Camila Rodrigo:
"Argh!!!"
My war cry echoed in my ears as I thrust the switchblade toward his throat. But just as quickly as I moved, I froze. Terror gripped me at the thought of actually committing murder.
My hands, still in mid-air from my attempted attack, were caught effortlessly. He held them as if I hadn't just tried to stab him with full force.
Or so I thought.
"Is this a joke or some kind of psychological stupidity?" he asked with a smirk, pulling my hand closer to his neck.
What the hell is he doing? Shouldn't he be prying my hands away instead?
"Go on then, doc. Play the hero and stab me," he taunted, tapping his Adam's apple with his free hand.
I shook my head, refusing outright. I didn't want to end up in prison like him—or worse, locked in a psych ward.
"Finish what you started, or I'll end your life right here, right now. Your choice." His voice was dark, ominous.
I never wanted to come to this stupid club, never wanted to stand here holding a blade to a man's throat. What the hell had possessed me to pull a move like that? But one thing was certain—I wasn't dying here tonight.
"I wasn't actually going to, okay?" I lied, my voice trembling. Maybe I would have gone through with it if fear hadn't paralyzed me. There was something about him that made me lose control, just like the other day in the assessment room.
"Let me go… please," I begged, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
He turned to the man restraining my sister and gave a signal. The man let Jennifer go. Then, without another word, he released me—but not before spitting a single word I despised:
"Weak."
He spat on the ground in disgust before turning his back and walking away. I could have stayed silent. I could have grabbed my sister and run home. But I spoke up.
"How the hell did you get out of prison?" My voice rang through the air, stopping him dead in his tracks.
He turned slightly, his lips curling into a dangerous grin.
"Hell froze over for its king to walk past it." His deep, dark voice sent a chill down my spine.
"Come on, let's go, Camila," Jennifer urged, tugging me along. My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. I watched him saunter away, whistling like he owned the damn streets, before finally turning to my sister. We ran home.
---
We had barely arrived when I told our mother everything—well, almost everything. I left out the part about Alessandro. She already had enough on her plate with Jennifer's ridiculous debt.
Now, we sat in the living room, trying to make sense of why my sister had gambled away a fortune borrowed from the mafia.
"Why in the world did you gamble, Jennifer?! And you didn't say a word to any of us? What were you thinking?!" Mother's voice was laced with disappointment.
My phone vibrated with a message. I opened it.
Your three-month psychology assessment session with Mr. Alessandro has begun. The mandatory three sessions per week started yesterday. Your evaluation of the patient is highly sacrosanct, and we oblige you to submit your reports at the end of each day.
- Charles Jackson, Warden.
I reread the message over and over, each repetition making my reality sink in deeper. Three whole months. Three months of dealing with that lunatic.
A sharp finger snap pulled me back to the conversation at hand—Jennifer and her mafia debt.
"Baby, I know you have nothing to do with your sister's reckless decision, but I need your undivided attention," Mother demanded. "Put the phone away."
I complied, placing it beside me.
"Young lady," she said, pointing at Jennifer, who sat with her eyes downcast, either ashamed or simply pretending to be. "Explain. Now. Not only did you take a loan from a Russian mob, but you gambled it all away?! What the hell were you thinking?"
Her voice rose with every word. Jennifer and I flinched. I had never seen her this furious—not since our father disappeared. Seeing her like this brought back memories I preferred to keep buried.
Jennifer stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the floor. She wasn't going to talk unless we forced her to.
Fine. I'd be the one to push.
"Did you take me to the club just to show off your newfound gambling skills, big sis?" I asked, pacing slightly. "Because if I remember correctly, you insisted we go. Tell me, why? Were you still partying after racking up debt? Was getting involved with the mafia not enough?"
I wanted answers. Anything. But instead, it backfired.
"Well, if I hadn't, you wouldn't have seen your little friend," Jennifer snapped. "Why didn't you tell Mom about the little drama outside with Alessandro? You know, the guy who's supposed to be in prison?"
I froze for a moment, caught off guard.
Mother turned to me, her expression sharp. "Pumpkin," she started, using the nickname she only pulled out when prying for information. "What is Jennifer talking about? Isn't Alessandro—the mafia king—still in prison?"
I internally cursed Jennifer for dragging him into this just to divert attention. Now I looked guilty by association.
Nice one, bitch.
"Mother, she has no idea what she's saying. We both know Alessandro is in jail. There's no way he's been released without people knowing—let alone showing up at a club," I half-lied, walking toward my sister. "She's just trying to stall. I'm so disappointed in you, Jennifer. What other lies do you have cooking?"
Jennifer's eyes widened in shock, her mouth slightly agape.
I had no idea what Alessandro was doing there that night. And I wasn't about to let her drag me down with her.
"I'm disappointed in you, Jennifer," Mother said, her voice cracking. "Spreading rumors to avoid taking responsibility? How did you become like this? I failed as a mother…"
Tears streamed down her face. I rushed to her side, hovering over her as she wept into her hands. Jennifer didn't dare come closer. Instead, she did what any coward would do when cornered.
She ran. But not before whispering, "I'm sorry I failed you, Mama."
Guilt gnawed at me all night. I couldn't tell them the truth—that I was assigned to evaluate Alessandro or that he had been standing right outside the club like any other free man. It was still a mystery.
And now, I had another session with that bastard.
So many questions, no answers.
Jennifer's disbelief when I denied seeing Alessandro would haunt me. I had lied straight to her face. And I didn't even feel guilty.
That night, I fell asleep with my mind tangled in unanswered questions.
---
The following morning…
I wore my tailored navy blue shirt over my pencil trousers, tied my hair into a neat ponytail, slipped on my shoes, and grabbed my bag before heading out to the cab I had ordered.
An hour later, I entered the penitentiary, signed in, and was escorted by two officers in blue as I headed to the assessment room.
As I passed a few cell blocks, the inmates whistled, while some screamed ungodly words.
The same old utterances as the last time.
"Woohoo! It's whore time!"
"Come in here, I'll treat you better with my joystick."
"Fucking putta! I'll eat you raw!"
The comments were vile, but it was expected from a group of men who had spent years in this place without seeing a woman. Some of them never would.
The guards hurriedly moved me along, and I felt a bit safer once I arrived inside the room, built with a two-way mirror.
I didn't look at him, not acknowledging his presence. Dropping my bag, I grabbed a notebook and pen. Finally, I met his gaze, staring him dead in the eye.
"The last session didn't go as planned due to your failure to give me answers. With little to no hope, I expect that won't happen again," I said confidently.
He gave me a small smile, which slowly stretched into a full-blown grin. Then, in the next second, he stood abruptly, slamming the table so hard that all the contents fell to the ground.
"Scared yet?" he growled.
I shot to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest as I hurried to the door. How in the hell does a wild man like him deserve therapy? At least not from me.
Before I could form a response, a voice spoke from the speaker embedded in the room, unnoticed until now.
"Sit back down, Alessandro. If you make me come in there, I will use force to make you submit."
"Doctor Camila, you can continue."
I turned to the two-way mirror, my expression screaming, After all that?
Did they really expect any progress from a session that started like this?
Alessandro sat back in his chair with a toothy grin. "You heard the officer, Doc. Stop being weak and do your job." He crossed one leg over the other, hands akimbo.
It took me a few seconds to collect myself before walking slowly back to my chair. I picked up my notebook and pen, then shot a scowl at the mirror.
"This is your therapy session, but I'm the one doing the diagnosing now."
A shiver ran down my spine, but I masked it with indifference and continued jotting notes.
"Control," I began, crossing my legs to match his demeanor. "Let's talk about that, shall we?"
If he wanted to play hard, I would play harder.