Part 1

Tuesday began like all other Tuesdays — with the detestable sound of my alarm clock. And everything went on as it was supposed to, at least until I went down to the kitchen.

The first thought that occurred me and immediately froze me by the door was a ‘he’s back.’ Then I noticed the lasagna I’d left for him was gone, which made slightly happy. Next, an unsettling sensation invaded my body and when I dared look at him I noticed he was observing me with a critical look. In a split second I couldn’t help think about how disturbing he could be, sitting there, unmoving. His shirt and pants were all black, like his hair, making his skin look even paler.

“That won’t do,” he finally told me in his velvet tone, making me shiver. “Go and put on the white skirt, the one with the red ribbon.”

I was stunned, for a moment, trying hard to understand what he’d just said. Lea, on his lap, opened his eyes to peer at me and went back to nuzzling his white, long hands, as if he couldn’t care less.

“What?” I managed to ask and he raised an eyebrow, my question evidently testing his patience.

“Go and change your clothes. Put on the white skirt.”

I felt really glad when anger bubbled inside me since his expression, right then, was really scary.

“Why?” I asked frowning.

“Because I told you so. It’s time we go into the next phase. This is dragging way too much for my taste,” he declared, his deep voice slightly impatient.

“What next phase?”

“Just do what I tell you! Or are you going to make me destroy all your clothes except the ones I want you to wear?” I shuddered don’t know if from anger or from the fear that made my heart pound in my ears. I turned around and ran up stairs, stomping all the way up in a childish challenge. I poured my anger on the wardrobe’s door when I opened it and pulled out the skirt he had told me to wear. It was a white, knee-high, circle skirt that tied around the waist with a red silky ribbon. I took off the one I’d been wearing, one of the few long skirts I now possessed, and unwillingly changed it for the white one.

The feeling of having just been clearly and completely manipulated irritated me deeply, it was frustrating and scary beyond anything rational. It made me too aware that he could do whatever he pleased, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

I also had to change my green and white jumper for a red one with a neckline that I insistently pulled up.

I went back downstairs, walking carefully on account of my heels, since I also had to change my shoes, and stopped by the kitchen door, facing him angrily, although I knew it was completely useless.

He looked at me from head to toe, seeming completely indifferent, and nodded one single time approvingly.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked, but he didn’t answer.

“See you at school. Don’t even think about changing your clothes,” he warned me with a threatening glare that made me take a step back and, before my frightened eyes, disappeared as if he’d never even been there.