The Slave of Pleasure

Vincenzo

Walking. From one side to the other. The sound of my boots hitting the concrete floor reverberated through the cell, a constant, almost mechanical rhythm. One step, then another, I turned on the tip and repeated the movement. The guard watched me with uncomfortable attention, as if he were waiting for something. Some explosion. Some attack.

But my calm was disturbing. At least to him. Apparently, no one expected me to be so calm after everything that had happened. The problem was that this calm was only superficial. Inside, a hurricane was about to explode. Every second standing here was torture.

Suddenly, I stopped in mid-movement. I turned to the guard who now seemed tense.

"I need to speak to Veronica. Immediately."

The guard frowned, as if trying to understand what I had just said.

"That's not going to be possible, sir."

My jaw tightened, but my voice remained firm.

"I heard very well what Veronica said when she was detained." She has a child with me." My eyes narrowed, fixed on him, and my voice grew colder. "A child. And I don't know where that child is or how he is." The guard tried to remain professional, but his discomfort was evident. He cleared his throat before speaking. "I understand the gravity of the matter, sir, but-" "No, you don't." I took a step forward, forcing him to step back slightly, even though I couldn't leave the cell. My voice was a razor's edge. "I need to talk to her. Now. If you can't resolve this, then call a superior. Someone who can." The guard hesitated, clearly reluctant, but eventually nodded before stepping out of sight. I stood there for a moment, my fists clenched at my sides. I took a deep breath, bringing my hands to my head and running my fingers through the messy strands. The image of that child, nonexistent in my memory, haunted my mind. Was it a boy? A girl? How old was she? Where was I?

I hated Veronica for this. For having dropped this bomb in the middle of everything, without warning, without context. But most of all, I hated myself for not knowing. How could I have lived so long ignoring the existence of a life that, perhaps, depended on me?

The sound of boots returning to the hallway pulled me from my thoughts. A superior appeared, accompanied by the same guard.

"Vincenzo, you have permission to speak with Veronica, but it will be brief." He spoke with an authoritative tone, as if he were dictating a sentence. He opened the door to my cell, and two guards escorted me out. I nodded, my eyes firm and determined.

"I won't be long."

I walked through the prison corridors, closely escorted by the two guards, each on one side. The sound of the doors closing and the muffled voices of the other inmates formed an irritating backdrop. I didn't care. My mind was focused on one thing: Veronica.

She was here. The woman who had destroyed so many parts of my life and who, somehow, still had the power to hold me hostage with her words. The only person who could give me answers.

Finally, we reached a private room. A simple metal table, with two chairs positioned facing each other. Veronica was already there, sitting with her hands handcuffed to the table. Her face was wet, but I couldn't tell if it was sweat, tears or just the weight of time that had passed. She looked different. Sad, maybe. Or tired.

I sat across from her. The handcuffs bound my hands to the table too, a clear sign that no one trusted what could happen between the two of us. And rightly so.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just stared at each other. I could see something different in her eyes: an emptiness that didn't match the Veronica I knew. The one I had seen scream, manipulate and destroy.

"How did we get here?" - Veronica asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.

Both of us... After everything.

I ignored the question. I had no time for nostalgia or reflections. My voice was direct, like a blade. "Where is the child?"

She looked away, as if my question had hit a wound she didn't want to touch. My patience was nonexistent.

"Veronica, I'm going to ask you once. Where is the child?"

She remained silent for a few seconds. I could see the battle going on inside her. She was hesitating. Maybe, for a second, there was a glimmer of humanity.

"If you really love me, like you say," I continued, my voice lower, trying to remain calm, "you need to tell me. The child needs to be found. It needs to be protected." Veronica looked back at me, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to be pleading for something. Regret? I didn't know. But whatever it was, she buried it quickly.

-The answer to your question will not please you, Vincenzo. She finally said, her voice broken but firm. and.

My heart beat faster, and a chill ran down my spine. I stared at her, trying to decipher what those words meant. What was she hiding? What could be so bad that it would shake me like this? My breathing became heavier.

"Tell me."

She remained silent, and that only made the tension grow. I tugged at the handcuffs, as if that could free me, as if that could force her to speak. The frustration inside me grew, and her empty expression only made it worse. "Veronica. Speak now."

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes for a moment, as if she were trying to find courage. When she opened them again, there was a different shine in them, something almost cruel, almost resigned.

"I already told you. You won't like the answer."

And then the silence reigned between us again, so thick and charged that it seemed like a sentence. I knew I was about to hear something that would change everything, something that perhaps I wasn't prepared to face. But most of all, I knew I had no choice.