Mabel Shot Part 2

“Christ, he really has a lot of talent!” I smile, picking up my bag from the floor of the car and placing it on my lap.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Boris turns the wheel and drives onto the street where I live. “I’m glad you agreed to come with me; the paintings we chose will truly be a great addition to the gallery.”
“The way he plays with the lines, making them so expressive... Wow, I never thought such pale canvases could look so beautiful!” I turn my face towards the window as he parks the car in front of my building. “Thank you, Boris. I’m really glad I went.”
“It wasn’t so bad after all, right?” He turns off the car and lets out a long sigh.
“No, it wasn’t.” I turn my face back to him and smile with gratitude.
I admit I had been nervous when I got into the car with Boris after work, especially when I didn’t see Mr. Bingo, the chauffeur for Mr. Rumeu, and realized it would just be me and Boris at the house of the painter who had caught his attention. I spent the entire ride withdrawn, sitting in the passenger seat with my body curled up and my fingers gripping my knee, staring at the car dashboard. Boris still seemed visibly upset about the lack of uniform, and he didn’t speak to me at all during the trip. I was grateful for that; my mind was a mess, tangled with all the information Macro had given me at lunch. I tried to connect the man who had dropped me off at my house last night—after getting to know some of my most shameful demons, giving me a bath, drying my body, dressing me without a care, and bringing me home—with the cruel and frightening advisor Macro had described.
The truth is, I think I’m entering the lair of a big bear, whose worst facets I still don’t know. Tonight will probably be another long night spent staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell I’ve done this time. The only thing that saved my day was Oslo Silt. The young painter I met is truly impressive, just like his canvases. For a brief moment, all my anguish faded as I admired his paintings, and it even brought me a bit more tranquility on the way back since Boris shared my enthusiasm for Oslo Silt’s talented works.
“Thank you for bringing me home, Mr. Boris.” I reach for the seatbelt latch and lower my head. “I’ll see you at the gallery tomorrow; I’m sure your uncle will love the paintings we chose...”
My body freezes, halting all movement the moment his hand closes around mine, forcing me to look at the pale skin that blocks my fingers from unbuckling the seatbelt.
“Your company made all the difference, Mabel.” I lift my face to meet his as he speaks softly to me.
“I need to go now.” The grateful smile I had before dies on my lips as I see him looking at me anxiously. “Could you please let go of my hand, Mr. Boris?”
“We never had a chance to really get to know each other.” Instead of letting go, he releases my hands to grip my wrist. “I feel like we have so much in common; we just needed a moment for ourselves.”
I’m startled and jerk my body back, pressing against the passenger door as Boris pushes his body closer to me, visibly intent on bringing his face near mine.
“What do you think you’re doing?” My eyes widen, and I raise my hand, pressing it against his chest to keep him away. “I think you’re confusing things, Boris.”
“Come on, Mabel, you know what I’ve always wanted from you since the day you walked into that gallery!” His eyes drop to my shirt and fixate on my chest, which rises and falls anxiously with my nervous breathing. “We could get to know each other better if you let that happen.”
He pushes himself closer again, but my fingers on his chest rise to his face, pushing him back.
“No!” I say, angry, shaking my head, managing to free my wrist from his grip as I squirm in the car. “You’re confusing things, Mr. Boris!” I pull the sleeve of my shirt down to cover the exposed skin on my wrist before he sees the mark. “I have no interest in getting to know you, and as the nephew of Mr. Rumeu, who is my boss and yours as well, you shouldn’t be taking these liberties with the gallery staff.”
“Are you kidding me?” He leans back against the driver’s seat, turning his face toward the dashboard in pure anger. “Are you rejecting me just because we work together?”
“Understand it however you want, Mr. Boris. But the moment a woman says she doesn’t want something, it means she doesn’t want it!” I reply, nervous, trying to unbuckle the damn seatbelt. “I’m rejecting you because I have no interest in you.”
As soon as I unbuckle, I clutch my bag in fear and turn to open the car door. I hear the click of the locks being engaged, trapping me inside the vehicle.
“But with that bastard son of Huslan, you wanted to!” Boris says with acidity. As I turn, I see his face looking at me with disgust.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to know. Just open the door, Mr. Boris...” I murmur, trembling, not understanding what he’s saying.
“Bingo told me you turned him down last night after he dropped you off at Gregovivk’s place.” His mouth compresses into a thin line, his eyes narrowing. “Did you feel something for the bastard?”
“Open the car door, or I’ll scream!” I raise my bag, holding it close to my chest as if it could serve as a shield.
“My uncle may be a decrepit old man who still believes that a family’s power comes from their surname, but I know the reputation of Huslan’s bastard!” he snarls in anger, letting go of the steering wheel. He reaches out and places his hand on my thigh. “I know exactly what he is, and it certainly wasn’t some fucking shitty painting that brought him to the gallery, but rather your body.”
I feel my face go cold, my blood stopping in my veins. Boris knows about Sodoma.
“Mr. Boris, please let me out of this car.” My voice trembles, as do my fingers that clutch the bag tightly, my wide eyes fixed on Boris’s fingers on my thigh. “Mr. Boris...”
“Tell me, Mabel, are you sleeping with that jerk for money... Because if that’s the case, I can guarantee that my money is better than his. I know where mine comes from...”
“What?” I blink, confused, raising my face to his.
My mind races, growing more muddled, trying to comprehend what he means. It’s not about Sodoma; Boris doesn’t know about Sodoma; he’s referring to something else, but what does Boris know about Mr. Gregovivk?
“Boris, today has been stressful; please let me out of this car.” I push my knee away and keep my body pressed against the door, looking at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about; I just dropped off the painting at Mr. Czar’s house and left right after...”
“Liar, you didn’t!” he says, laughing, shaking his head. “I ordered him to keep an eye on you! Bingo drove around the block, and when he returned, he saw you entering the bastard’s house. He even waited forty minutes outside, and you didn’t come out!”
I breathe faster, feeling cold sweat on my body, my heart racing. His hand returns to my thigh as he moves closer.
“Imagine how my uncle will feel when he finds out that his precious jewel is just a whore who likes to sleep with the gallery’s clients?!” His hand slowly climbs my thigh, spreading across my leg. “That the painting from India you went to evaluate was actually Gregovivk’s bed? It would be a shame, wouldn’t it...”—he lowers his voice, cornering me as I look at him in fear—“for you to lose your exchange program because you couldn’t pick the right cock.”
My body thrashes as he lunges, trying to bring his mouth to mine, pressing his lips against the side of my face as I turn away in desperation.
“It’ll be our little secret, love.” His disgusting hand tries to hold my face in place, and I scream in terror.
“Nate, please...” I cry, shaking my head, curling up against the passenger door.
“I tried to be patient with you; I swear to God I tried!” he yells angrily, smashing a vase against the wall. “YOU’RE NOT LEAVING ME, DAMN IT!”
“Open the door, Nate, let me out of here.” I look at the door, feeling my cheeks wet with tears as I sob, scared, not recognizing the terrifying man Nate has become.
“I’m sick of waiting for you to be ready!” He lunges his body towards me, but I dodge and run down the hallway.
His fingers grip my hair, and he slams my head against the wall. Pain hits me hard, along with the taste of blood streaming from my nose into my mouth. My senses feel dazed, moving slowly as my body slides down the wall until I fall to the floor. The first kick that hits my abdomen makes me topple over, curling into a