Devil Woman

You don't need other people's approval.

I don't clearly remember how it happened. All I remember is that I didn't dream it. It was real, as real as the burning sensation when you brush against a flame, mistress of heat.

I remember getting up like every morning, getting dressed, and applying makeup with a line of eyeliner and mascara.

I then went down to the common kitchen for breakfast.

My mum was different from other mums. We didn't do these mother-daughter activities. I couldn't remember our last shopping trip or our pancake afternoon; had it only happened once before?

When my mother was on her good days, she didn't provoke me in the morning.

His first words were crucial and decisive because they determined what kind of day had just begun. And the more time passed, the rarer it was to enjoy coffee in silence.

What is this outfit? You go to school, not prostitute yourself.

I glanced discreetly at my outfit. My lace-up sweater showed only a tiny patch of skin, almost competing with my black jeans and my Federation of Nuns-approved Derbys.

So I didn't bother to answer him and shoved a slice of bread in the toaster, almost to avoid giving him a spicy reply.

Over the years, I had learned not to respond to his daily remarks. Anyway, even the few times I tried to make her understand that I cared more about the color of Lady Gaga's nail polish than her opinion, she didn't want to hear anything.

My mother was a tenacious woman, a bit like dirt. Maybe I got it from her, my badass appearance.

"Come here, let's fight."

Yet I had to keep my head high; the pain was there. Hidden deep in my chest, and each of his words was like a needle.

Sharp, precise, and piquant.

When the browned piece of bread popped out of the machine, I vaguely heard him comment on how many calories a toast had.

You should know an important thing about my mother: although she has an incredibly inexhaustible stock of remarks, her favorite subjects remain my diet, my weight, my style of dress, and my dating.

Go figure why it seems she particularly itched to remind me every minute of my life how much better I could have been.

I put the knife aside once.

my piece of bread topped with slightly melted butter and bit into it eagerly.

Which obviously earned me yet another comment.

My lunch gobbled up faster than recommended by the diet channel in the background, I grabbed my school bag and slung it over one of my shoulders.

I left the house without even turning to the mistress of the place, who, without much surprise, did not sketch the shadow of a smile.

She could have pretended for once.

I walked quietly to my school, which was not very far from my home.

She could very well have led me, but I confessed that I was not so masochistic as to want to stay locked up in an enclosed place with her.

This little walk was, in a way, my minutes of respite between home and school.

Arriving in front of the establishment, I stopped, waiting for my best friend at the usual place.

Yet today something was not like the other days. The same routine stuck to my skin for six years. I knew at the fingertips all the adventures that punctuated my week from Monday to Friday.

On Monday, Carren skipped the first hour of math.

On Tuesday, a student would still cause a scandal because his girlfriend stuck to him too much.

Thursday, Daisy told us about her Wednesday.

Yet today, something upset my routine.

Black cars with tinted windows were parked on the sidewalk in front of the establishment.

Later I remembered that I should have been careful. But I didn't worry. Soon

Damen arrived, and I returned at the same time as him.

So? Does he ask me?

As usual, I shrug my shoulders.

He didn't have time to answer that we had already arrived at the height of our band. Friends since childhood, Daisy, Kristal,

Joshua, Damen, and I never left each other.

Hey ugly ones! I exclaimed, tapping Daisy on the shoulder.

"Speak for yourself," replied the latter.

"Come on, D, assume you're ugly," laughed Joshua.

Daisy pretended to groan, and I took her in my arms.

She was already freezing her face with the same expression when I refused to play hopscotch.

Go; it does not matter. D, the ugly ones can be happy.

"Well yes, look at Elie, she lives perfectly well," laughed Damen.

I laughed with my friends as I joined the class for our first lesson.

A few hours later, I came out of this huge building alone and was about to go home, morally exhausted by the resumption of classes.

Damen used to ride with me; he only lived a block away.

His perfect family had not resisted the heat of the summer, and he now had to take the bus every other week and go to another city to join his father.

I descended the few steps from the porch.

In the distance I still saw the same cars as this morning, but this time men were leaning against them, watching like predators the students coming out of high school.

One of these men finally looked at me and leaned towards his sidekick, nodding at me.

I have become paranoid.

I chose the moment when they all rose to come in my direction to recite a mental prayer all the same.

It was at the moment when they surrounded me, like a ring of fire, without my foot having moved a millimeter yet, that I realized that I must not only be very slow on the trigger but also really in the shit.

You are a slave when you are no longer master of yourself.

Elizabeth Rosefield?

"No," I answered, very unsure of myself.

Bravo, Elisabeth, a real child.

The man who had asked me the question sighed.

Of course he knew who I was. The question was just politeness. This kind of man should never hit the wrong target; that was for sure.

He gestured to two men who each took one of my arms. Faced with this unwanted contact, I let out a high-pitched cry.

The superior of these men turned to face me.

He was so close I could feel his breath hitting my face. Without realizing it, I felt a spike against my lower stomach. Looking down, I saw a sharp, sharp knife.

One more cry and I'll shove it into your uterus. You, who always wanted a big family, wouldn't you put your only means of realizing your dream in jeopardy? he asked, a sadistic smile floating on his thin, not very hydrated lips.

Shocked by his threats, I didn't struggle the least bit when they ushered me into the black car.

In my head I tried so hard to understand how he could have known something so intimate about me, him, this man with the closed and unknown face.

How could we be so cruel? Threatening someone in this way was not only punishable by law but also very sadistic.

Elisabet, we are dealing with a disturbance.

The rattle of the lock on the armored car snapped me out of my brief reverie.

I was now a prisoner.

The kidnapper once again turned to me; he looked at me, and when he laid his eyes on me, I felt dirty. I felt like this stranger had a complete lack of values. That was also the only reason that kept me from rebelling as I had been so used to since I entered adolescence.

"Very well, mistinguette, we are going to talk a little, you and me," he began.

For an answer, I spat on him. It was certainly not very feminine, but I was against it.

In a split second he jumped on me and put his imposing hand on my neck.

Lying on the seat of the huge car, with him on top of me holding me by the neck, I seriously began to wonder why I was there.

Wild as I like them, he said, hiding his head in my neck.

I tried to struggle with what little strength I had, but it did nothing.

I thought I was going to be raped on this seat when suddenly the driver intervened.

The boss said not to touch her, and I don't want to be an accomplice to that, Ivan. Drop the girl.

Slowly he turned his head towards the driver. A staring game then began, a duel of lions.

My attacker turned his gaze and fixed it on me.

Don't worry, Carl, I was just clearing up a few things with our friend.

He eyed me, every inch of my face violated by his unhealthy eyes.

First you will keep very quiet, okay?

I swallowed my need for rebellion for once, realizing that it was my only way to survive.

Yet I did not lower my gaze; I held his dark, evil eyes.

You're going to be very nice until we get there; otherwise, I swear your body will be marked by me.

Leaving me as white as he was worried, he straightened up and sat down next to me.

You'd better sleep, Bella; we still have long hours of driving ahead of us.

As far away as possible from him, leaning against the left door, I watched the landscape passing by to the rhythm of the car, and little by little I fell asleep with my head against the door.