[At present, after ra*ing Hazel]
Francisco sat on the couch, cigarette in hand. Smoke hung heavy in the air.
Hazel lay naked on the bed, her back to him. The cold blast of the AC made her curl into herself, shivering slightly, arms wrapped around her body for warmth.
Francisco took a final drag, then crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. He stood, eyes locked on her. Her body looked small, fragile. He walked to the bed and knelt beside her, gently running his fingers along her chilled arm.
Her face was still, eyes closed. The streaks of dried tears marked her cheeks. The pain she had endured had pulled her into unconsciousness.
He brushed strands of hair from her forehead. Slowly, he untied the cloth from around her eyes, revealing her closed lids. He paused, letting his fingertips rest there for a moment.
"I would not able to do it while looking at you so I tied your eyes."
"When I look at your eyes, I forget who I am."
"When you look at me with your green eyes, I want to squeeze you in my palm, break you in every minute."
"Make you mine."
"Make you whole mine."
With a slow, predatory motion, Francisco climbed onto the bed. He lifted one of her legs gently, gaze dark.
"Hazel, I will take mine what is mine."
His thoughts twisted with obsession.
"If you hate me, hate me more."
"But I won't let you go away from me."
He kissed her cheek... soft, almost tender. Then he pushed himself into her again, beginning another assault that ignored the bruises already covering her body.
The night stretched on, filled with silence and pain.
By dawn, Hazel lay motionless in his arms. Her body trembled against his, every mark on her skin screaming what words couldn't.
Suddenly, Francisco's phone buzzed. The sound broke the quiet like a slap. He reached for it, barely awake.
"What is it?" he mumbled.
A pause.
Then his whole expression changed. His jaw tightened. He ended the call abruptly, eyes going to Hazel.
She didn't move.
When morning light finally crept into the room, Hazel stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open, lashes wet with fresh tears. A blanket covered her now, but her body throbbed with pain. Bite marks lined her skin like a cruel map of the night.
She stared at the ceiling, silent. A single tear slipped down her temple.
'Rafael is no more; he killed him,' echoed in her head.
'Then what's the reason for my life?'
Hazel rose from the bed, her body aching, covered in bruises and bite marks... cruel reminders of Francisco's brutality. The blanket slid off her shoulders as her bare feet touched the cold floor.
She walked unsteadily to the washroom, every step heavy. Standing before the mirror, she stared at herself. Her reflection was unrecognizable... skin marked, eyes hollow, lips dry and cut.
A sharp, burning rage surged inside her.
Without warning, she punched the mirror. The glass cracked under her fist. Blood dripped from her knuckles, but she didn't stop. Again and again, she hit it, the mirror shattering into jagged fragments, just like the pieces of her broken self.
Among the shards, she picked up one. Her fingers trembled as she held it close to her wrist.
"I had never let you go alone without me, Rafael," she whispered. Her voice broke... grief, love, and despair tangled in every word.
The glass hovered over her skin.
Just then, the bathroom door burst open.
"What are you doing?" Lily shouted, her voice sharp with fear as she rushed toward Hazel.
"Leave me!" Hazel screamed, clutching the shard tighter. Blood trickled from her palm, the cut deepening with every second.
Lily panicked. "Give me this!" she begged, reaching out.
Hazel shook her head, eyes wild, disconnected from the room around her. She pressed the glass harder into her skin, ignoring the sting.
Seeing Hazel spiral further, Lily acted on instinct. With a sudden, desperate move, she slapped Hazel across the face. The sound echoed. Hazel stumbled backward, hit the door... and collapsed.
Silence swallowed the room.
Lily gasped, tossing the shard aside. She dropped to her knees beside Hazel and shook her gently.
"Ms. Hazel, please open your eyes."
Her voice trembled. She pressed her fingers to Hazel's wrist, searching for a pulse.
After a while, Hazel's eyes blinked open, unfocused at first. She looked up... Lily knelt beside her, and behind her stood Diana.
Diana stepped forward, her face calm but concerned.
"How are you feeling?" she asked softly.
Hazel didn't respond. She stared blankly ahead, lost somewhere Lily and Diana couldn't reach.
Diana took charge. Kneeling, she inspected Hazel's wounds. Her expression tightened at the sight of the bruises, the blood, the bite marks. She opened a small medical kit and began tending to Hazel's injuries, her hands steady, gentle.
Each touch was careful, trying not just to treat the wounds... but to offer some quiet comfort.
Francisco had called Diana himself. He knew what he had done. And in his own twisted way, he knew Hazel needed care... something he couldn't give.
It was a bitter truth, and Diana understood it... she wasn't just here to treat injuries. She was here to pick up the pieces Francisco had shattered.