Memories of Paradise Ch. 01

There are no words between them, only a slight touch of his hand on her back. Her whole body springs in terror, but a soft masculine voice reassures her.

"It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you."

With a tender gesture, he places his hand on her back again, gently strokes her pale, bruised skin to calm her down. It takes time and a lot of reassurance, but he manages to steady her a bit, enough for her breathing to slow down and her crying and shaking to ease up.

Once she finally becomes a bit more stable, the man takes off his jacket to cover her naked body, seemingly unconcerned about the dirt and blood on her. Gently he helps her sit up. She finds a pair of deep blue eyes, softly gazing upon her.

He reaches into his pocket for a silken handkerchief to clean her face.

"It's OK. Everything's going to be OK. You're safe," he keeps repeating.

She tries to speak, but only mumbles incoherently, seemingly in too much in shock to be able to respond. Her arms are folded across her chest protectively, trying to prevent her breasts from spilling out of the jacket.

When she's finally clean of spit and tears, he lifts her up in his arms like she is a wounded gazelle and carries her to his car. With a gentle motion and great care, he sits her on the front seat, puts the seat belt on her and reaches into the compartment to give her something she can use to stop the bleeding from her lip. In a blink, he's in the car driving away without a word.

The girl remains paralyzed in her seat. She wants to talk but can't begin to figure out what to say. It all started so abruptly, was so gut wrenchingly horrifying, and ended so quickly that she is having trouble assimilating it.

Her mind is flooding with questions. Who is he? Why did he intervene? How did he find out?

And more importantly, what is he planning to do with her?

She turns towards him and stares at him for a little bit. The shape of his face contrasts against the night lights, revealing angular features, but she can't tell much about him, other than he is young, maybe in his mid-twenties.

When he notices she is staring at him, he turns to face her and gives her a warm smile. She doesn't reciprocate it, continuing to look at him apprehensively instead.

"Where are you taking me?" she mumbles timidly, making a tremendous effort to get her voice to come out.

"To my place. I figured you might want some company tonight."

He says it in the most disaffected manner. As if it is routine for him. She's not sure how to take the news, and hopes he isn't implying what she thinks he is implying.

"I would rather you take me home," she pleads nervously.

"Don't be ungrateful," he replies calmly.

It's a scolding, yet it feels like something else entirely. It's the quality of his voice. That deep, silky voice makes everything he says feel soothing.

"You're hurt. And it's not good for you to be alone after what just happened. Just spend the night at my place, all right? I promise you I don't want anything else. I'll take you home in the morning."

The tiny girl nods weakly and turns her eyes away from him. She wants to argue further but decides against it. It's not like there is much she can do about it anyway. In the darkness of the night she covers herself protectively with his jacket and tells herself that if he wanted to hurt her, he could've done it already, then continues to try to collect her thoughts as they drive along the road into the countryside.

-----

"Here we are."

The headlights illuminate an ornate metal gate that promptly opens, seemingly on its own accord. In the distance, she can see some lights coming out of a large building.

The blue-eyed stranger slowly accelerates towards the distant silhouette that reveals itself to be an imposing mansion. With a warm smile on his lips he picks her up once more in his arms.

The road and the dark have managed to calm her down a bit, at least keeping her away from the brink of collapse. But as much as she'd like to, she is not able to fully get herself under control.

The pain, horror, and shame won't go away. It feels as if someone had thrown her heart to the ground and stomped on it.

With him holding her in his arms, she couldn't stop wondering if he was able to tell. She feels pathetic, like there's no way to fall lower than where she is right now.

When they enter, light comes to greet them. A grand room opens the way to the manor. Everything looks pristine. There's a soft rose perfume in the air.

"Not too much light, Jennie. It's pretty late," he says quietly, seemingly to the empty room. The lights immediately dim.

"Master?" she hears happy voices cry.

Four gorgeous young girls collared like pets and completely nude run to greet him. They throw themselves at him, competing to be the first one to kiss him.

Although at first they look completely oblivious, it doesn't take long before they notice her. They ask who she is and what had happened to her. They kiss and caress her in much the same way they would a lost puppy.

Even in an evening that traumatic, it's a sight that manages to stand out. It's the unexpected combined with the shocking, but her brain is turning into mush, failing under the pressure of exhaustion, abuse and the unfamiliar. She can't decide whether it's alarming or ridiculous. She simply stares deeply confused at these girls that resemble pets rather than grown women.

The man kisses them back and tells them he missed them too, but promptly sends them away, telling them to go wait for him in the bedroom. Once they're gone, she manages to give him an uneasy look. The man refers to them as his girlfriends and tells her not to worry. On a better day, she would've called out the ridiculousness of his excuse, but not tonight.

As he carries her through the halls, light continues to follow them, turning on as he approaches, and off as he leaves. Lights, doors, girls... It's like the entire house is its own world with him at the center of it. She tries looking around, but her position and the soft lights make it hard to distinguish much. Still, she spies a few things out of the corner of her eye: paintings, marble busts... things she had only previously known from pictures, some of which she assumed didn't exist anymore.

-----

"No one is going to hurt you," he reassures her once again, just like he did in the alley. "You're going to be OK."

By then he had said it so many times he had started to sound like a broken record, yet her traumatized mind hopes he will never stop saying it. She believes it a little more each time.

The room around her is dark and quiet, the silence interrupted only for the sound of an open faucet. It's barely possible to distinguish the biggest features. She's lying on what she supposes is a bed; the extreme softness and comfort do not resemble any bed she's used to.

He approaches slowly, carrying a white rag in his hand, then kneels, keeping one knee on the ground. He extends his hand towards her leg, but she recoils.

"You sprained your ankle. It'll keep hurting unless I give you some medicine. There's nothing to worry about. I promise."

She still doesn't respond, but, very cautiously, extends her leg to him.

The man carefully holds her ankle in his hand. The position leaves her sex exposed for him to see, with the warm air of the room caressing her beaten skin, permanently reminding her that she's naked and open in front of a stranger. She blushes red with shame.

He takes a small glass bottle and pours the contents on the rag, then starts rubbing the area. It only takes him a minute, and the swelling starts to go down.

"OK, that should do it," he declares with a smile, then lets go. The girl pulls her leg back with noticeable eagerness.

"Are you going to be alright?" His voice is a combination of genuine concern with a tone of reassurance. She gingerly looks around the room, clutching the sheets tightly. Then, slowly, she nods.

"All right. I'll let you get clean with some privacy then. My room is at the end of the hall. If you need something or you want to talk to me or the girls, you can find us there. Or you can talk to Jennie if you prefer, just call her name."

He turns around to leave, but before he can, she finally musters some courage to talk.

"C-Could you bring me some clothes?"

The stranger considers his words for a moment.

"Only if you don't mind wearing mine. There are no women's clothes here."

She visibly tightens the grip on the sheets. Like the sight of the girls before, it makes her uneasy without being able to fully grasp what it means.

"Y-yeah... that'd be alright."

His lips produce a warm smile once more.

"I'll tell Jennie to bring you something comfortable. Let me know if you need anything else," he declares, and with that, leaves. The tiny girl stays silently, still clutching the sheets. She breathes quietly, barely breaking the silence, still very much trying to process everything.

She runs her hands over her body, trying to reassure herself that she's still alive. Her skin is bruised, there are several cuts, and she's dirty all over, but at least she'll make it.

With some effort due to her aching ankle, she stands up and moves to the bathroom. She's exhausted, but the filth on her skin won't let her rest. It almost feels like it's seeping inside her.

She pauses to look at herself in the mirror and examine the wounds. A pair of eyes, red from so much suffering, stare back at her. The image is surreal. A grand, pristine setting serves as background, and in the middle, there she is, a brutalized, emotional mess.

Her ankle is too weak to carry her weight, so she just silently sits in the bathtub and lets the water fall over her, carefully scrubbing her body.

When she finally gets out, there is a set of fresh, clean clothes, warm, toasty and neatly folded on the bed. T-shirt and sweatpants, simple and masculine like he said, but incredibly comfortable, plus one more thing she did not request: A Teddy Bear.

She holds it in her hands for a moment and wonders why anyone would think of bringing her that. And yet, she can't stop herself from hugging it. It's just a toy but it evokes a feeling she hasn't felt in many years. Tears seep out of the corner of her eye.

With what little strength she has left, she puts on the clothes and gets in the bed. Before closing her eyes, she takes one more look around. Then, holding the teddy close to her heart, she lets her tears loose once more and falls into the dreamworld.

-----

Birds. The first sound she hears as she wakes up is the singing of birds. At first, she thinks it's just part of her dream, but as she opens her eyes and her mind returns to reality, the song doesn't disappear.

Her body does not immediately respond, taken over by a lethargy that can only be caused by an extreme comfort, one that she was certainly not used to. With a little effort, she straightens up, rubbing her eyes to fully awaken.

She sits on the bed, just like the night before, and simply breathes slowly, fixing her eyes on the room now bathed by the golden light. The morning had finally brought some clarity of mind, and after that night, she was glad to have at least that, but it's still difficult for her to assimilate her feelings.

The previous night seems so surreal that she can't help but wonder if everything happened exactly the way she remembers it or if half of it was hallucinations provoked by her fear.

Even after several hours she's still processing all the horrors of a night in which she came the second-closest to death she had ever been, only to be saved by a complete stranger and ending up in a place the likes of which she thought didn't exist anymore.

It's still possible to feel it, every part of it. The pain in her body while they were hitting her. The evil in their eyes. Their reeking smell. And yet, strangely, it doesn't affect her quite as much as it feels it should. There's a certain pain that lingers; a feeling of being despised and not understanding why. But it's dampened somehow. She looks around at her surroundings; everything is comforting and serene, as if the place itself protects against the horrors of the world.

She wonders if it's better that way. Maybe she can simply pretend that none of it ever happened. Put on her clothes and walk back to her life. In her mind, it seems like a better alternative. She's already ashamed of herself enough with the way she broke down in his arms.

For a moment, her mind drifts to the image of those four girls, collared like pets, kissing and caressing her. Strangely, there's something reassuring in the thought. She feels like maybe she understands the man a little better now. Before, she was concerned about him bringing her to his house, but in her mind, someone who already had all those girls, whatever they were, could not possibly be interested in someone so bland and disheveled as her.

She finds that, despite everything, she feels she can go on, and perhaps that has to suffice. The world has taught her that there's no room for wallowing, only to keep going.

As her mind suddenly returns to her immediate reality, she realizes the song still has not stopped. It's the lovely singing of a small bird with a colorful red chest.

A decade ago, every person on the island knew those songs. But that was back then. She has not heard their sound in at least six years.

Her curiosity finally takes over. She stands up from the bed, deciding to find out the source. The door to the garden is slightly jammed, but she manages to open it.

On the outside, the sight before her is as beautiful as it could be. She sees a thousand different kinds of bushes, all in full bloom, painting the scene with flowers of all colors, from cool deep blue, to fiery scarlet. Pristine marble fountains provide the scenery with elegance and produce dancing figures as the sunlight touches the water. The entire scene speaks of someone with a deep love for beauty and no remorse for indulging his desires.

She thought at best she'd find one of those birds, most likely just a recording placed there for nostalgia. Instead she finds about a dozen, perhaps more. Back when she was a girl, those little creatures used to visit her family in their garden. It was quite common. She never thought she'd be able to see one again.

It seems like a rather stupid thing in her mind, they're only birds, and she never cared that much for them back then. But the feeling of rediscovering something she thought was lost brings a certain warmth to her.

Mesmerized by the sight she approaches the little creature. Not only does it not fly away, but it looks strangely welcoming, submissively letting the girl pet it.

Then a voice behind her brings her mind back.

"Everything OK?"

The powerful shape of the kind stranger who saved her life stands just by the garden door, shining under the morning light. His smile is comforting, just like she remembered it. He looks relaxed and happy.

The girl tries to force a smile to mask her nervousness, but with little success. Her gesture comes across as awkward and uncomfortable, and she simply excuses herself saying she was curious about the sounds.

Now that she's no longer in danger, she takes the time to study the stranger a little better. The man that stands in front of her has all the features of an aristocrat. But it's more than the masculine beauty of his face, his angular features or how the dark reddish brown of his hair and beard contrasts with his light skin and deep blue eyes. It's the quality of the way he stands, moves and looks at her. It all tells the story of someone who's grown used to being the center of attention, who gets what he wants when he wants to, because people around him can't help but to obey. His gaze in particular stands out. A piercing, hypnotic blue gaze; dominant but soft.

"Do you like them?" he asks her, referring to the birds she is petting.

"Me? No... of course, not," she mumbles, taking her hand away in a hurry, "That'd be lame. Just... been awhile since I've actually seen one up close."

The blue-eyed stranger doesn't respond. He stares at her with a gentle smile.

"Something on your mind?" she queries, making an effort to mask her annoyance.

"Just good to see you on your feet. Yesterday you looked like you were going to break into a million pieces."

Despite his tone of genuine concern, she can't help but blush deeply with shame.

I almost died, you jackass! I'm sorry I wasn't jumping and dancing... but decides to keep it to herself. Instead she produces a polite nod hoping to hide her discomfort. He did, save her after all; she figures she owes him at least that much.

"Listen," she mumbles, keeping her eyes on the ground and her arms crossed over her chest, almost like a petulant child, "it's not easy for me to say this, but I supposed I have to...

Last night was... It got really scary. But I suppose... I guess in the end nothing really happened. And it was because of you. So, thank you."

She speaks with long pauses, trying to force the words out of her mouth. Her tone is dry and cold.

"Amazing... That might just be the worst 'thank you' I've ever heard."

The stranger's smile never fades, but it's clear by his tone that he is serious.

"I just don't like this," she confesses, "I appreciate what you did, I really do, but I don't like this."

"What?"

"This feeling that I owe something to a total stranger."

The man immediately laughs - the kind of genuine, annoying laugh of someone who treats someone else's small insecurities like little more than small, cute jokes - and puts his arm around her.

"Well," he tells her with a smile, "I'm Julian. Friends and family call me 'Jan'. You know, Julian being quite a long name and such. And as for the debt part, no need to worry; you don't owe me anything. Just glad you're alive."

No smile is returned. She shifts a little, nervous about having him so close. It's not the gesture, which on another man might pass as nothing more than friendly, but he is a different thing altogether; a dominating, overwhelming presence.

"Val," she muses dryly.

"Valerie?"

"No. Val."

There's another long pause. Julian muses her name a few times, clearly hinting that he finds it pretty and never losing his smile.

"Why did you intervene?" she asks after a moment. Julian doesn't try to hide his confusion.

"They were going to rape and kill you. And I had a weapon. Why wouldn't I intervene?"

"They could've killed you," she challenges him, still skeptic, "Why would you risk your life for a total stranger?"

"From my perspective, they seemed too busy with you to worry about me. Besides... life's not life if you can't have some fun killing hoodlums from time to time, wouldn't you agree?"

His answer throws her off a bit. Unsure of what to say, she spends a few seconds in silence. But she never gets to figure it out; Julian uses the pause to invite her for breakfast. Valerie tries to politely refuse, still not comfortable spending time with him. She'd rather just go back home. But Julian insists, and she's starving, and without any other choice, she caves.

At first, she imagines he'll take her to the dining room, but when they're back inside she finds with a little surprise a few silver platters filled with delicacies already arranged on the bed.

"Baked eggs prepared with herbs and bacon. And apple pancakes, with cream, and chocolate, because what would life be like without some sweetness, right?"

He pours her a cup of tea, then invites her to sit. She hesitates once more, still wondering if it might not be better to simply ask him to take her home, but the delicious smell of the food is starting to make her stomach growl. She sits and grabs a timid first bite. After that, she has to fight the urge to simply devour everything like a ravenous dog.