CHAPTER 166: CHAPTER 166 HER FEAR OF MEN

When Danica saw him, she stopped short in complete astonishment. The other disembarking passengers streamed past them as she and Lorenzo stared at each other, drinking each other in. The doors close with a hiss of compressed air, and the train gradually pulls out of the station, leaving them on their own.

“Hello,” he began, breaking the silence between them as he approached her. “You left without saying good-bye.”

Her face fell, and her eyes fill with tears that spilled down her cheeks.

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*LORENZO*

Her anguish ripped through me.

“Oh, baby,” I whispered, and opened my arms. She placed her face in her hands and began to weep.

Feeling at a loss, I folded her into my embrace and held her. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” I whispered against her green woolly hat. She sniffled, and I lifted her chin and planted a tender kiss on her forehead. “I mean it. I’ve got you.”

Danica eyes widened, and she pulled away. “Magda?” she whispered, alarmed.

“Let’s go.” I took her hand, and together we hurried up the metal staircase and out onto the road. Her hand was cold in mine, and I wanted nothing more than to whisk her away to somewhere safe.

But first of all I have to know what was going on. What trouble she was in. I only hoped that she’d open up and tell me.

We walk quickly but in silence across the road and back to her house.

At the front door, Danica fished out a key from her pocket, unlocks the door, and we both stepped inside.

The front hallway is tiny and made more crowded by the two packing boxes that stand in the corner.

Danica removed her hat and jacket, and I took them from her and hung them on one of the pegs on the wall.

“Magda,” she called up the stairs while I shed my coat and hung it beside hers, but there was no answer. The house was empty. I followed her into the tiny kitchen.

Jesus, the place was a shoebox!

From the threshold of the dated but tidy 1980s kitchen, I watch Danica fill the kettle. She was in her tight jeans and the green sweater that she wore the other day.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Please.”

“Would you like milk and sugar?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you.” I loathed instant coffee and could only tolerate it black, but now wasn’t the right time to tell her.

“Sit,” she said, and pointed to the little white table. I do as I was told and wait, watching her while she prepared our drinks. I was not going to rush her.

She made tea for herself, strong, with sugar and milk, and eventually handed me a mug.

Taking the seat opposite me, she gazed down at the contents of her mug, which was emblazoned with the Arsenal shield, and an uncomfortable silence settled between us.

Finally I couldn’t bear it any longer. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on? Or do I have to guess?”

She didn’t respond, but her teeth worry her upper lip. Under any normal circumstance, this would drive me crazy, but seeing her this distraught was sobering.

“Look at me.”

At last her big brown eyes met mine.

“Tell me. I want to help.”

Her eyes widened with what I assumed is fear, and she shook her head.

I sighed. “Okay. Let’s play twenty questions.”

She looked puzzled.

“You answer each question yes or no.”

Her frown deepened, and she clutched the little gold cross that hung at her neck.

“Did you commit any crime?”

Danica gazed at me, then gave me the briefest shake of her head. “Okay. Why did those men call you a criminal?”

She blanched, and I had my answer. “You did something wrong then?”

After a beat, she shook her head again.

“Have you lost the power of speech?” I hope she noticed the trace of humor in my voice.

Her face brightened, and she half smiled. “No,” she said, and her cheeks colored a little.

“That’s better.”

She took a sip of her tea.

“Talk to me. Please.”

“Will you tell the police?” she asked.

“No. Of course not. Is that what you’re worried about?”

She nodded.

“Danica, I won’t. You have my word.”

I hope she didn’t murder anyone. I wouldn’t know how to react to that.

Placing her elbows on the table, she clasped her hands together and rested her chin on them. A range of conflicting emotions crossed her face as the silence expanded and filled the room. I held my tongue, silently begging her to talk. At last her dark eyes met mine. They were full of determination.

She sat up straight and placed her hands in her lap. “The man who came to your apartment, his name is Julio.” Her voice is a pained whisper. “When I left the orphanage, his building was the first place I found and rented.” She looked down at her mug of tea.

A shiver ran up my spine to my scalp, and I had a horrible sinking feeling in my stomach. Somehow I think I know what she was about to say.

“I was trying to make do with the money I got from the orphanage to start up my life. I was looking for a job but...he started to bother me...” Her soft voice halts over the word, and I closed my eyes as revulsion and bile rise in my throat.

It was as bad as it could possibly be.

“He took advantage of you?” I whispered, and I watched her reaction.

She shook her head. “He tried to.” Her words are barely audible, but in them I heard her pain and her horror.

Fury like nothing I had felt before ignited inside me. I clenched my fists trying to control my anger.

Danica was pale.

And everything about her fell into place. Her reticence.

Her fear.

Of me.

Of men.