Without sanity

“—If you want, you can close the window and turn on the AC,” Sam mumbles, typing non-stop on his computer.

“No, I’m fine like this.”

I get ready to go through the documents. Just a quick glance: hands to work. In half an hour, everything is ready, all that’s left is to print.

“What are you printing, Estela?” Sam teases, his hazel eyes fixed on me, as if trying to read something deeper than my appearance.

“Didn’t he say the report was due by noon? Well… it’s done.”

“What?… impossible,” he whispers, so surprised it looks like his tense body might explode.

I take the stack of papers, organize them neatly in a file, and hand it to him personally.

“Wow!… I can’t type that fast.”

“I didn’t type, sir… I used Excel. It was very easy,” I murmur almost humbly.

“Mmm… I see… I don’t know much about Excel. How about you teach me, Estela?” he murmurs, staring enchanted at each sheet. Something in his expression makes my heart race for no reason.

“Teach you what?” I ask, my eyes shining, as I sit down in my chair.

“How to use Excel!… what do you say?… tonight at my apartment at eight?”

My heart tightens, my head spins, and of course, my brain screams a huge no.

“Of course!” I answer without even thinking.

“Perfect!… I’ll send you the instructions to your phone.”

I roll my eyes at the glowing computer screen. The string of numbers overwhelms me, my breath catches. It’s incredible that I accepted such an invitation on my first day here.

But it’s too late to back out now.

The polished mahogany door opens. Natali enters as if nothing happened.

“—Hill!… remember, we leave at three today,” she informs in a saccharine, unbearable voice.

“I… I’m sorry, Natali… go ahead… I have to work. And please, knock before entering,” Sam whispers, as if I were deaf.

“What?… what are you saying, Sam?” she questions, pretending not to understand.

“Get out!” he commands furiously, pointing at the door.

Her black, silky hair swirls over her shoulders. The plunging neckline of her prominent bust is damp with sweat. She frowns, glaring bitterly at me.

She radiates rage; envy courses through her entire body.

Sam remains still, frozen, but there’s something in his stance: contained tension, as if a force beyond human is struggling to emerge. After the door slams and the scene unfolds, he just exhales and continues working.

I’m still getting familiar with my own tasks. A vague silence settles over the office, and the stifling midday heat makes it hard to concentrate.

“Sir… can I turn on the AC?”

“Mhm,” he murmurs without looking up.

The velvet curtains are stuck on the right side. I’m not tall enough to reach them; almost on tiptoe, I feel an inexplicable heat behind my ear.

Sam lifts his arm, draws the curtain in one smooth motion, and closes the window.

But he doesn’t leave.

I feel his breath on my neck. A delicious scent of mint mixed with strawberries envelops me.

Something in him awakens an ancient, primal instinct I can’t identify.

When I turn around, he’s still there, staring at me. His eyebrow is split, his face covered in bruises.

“Are you okay?” I ask, running my fingers over his eyebrow.

“Yes…” he affirms, moving my hand away and returning to his work.

I don’t know what I was thinking to take such a liberty. My delicate fingers moved on their own, nervous at his touch.

Again, we don’t say anything. Gradually, a captivating calm settles. The floor empties; the last discordant heels are heard at three. It must be Natali.

“You can leave!… remember, I’ll pick you up tonight… at eight.”

“Mhm… okay,” I manage to say, barely audible.

“Or… if you want… stay a bit longer and we’ll go straight to my apartment. Don’t worry, you can shower there and all that.”

“No… no, better come pick me up. Tonight will be clear… full moon,” I whisper, barely audible.

I notice Sam’s eyes widen in surprise. He looks nervous.

“Today… isn’t today March 19?” he stammers.

“No, sir… it’s the 20th.”

“Impossible!…” he mutters, jumping in his chair.

“I remembered something… will you teach me tomorrow? I have a very important commitment today,” I add, adjusting his tie as if suddenly suffocating.

“Oh… alright, as you wish.”

“Well… okay… but I won’t be able to pick you up. Should I call a taxi?” he hesitates, complaining, moving awkwardly, sweating constantly.

I don’t understand his fuss over the invitation, but anything’s fine by me. After all, I already said yes.

What could happen? I think, watching him scratch his head and glance nervously around.

Sam spends the afternoon asking me questions, but he’s so sexy I don’t refuse a single one.

Finally, the day ends. My work too. I gather everything, say goodbye, and leave.

Doubts fall over my head like hardened raindrops: a flood of unanswered questions. But I prefer not to listen to that little voice trying to stop me from going to his apartment. With my father traveling, it’ll be easy.

I feel like a teenager. I take my time showering, feeling a little embarrassed about the outfit I’m wearing.

At the back of my wardrobe is that brown dress my Aunt Dixi gave me. It’s daring: thigh-length, backless, with a deep neckline.

I style my hair, straighten it carefully. Once smoothed, it falls almost to my hips. Soft caramel lips and I’m ready.

The taxi arrives with perfect timing. My nerves get the best of me; an indiscreet sweat runs down my bare back.

The night is beautiful. A huge, glowing moon lights every cobblestone of the streets, and the chilly breeze caresses my soul.

The taxi stops in front of a building almost as tall as the company. According to the address, I’m going to the fifteenth floor.

When I reach apartment number twenty-two, a very tall guy in a tight black sweater opens the door. Along with the Roman numeral five tattoo, a series of large and small tattoos runs across his skin.

The sweater clings tightly, outlining every muscle.

When I react, his eyes are no longer hazel. Streaks of sensuality flood his irises, turning black as night.

He stands still, devouring me with his gaze, taking his time.

“Hi, Estela!… you look beautiful… come in, come in,” he invites, stepping aside.

“Thank you, Mr. Hill.”

“Call me Sam, please.”

I nod and enter. The luxury overwhelms me: a huge TV adorns the front wall, golden lamps with white crystal flowers light the ceiling, and the decor is exquisite. Everything is so refined, so high-class, it’s hard to breathe.

Sam seems to notice my discomfort.

“Sit wherever you like. I’ll bring something to drink… business is going well, and, well, we can indulge a little. My father insists we enjoy the fruits of our sacrifice,” he explains, disappearing behind the lace curtains.

He comes back with a neat tray: a soda and some pancakes.

“I didn’t know what you liked to drink, so I brought lemon soda and… some sweets.”

“Thank you… I love sweets!” I respond, savoring a delicious pancake.

Sam sits there on the couch, watching me eat.

Closely.

When his eyes meet mine, he opens his laptop.