After he finished with her, he threw her body to the ground with disgust, as if she hadn't been in his arms moments before. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said coldly:
"I only touch virgins, whores... They're just food."
His words came out deadly cold, but she couldn't hear him anymore. Her body lay lifeless, a silent witness to his brutality.
He didn't give her another look, but picked up the file he had tossed aside when he entered, and walked to his room as if nothing had happened.
He sat on the couch, licking the blood off his lips with relish as his eyes scanned the file meticulously. He quickly flipped through the pages, until his fingertips came to rest on a particular photo.
"Sidra..."
He said her name with relish, his eyes flashing with a dangerous twinkle. His fingers touched her image, as if he could feel her through the paper. She was beautiful, well-muscled, her gaze reflecting a sharp intelligence and cunning to be reckoned with.
He smiled, closed his eyes briefly, and imagined her in his hands, burning with ferocity and desire. He chuckled softly, inwardly he had already made up his mind.
"She will be mine," he muttered to himself, "and I will enjoy her like no woman has ever enjoyed before."
On the other side, in the heart of the forest, Sidra was absent-minded, replaying in her mind Marcel's conversation about that bastard Elias. That was his nickname she had given him long ago, she thought as she recalled when she first met Marcel.
Back then, she was still a student at her university, studying business administration with passion. Her dream back then was clear: Starting a business for herself and her flock. Against the odds, she finally succeeded after years of struggle.
One fall day, she was walking alone down an almost deserted side street, wearing her backpack and dragging her feet in boredom. She is late for the day's lectures as usual, and she finally makes it back to the dormitory, exhausted. She was humming a quiet tune, tapping the scattered gravel with her foot when a sound caught her attention... a muffled moan.
She stops, lifts her head and turns around, trying to locate the source of the sound.
Then other sounds were heard, more pronounced, more like a fight.
Her curiosity led her to change course, and she headed towards the sounds with cautious steps.
Around the first corner, she spotted a young boy, no more than ten years old, lying carelessly on the ground. Around him, three teenagers had their fists clenched around his slender body.
Looking at the tattoos on their arms, she immediately realized that they belonged to one of the gangs that recruit teenagers and turn them into tools of violence.
She approached them lightly, lowering her head and humming a soft voice to get their attention.
They stopped beating her and looked at her with amazement and amusement, as if she had come to them willingly.
One of them approached her, examining her with arrogant looks until he stood right in front of her.
Smiling wickedly, he said:
"What is a beautiful girl like you doing in this place at this time?"
The other two giggled brazenly, while she remained silent, looking at the ground, tapping her foot softly as if hesitating.
He reached out his hand towards her, and as he was about to touch her...
She raised her leg in a flash and kicked him hard in a sensitive spot that made his body writhe in pain and he fell to the ground screaming.
The other two rushed towards him, but before they realized what was happening, Sidra had already started a fierce fight with them, in which she showed her fighting skills without mercy.
The battle ended in her favor. Sidra approached the boy to examine him, and he involuntarily put his hands over his face in self-defense. She looked at him with deep sadness.
She spoke in a calm voice:
"Don't be afraid, little one, I'm not here to hurt you."
His gaze was lost, as if searching for a safe place. She smiled tenderly and gently stroked his hair.
"Can you move?" she said.
He nodded slowly, and she gently reached out to him. Her smile was all over her face, trying to reassure him.
He reached out hesitantly, holding it gingerly. She gently stroked his hand and helped him stand up.
She took him to her apartment, where she treated his wounds, fed him, and allowed him to shower and change his clothes. She didn't ask him for anything, but took care of him for a month like a little brother, like a child in need of help. She treated him very gently, as if she felt it was her duty to be with him at this moment, without asking for any answers or explanations.
Then the day came when the boy approached her while she was studying and said in a hushed voice:
"Why?"
Sidra looked at him quizzically, and he quickly continued:
"Why are you doing this to me?"
She smiled at him, her eyes full of tenderness:
"Why wouldn't I?"
The boy examined her gaze carefully, and he was beginning to warm to her. But his heart had been raised in a different way, and he couldn't believe that things could be so simple.
He sat in front of her, smiled, and then said seriously:
"You saved me from them. So, thank you for everything you've done. And I'm ready to return the favor."
Sidra chuckled lightly, then looked at him and said with a playful smile:
"And how are you going to return the favor?"
"Give me any laptop, and I'll hack a bank and send you some money," he replied lightly.
Sidra's face showed great surprise, and she opened her mouth to speak:
"How does a kid your age know these things?"
He answered her calmly:
"I learned these things when I was six years old, and I mastered them."
Sidra looked at him in wonder and said:
"Are you kidding?"
He shook his head no, his eyes were steady and calm.
Sidra remained silent for minutes, looking at him blankly, unable to believe what she was hearing. She wondered in her mind, is he lying or is he telling the truth? Finally, she spoke up and said in a low voice:
"What is your name?"
He answered her simply:
"I'm number 47."
Her eyes widened in shock, unable to respond immediately, she said in a semi-shaky voice:
"What?"