ELEANOR
As I sat there-still uneasy, I finally gathered the nerve to speak. “What could you possibly want to know about me?” I asked, my voice flat with an edge of skepticism. “I’m not exactly the most interesting person.”
Armando-who had just taken another bite from his meal-didn’t even look up at me as he replied. “Tell me whatever you’ve got,” he said casually, his tone almost too indifferent. “Your family, your background…” He paused for a bit, and then added with a slight mocking lilt, “Even the most boring person has a family and a past Eleanor. Don’t they?”
“Well I don’t know about everyone else, but I don’t have much of either,” I answered quietly, my face neutral as I shifted in my seat. “No family, and certainly no ‘background'”
That finally made Armando look up-his gaze sharp; almost as though he was scrutinizing me for the truth.
It was unnerving so I turned my face away, pretending not to notice his growing impatience.
After a moment, his voice cut through the silence again-a bit firmer this time. “Enough with the excuses,” he said, the mocking edge in his tone now replaced with something sharper. “Stop beating around the bush. What is this-some kind of game?”
I clenched my jaw but he kept on going before I could answer. “Aren’t you educated enough to know what it means to tell someone about yourself?” His words dripped with sarcasm, each one like a jab. “Let me break it down for you then. Simple English.”
I swallowed hard, already feeling my pulse quicken.
“All I’m asking,” he continued, leaning slightly forward, “is for a basic introduction. You know… maybe a bit about your family or your past. That’s it. I’m not asking for some life story.”
He then let the silence hang for a moment before delivering his next blow.
“If you can’t do that, then I’m sure you’re going to remain in this line of work for a very long time. Forever maybe.”
I immediately felt my stomach drop.
“You know,” he added with a smirk that made me even more uncomfortable, “decent jobs require interviews. So if you can’t manage a simple question , you might as well accept that you’ll always be someone’s…” He paused deliberately, letting the implication settle. “…’property,’ for the rest of your life.”
I wanted to speak up-to say anything, but Armando still wasn’t done yet. He leaned back in his chair-that smug expression still plastered across his face-as he continued, “And if that’s the case,” he said with mock sincerity, “I’ll just keep buying you over and over. You’ll be stuck, with me.”
My body jolted, and before I realized it, I had already straightened in my seat. My back was rigid and my hands clenched tightly on my lap. Although I refused to look at him-focusing on the wall behind him instead, I could still feel his eyes pinned on me. He knew he’d struck a nerve.
Armando didn’t say anything else but the smirk on his face was enough to tell me that he was waiting for some kind of reaction.
He casually stabbed his fork into the pasta again-bringing another bite to his mouth as if the words he’d just said meant nothing-and then chewed slowly, his gaze never leaving me.
Then slowly, I tilted my head in his direction and stared at him spitefully-my irritation bubbling over-and in that moment, I found myself hoping that the food would somehow choke him.
But instead of saying anything, I just sat there stewing in my frustration. His words kept replaying in my mind and I hated the fact that they were getting to me.
I straightened a little more, my fingers unclenching slightly as I fought the lingering sting of his words. If he wanted me to talk, fine. I’d talk. Not because he deserved to know anything about me, but because I wasn’t going to sit there and let him think I was some ignorant fool.
“Well, If you must know,” I said, my tone firmer than I’d expected, “I’m not some illiterate. I can definitely answer questions just fine.” I paused for a moment, narrowing my eyes at him. “But if you want me to tell you anything about myself, then you’ll have to return the favor as well. I’m not doing this one-sided. If I talk, you talk. Deal?”
Armando didn’t respond immediately-which wasn’t surprising. Instead, he continued eating, taking his time and chewing each bite like he had all the time in the world.
His silence stretched the air tight-the suspense gnawing at my nerves-and I watched him closely, trying to figure out what game he was playing, but still his expression gave nothing away.
Finally-without looking up-he answered. “Fine,” he said slowly, his voice low and calm. “But I’ll only tell you what’s necessary to know.”
“Necessary?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He then glanced at me briefly-his smirk barely noticeable-before turning his attention back to the plate in front of him.
Where was I supposed to start? What could I even tell him without giving too much away?
Before I could decide, his voice cut through my thoughts.
“How old are you?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with something else-suspicion maybe.
I blinked, clearly caught off guard. It felt less like a question and more like he was testing me.
“Why does that matter?” I asked cautiously, trying to buy myself a moment to think.
“Just answer the question,” he replied, his fork hovering over the plate.
“I’m in my early twenties. That’s all you need to know about my age.” I sighed.
Armando then tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he nodded once. “Go on,” he said, gesturing with his fork.
I bit my lip, still unsure of how much to reveal. “I come from a family of two,” I started slowly, carefully choosing my words. “Just me and my… sibling. I’m responsible for both of us so I’ve had to figure things out on my own.”
Armando nodded again, twirling another forkful of pasta before bringing it to his mouth. But he still didn’t say anything, rather he just motioned for me to continue.
I hesitated again, feeling like every word was being weighed and measured. “I dropped out of college,” I admitted, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. “I thought I’d start a business, something that could keep us going, but things didn’t work out the way I planned.”
I paused, feeling a slight heat rise to my face. “And that’s how I ended up… doing the job you found me doing,” I said, my voice tinged with bitterness. “I took it because I needed the money. Not because I wanted to deal with men like you.” I added that last part deliberately, letting the words hang in the air as I rolled my eyes.
I expected him to react-maybe throw another insult my way-but all I got was a soft, devious chuckle.
“Men like me?” he echoed, his voice dripping with mockery. “Do you know how much you could make if you just got on your knees and worked my belt like the good little slut you’re pretending not to be?” He added as he leaned back slightly into his chair, his smirk widening.
Armando’s words hit me like a slap and I clenched my fists under the table, willing myself to stay composed. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break-not at all.
I took a slow breath, forcing my expression to remain neutral as I watched him finish the last bite of pasta-my hands clasping tightly in front of me.
The room was quiet except for the faint clinking of his fork against the plate and after a long pause, I spoke-my voice firm. “I’m done talking about me. It’s your turn now. Tell me these ‘necessary things’ about yourself. I’ve held up my end of the deal, haven’t I?”
Armando didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let out a low chuckle, his tone laced with sarcasm as he dropped his fork onto the empty glass plate, the sharp clatter echoing through the room. “Something about me?” he said, mimicking my voice in an exaggerated way. “Well, let’s see… I’m just a boring guy. There’s really not much to know.”
He was mocking me and for some reason I couldn’t hide how much it got to me this time. I didn’t know why he was acting this way tonight-swinging between irritation, mockery, and… whatever those unsettling advances earlier had been-but as much as his behavior grated on me, the fact that he’d finished his meal was enough to bring me a small sense of relief. At least I could finally leave.
The thought of being back in my room-far away from his smirks and taunts-gave me enough comfort.
I was still somewhere in my thoughts when his voice cut through them, cold but softer this time. “Not bad,” he said, his tone casual.
I blinked-taken aback. Was that even supposed to be a compliment? I folded my arms and tilted my head, pretending to be offended. “What the hell do you mean, ‘not bad’? I spent time making that exactly how you did last time.”
He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “And?” His voice dropped into that familiar mocking tone. “You mean to tell me you wouldn’t know how to make simple pasta if I hadn’t shown you the other day?”
I stiffened, the defensive words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “That’s not what I meant,” I snapped. “I was just saying I made it the way I thought you’d prefer. But clearly it doesn’t matter.'”
Armando smirked in response but said nothing in particular, twirling the empty fork between his fingers.
I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Now you’re done eating, can I take the plate and leave? It’s late and I’d actually like to rest before tomorrow.”
He just stared at me, his dark eyes unreadable as the pause dragged on long enough to make me shift uncomfortably.
Finally he waved a hand lazily. “Go ahead.”
I moved quickly-gathering the plates and cutleries into the tray, eager to get out of his room. I balanced the tray carefully as I made my way to the door-my heart lightening with every step, but just as my hand touched on the handle, his voice came again.
“Eleanor,” he said, calm but with an edge of warning. “One more thing.”
I stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Don’t ever come into my room again without my permission. Ever.”
His words hung heavy in the air-making my chest tighten, but I nodded-unable to muster a response-and then pushed the door open right after.
As soon as I was on the other side, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Armando’s warning replayed in my mind as I walked down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.
I hated that I’d gone to check on that man in the first place. He hadn’t shown a shred of appreciation, not even for the meal I’d stayed up late to make. “Not bad,” I muttered under my breath, my voice dripping with a sarcasm similar to his. How full of himself could that man possibly be?
I dropped the dishes off in the kitchen, rinsing them quickly before heading to my room. The moment I had closed the door behind me, I leaned against it, letting out a tired sigh. I should’ve been able to fall asleep easily-especially because I was exhausted-but my mind wouldn’t stop racing.
Why had he been like that tonight?
There was something different about him that I couldn’t place a finger on yet. The taunts, the mood swings, the strange comments… It all felt so calculated, as if he was testing me-trying to push my limits.
As I lay on my bed-staring up at the ceiling, the events of the evening replayed in my head.
My thoughts eventually blurred into exhaustion and I drifted off, maybe one day I’d truly understand the man behind the mask.