THREE
Chapter 3
Isabelle thought she was dead, because it sure hurt like hell that. But then again, wasn’t death supposed to free you from pain? She opened her eyes, a long white monitor beeping beside her, before the realization of what had happened came back to her.
“SOPHIE!” Her cry was loud enough to alert the nursing staff. a slim woman in a white dress came quickly, trying to calm her down, pushing her back into the bed. “Mrs. Demetriou, please lie down, you will hurt yourself.” She was telling Isabelle, and while in retrospect, Isabelle could feel the burning sensations of her bruised ribs, could feel the prick of an IV needle in her arm, she couldn’t make herself sit here quietly, while her daughter is taken away from her.
“I want my daughter!” She was in hysterics and she didn’t even realize it. There were another two nurses now, trying to calm her down, and all Isabelle wanted to do was to get up and leave. A doctor in a white coat arrived soon thereafter, “Mrs. Dimitrious, I am going to give you a sedative, please try to calm down.”
“I don’t need a sedative! I am not sick!” They weren’t listening, though, with one hand clamped on her left arm, the doctor injected something in her veins, and almost in a minute or two, her heart was slowing down, she looked up helplessly at the doctor and the nurses, to beg them to help, she needed her daughter. No words came through, and she was feeling sleepy.
The doctor was saying something again. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Your husband Mr. Nikolaus Demetriou has been right here with you all this while you were unconscious. Please try to rest and relax.”
No, no it couldn’t be! Isabelle wanted to say. They must have been mistaken. How would Nik be here? He wouldn’t want to be anywhere near her! She hadn’t seen him in last 3 years, not a single meeting with him since their daughter Sophie had been born. That was the last time.
She was feeling so sleepy now that her eyelids were closing in their own accord, so she forced them open once again. The hospital room looked blurred now. The doctor was leaving, her eyes closed again, she forced them open. It was silent now- apart from the beeping of some machine. There was someone standing on the door now, a man, a six-foot something man with olive skin and brown eyes, who had an uncanny resemblance to her husband. But he couldn’t be Nick, he wouldn’t come here for her. She told herself, even though her heart twisted painfully in her chest.
He was so beautiful, beautiful, and handsome. But it couldn’t be Nick, she was sure, because as he came closer to her, she saw softness in his eyes….concern…..for her? “Isabelle?” It was the same voice, she felt like crying, no one had in these last years had ever said her name softly lovingly spoken her name like that.
“What happened to her?” His voice changed, though, suddenly sounding like steel as he demanded an explanation from the nurses behind her. Isabelle couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore, and this time when her eyelids went down, she let herself go back to sleep. Nik was here!
She was in a dream, floating in a timeless loop, where things that happened years ago suddenly seemed like the present. Past, present, and everything in between merged into a chaos of memories that pulled her down.
At one moment she was the scared child who didn’t understand why she and her mother lived in such poor conditions, the small windowless apartment where the ceilings and walls were damp with leaking water, with no heat and every night a new man came there…who went inside her mother’s bedroom and left a few hours later.
At the time she didn’t know what went on, but she knew what to do. Her mother told her to hide and never make a sound while the man was around, and she did just that, hid somewhere in the dark, afraid to even get a drink of water or sleep, before the man went away.
But before she knew it, she was the teenager, who was everyday scared that tonight would be the night when one of those men would attack her and rape her. Because as a sixteen-year-old, she could see that her mother’s once glamorous beauty was towards a downfall with age, and so her clientele of men who graced her bedroom every night were getting worse and worse as well. Violent, criminal kinds who she was sure would slash her throat once they were done with her.
‘Would her mother mind?’ She wondered sometimes, and she was pretty sure the answer was no. Amanda Mercer had long ago lost the ability to care for anyone, let alone her daughter. Isabelle stayed out of the apartment most of the time, spending her time between her friend’s couches and living on the meager salary of a burger joint waitress. She only went home when she was sure her mother or one of her men wouldn’t be there, to shower and change clothes and take the essentials for school.
High school was towards an end, and she already knew college was way out of her league. She needed a job and she needed it now, before the roof, although unsafe – that was over her head is taken away too.
Her lucky break came through one of her friends. A girl’s elder sister in her high school was living in New York, in a big apartment in some skyscraper, which she had taken on lease. And she needed someone to cook and clean for her, plus take care of her home while she had to leave for different assignments in different cities.
Isabelle begged, cajoled, and did everything in her power to make the family believe that she could do it. That even though she was only eighteen and had no experience, she could do it and would be very grateful if she got the job.
In the end, the family took pity on her, who had always known the conditions she had been living in since childhood, and about her mother’s work. And bought her a one-way ticket to New York.
Isabelle felt like she was free. Free of a painful past. Free of her mother’s degressions, Free from the fear that she had living in since she was only a child.
Avery Grant, the young woman she went to work for, was a successful reporter in some high-flying News Channel, living in a big flat on the third floor of a 30-story sky scarper. It was a great place and equally beautiful. Avery was very nice too, who allowed her to stay in one of the smaller bedrooms, paid her a little less than the minimum wage, but Isabelle was okay with that. In exchange, Isabelle cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, washed the dishes, and everything in between.
So little money didn’t give much freedom to Isabelle to do anything in the city, not that she had any interest in it anyway. She was putting every single cent she was earning towards her savings. Ms. Avery liked to party on the weekends, went out with her friends to some club or the other, and dressed to the nines.
It was one such Friday night when Ms. Avery was out. Isabelle went to get the groceries using the free time and just came in through the main foyer and went to the elevator to go back to the third floor. There was a man who entered with her in the elevator, a beautiful man. Isabelle, the shyest, most introverted girl in her entire school, had to stop herself from taking another peek at his face as he stood beside her in the elevator. But god, was he handsome – like to the level of Greek Gods. He was rich too, the branded leather shoes, the white silk shirt, and Rolex watch on his wrist told her that much.
She couldn’t help but look at his face once again, and then she saw him press the button to the penthouse floor. Her eyes widened because suddenly she had realized who this was!
Nikolaos Demetriou, Avery had told her about the owner of the building, and gushed about him in fact to her. “He is so handsome, Belle, that sometimes I just feel like staring at his face all day long.” She had sighed, a deep, sad sigh. “So, why don’t you ask him out then?” Isabelle had asked like a fool, and Avery had laughed. But she had, in fact, asked him out once, and she had told her in confidence. “Asked her if he would like to get a cup of coffee.” Avery had said, making a twisted face at her.
“And what did he say?” Isabelle had asked.
“Nothing.” Avery had shrugged nonchalantly as if she didn’t care, but it was clear that he had hurt her ego. “He didn’t reply to me, like I didn’t exist.”
Now, Isabelle knew what Avery had meant when she had said that; he was so handsome that she could stare at his face for hours on end. It was true. She peeked at him again, and this time he caught her red-handed, their eyes meeting. His cool, emotionless brown eyes stared at her for only a fraction of a second before looking away as if she wasn’t even worth his time.
Embarrassed beyond measure, Isabelle tried hiding her awkwardness with small talk. But it was less of a small talk and more of a ramble. “Hi, I am Isabelle Mercer.” He didn’t reply. “I live on the third floor, flat no 56, you know….” It didn’t look like he did, though, because he didn’t reply.
“You know, Ms. Avery Grant, I live with her.” She finished her sentence awkwardly, finally noticing that he wasn’t engaging. Blushing in a beetroot red color with even more embarrassment than before, she waited with bated breath as the door finally opened on the third floor and she made a hasty exit, only short of making a run for it.
The next time she met him, once again in the blasted elevator, he was with a woman. It was almost midnight, and a beautiful blonde woman in a scantily dressed pose was leaning on his arm as Isabelle entered the elevator and stopped awkwardly short.
More so perhaps, because her stupid teenage heart broke a little when she realized that the handsome, beautiful man she had had started to have a crush on was taking this woman up to his penthouse in the middle of the night. It was clearly for one purpose.
She stood a little apart from the two of them, berating herself for being so stupid and keeping her mouth shut. “Good evening, Isabelle.” He was looking at her, Isabelle realized with shock, and he remembered her name too. She blinked. “Good evening.” She replied awkwardly, her mouth a little open as she stared at him.
He blinked, and it was clear that he was trying to hide a smile. Isabelle wasn’t sure what she had done that was so funny to him. They didn’t speak anymore, but for some reason, for the next few days, Isabelle was floating on a dreamy cloud nine, her heart beating like a race horse every time she remembered him saying her name.
That Sunday, a card arrived at the door, “Coffee?” That was all it said in a rushed handwriting, with the venue of a coffee house down the street noted below along with time. Isabelle dressed in her prettiest dress, went there that evening to find him in a VIP section, looking like the king of the world.
And that was the start of it all.