain myself.

He hit me before I could say a word.

I crumbled to the floor, a cry catching in my throat. His footsteps thundered behind me, each a

warning.

"You think you can disappear and not answer your phone?!" he screamed. "You think I'm

stupid?"

"I... please .... I wasn't....

"You lying bitch. Who where you with?!"

Another blow. My ribs screamed. I tried to speak, to explain about the alley, Estella, the fear but I

knew he wouldn't listen. He never did.

"You're lucky I ever picked you up from the streets," he spat, pacing like a caged animal. "Your

mother didn't want you. You were nothing."

He always reminded me of that.

Of the day my mother chose her new boyfriend who frequently harassed me over me, left me with

nowhere and no one to turn to. And how he found me offered me food, clothes, a bed. I thought

he saved me. I thought he loved me.

Now I know he owns me, and I let him.

Because I didn't know who I am without him. Because I owed him, because I'm scared.

"You're not going to ruin this shoot," he growled. "Get up. Smile like nothing happened."

So, I did. Like I always do.

But my lips still tingled.

I dragged myself to my room, each step broken by quiet sobs that trembled through me. My chest

ached not just from the blows, but from the weight of everything. I closed the door behind me like

it might keep the world out. It didn't.

I stood in front of the mirror and stripped down slowly. My reflection stared back, eyes swollen and

red, lips trembling, skin bruised. The imprint of his violence had already begun to settle across my

face, and still, I wished to be the girl I never I was. I wished to be that girl who fought back, the girl

with amazing Kungfu skills to send that motherfucker to his knees. I imagined killing him several

times in my head. Like cutting his fangs off and letting them roast in a frying pan, then feed them

to him.

"Oh no, his balls would taste better." I thought to myself.

My fingers brushed the tender skin beneath my eye, and a fresh wave of tears blurred my vision. I

wiped them away quickly, almost angrily, and stepped into the bathroom. The water hit my skin

like a thousand needles, sharp, cold, cleansing but it never washed away the pain. It never did.

When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel and returned to my mirror. I sat at my vanity, looked

at my reflection again; quiet, hollowed-eyed. Then reached for the foundation. My hand was

steady, too steady. I had done this before.

Layer by layer, I covered the bruises. Blended the truth into silence. Until there was no trace of

what he had done. Just a smooth canvas, a lie painted in beige.

Red lipstick, the one he liked "Cherry Flame." I swept it over my lips like armor. Then the black

dress. The one he gave me on my birthday. The one he said made me "look like I belonged to

someone." I wore it every time I needed to make it up to him.

I spritzed perfume on my wrists and neck. Clean and floral like nothing happened. My silver purse

was the last piece. I clutched it tightly.

One last look in the mirror. I looked... beautiful as always.

Perfect.

Unbothered. But beneath me lies fear and shame and everything I was told I wasn't allowed to

want... something waved.

Her.

That kiss, that moment. I wanted it back.

And maybe, just maybe, I want her.

My hair was in a ponytail. He liked it that way. So, I kept it that way.

Even when I was breaking underneath.

I stepped out of my room, the sharp clink of my heels echoing against the floor, each sound louder

than my heart beat. My leg still hurt but I already knew how to mask pain. He was waiting in the

sitting room. The moment he saw me, he rose to his feet, eyes scanning me from head to toe like I

was something I owned.

"You always know how to lift my spirits, little one," he said, that familiar smile curling at the

corners of his mouth as he wrapped his hands around my waist and pulled me close. I flinched,

subtly, hoping he didn't notice. He pressed a kiss to my cheek, then my lips, and showered me

with praise; sweet, hollow words he always used after I had masked the bruises.

I forced a smile, the kind I'd perfected over time, and let him lead me outside, his arms tightly

entwined with mine. A taxi was already waiting. He opened the door for me like the gentleman

everyone believed he was, but I knew better.

People envied me. Women looked at us and saw a perfect couple. He played the part well

affectionate, handsome, attentive. He treated me like a princess. They thought I was lucky; they

were unable to see the cracks beneath the surface. They didn't see how many times he had

cheated on me with the same girl who now admired him from afar. How he lavished the money I

made from brand deals on them. He always told me that the money belonged to him because he

was my manager and he brought the deals. I was nothing more than a shadow of who I never was.

The drive was quiet. We arrived at the studio of many. The lights, cameras, and stylists were all too

familiar, just like ache in my chest. This shoot was for a clothing brand.

As we walked in, the director shot me a disapproving look.

"You're late," he barked, then waved to the stylists. "Get her ready."

Romeo stood there with the director trying to make excuses for me. I watched how he smiled at

the director as he bought the fake story.

One of the stylists approached, makeup kit in hand. I gently shook my head.

"I'll do it myself." I said, my voice calm but firm.

She hesitated. Then nodded and stepped back. I took my place at the mirror, brushed the

foundation once more over the bruises, even though I had already, done it perfectly at home. She

released my ponytail, letting my hair fall loosely over my shoulders. Then handed me a bob wig for

the look. I put it on without a word.

The clothes fit beautifully. I posed for the camera like a pro, burying everything beneath angles,

posture, and stillness. I smiled, smirked, twirled all the things the lens wanted from me. When the

shoot wrapped up, the photos looked amazing. The director was pleased. Everyone was.

Romeo hovered near the whole time, his presence like a weight I couldn't shake. He kissed me

every time he got the chance to, like he was marking his territory. Like I was his possession.

And once again, the world saw only what he wanted them to see.