My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 5 Escape by Marita A. Hansen Page B

Alberto would never touch me again.
    A hand landed on my back,
jolting me upright. I stared down at the Frano’s sleepy
face. “What
are you doing, ragazzo? ” he said, his hand slipping down to land on the
bed.
    I went speechless,
something I
often did around him, because he always took my breath away.
Although my mind raced ahead, thinking about everything I needed to
tell him, but my mouth refused to utter a single word.
    Frano touched my
cheek , using
his thumb to wipe away the tears, the concern on his face taking
over his sleepy expression. I had thought he’d yell at me for
coming into his bedroom, but then again, I didn’t know why I would
think such a thing since he’d never yelled at me before—just
everyone else. It was a relief, because back at La Dame Bleue yelling always led
to me being hurt. Once I had said no to blowing a fat client’s
cock, his stomach so big that it covered it completely. The brothel
owner had been furious with me, yelling that I was an ungrateful
imbecile, then she’d slapped me over and over again before kicking
me out on the street. My maman had begged her to take me back, saying she would
service the man herself, but she didn’t have what he wanted, so I
was made to do it anyway, taking a strapping afterwards for being
disobedient.
    “ What’s wrong, Thierry?” Frano
asked, pushing into a sitting position.
    I leaned in and hugged him,
just crying my eyes out, because even though I wanted him to save
Bianca, deep down I knew it was too late. His arms wrapped around
me, hugging me back. He said something in Italian that I didn’t
understand, other than ragazzo , the word for boy, but the tone of his voice was
gentle and soothing, his hand stroking my hair, making me want to
stay in his arms forever, because he always made me feel safe. He
treated me like a son, often calling me a sweet kid. Normally I
hated being called sweet, because the men who bought my services
at La Dame
Bleue liked
sweet, but it didn’t have the same connotations coming from Frano.
He never asked anything of me, giving me board and food for free,
although I did as much as I could, cleaning his house and other
such duties, just so grateful for his kindness.
    “ Ragazzo , what’s happened?” Frano asked.
    “ Alberto killed
Bianca.”
    “ What?!”
    I pulled back, not wanting to
say my next words because I knew he’d hate me for them, but knowing
I had no choice. “She-she tried to poison him, and, and she wanted
me to-to help her. I didn’t want to, but Alberto is-is raping my
brother and he also forced me.” Ashamed, I dropped my gaze, knowing
Frano would be disgusted with me, because that was how people
usually reacted when they found out men fucked me. I was only
a prostituée to them, a nobody born to be used, which was why I’d never
fought Alberto. It was my job, it would always be my job, and I
shouldn’t complain. And if I was prepared well enough it didn’t
hurt. But whenever Alberto came for me, he took me too fast, never
allowing me time to prepare, so it always hurt. And he was so
disgusting and big, and I hated him, hated his smell, his cock, the
way he touched me, kissed me, it was disgusting, and he always
smelled of food, and his belly was too big. I hated him! He was
more disgusting than me, he was!
    “ Where is
he?!” Frano growled .
    I flinched, then covered my
face, knowing he must hate me for trying to kill his brother. “I’m
so sorry, so sorry,” I muttered.
    “ This
isn’t your fault, bambino ,” Frano said, placing a hand softly on my head.
    I jolted as Alberto’s voice
traveled through the house.
    Frano let out a growl. “Move, ragazzo. ”
    I got off the bed. He went to get up
but fell back onto the mattress, appearing a bit dazed, then he
shook his head and pushed up again, muttering Italian swearwords.
Without looking at me, he headed around the bed, yelling out: “You
sick fuck, Alberto!!” at the top of his lungs. “Get here.
Now!”
    I remained