Suddenly, in the midst of trying to forget, she feels that what happened has never truly ended, and its pain still lingers as if it never left her.
Her breaths were rapid, just like the beating of her heart, as she ran on the treadmill, which she had set to the highest speed her legs could handle. Her gaze was fixed on the reflection of her slender body in the large mirror hanging on the wall. Her forehead was dripping with sweat, and a few rebellious strands of her fiery hair, tightly tied atop her head, clung to it. Her body was also drenched in sweat, covered only by two pieces of sportswear: a sleeveless white shirt and black shorts that reached the top of her thighs, barely covering her curves.
Every fiber of her being screamed for rest, but her mind refused to yield to those demands, commanding her to continue and not stop as if punishing her.
This had been her state since she returned to her apartment an hour ago—running nonstop. After a long day spent on a plane, returning from London to New York, she had no choice but to resort to her usual method of clearing her thoughts. Exhausting her body to its limits had always been an effective way to do so, but this time, it seemed that this tactic wasn't entirely successful in banishing the cursed memories of that fateful night's party. Those memories swarmed her exhausted mind, and the shameful feeling of humiliation and weakness continued to gnaw at her. Yes, she hated that feeling—she despised it.
"Damn it."
She gritted her pearly teeth as she reached out with trembling fingers to increase the speed in a desperate attempt to drive away her thoughts. But it seemed that her body had spoken its final word and had reached its limits. She finally pressed the stop button, and as the machine came to a halt, her body collapsed onto the mat of the treadmill.
"Damn…"
She muttered between her labored breaths.
She needed to calm down and regain her composure. It wasn't reasonable to remain in this miserable state. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and told herself to inhale and exhale. She continued breathing in this way for a few moments, and little by little, she felt her agitation subside, though not entirely disappear.
Her breaths also became calmer and more rhythmic, yet she still couldn't shake the image of that man from her mind as she recalled every detail of the wild moments she had experienced in his arms. Yes, it was certainly a kind of devilish madness—how had she lost her senses?
Her pulse quickened again as she angrily remembered how he had simply imposed his will on her, making her dance with him against her will, and how he had claimed her lips as his own.
Damn it, he had kissed her, and in her shock, she didn't resist. What was worse, she had responded to him!
She cursed herself as she clenched her fists, digging her nails into the flesh of her palms. How could she have surrendered to him? How could she have allowed herself to weaken and return his kisses as if they were the elixir of life? She had always been in control of her relationships with men, and never had she been this submissive in her dealings with the opposite sex. What kind of curse was this man? And what exactly did he want from her?
All these questions exhausted her mind and robbed her of sleep, despite the emotional and physical fatigue that gnawed at her weary body.
She was angrier at herself than at that cursed man. She hated weakness—hated it with a passion, especially when she felt it and displayed it in front of those she despised.
"Ugh..."
She bit her lips hard, almost drawing blood, as a wave of shame swept over her when she remembered her humiliating words: "I'm sorry!" She had apologized to a man! Damn it, something she had never done in her life. What a bitter humiliation she had inflicted on herself.
In a fit of anger, she struck her thigh with her fist. He had deserved more than just a slap. If she could turn back time, she would never have allowed herself to fall prey to her crazy emotions. That man would now be licking his wounds, his pride and ego shattered—something she would have made sure to destroy. Then, she wouldn't be sitting here now, feeling humiliated and degraded.
The word "degraded" enraged her to the core, making her scream out loud, her voice filled with anger and hatred.
"No—"
She bent forward, hugging her knees to her chest, her hands clutching her head, which throbbed with a splitting headache that had taken over half of it.
This was exactly what she needed to complete her suffering, she thought bitterly, trying to suppress a groan that threatened to escape her tightly pressed lips, as if allowing herself to express her pain was an unforgivable crime. She stayed like that for a moment, trying to focus on the bright spot in the darkness behind her closed eyes, in an attempt to forget her pain and ignore it, hoping it would retreat from ravaging the arteries in her head that she felt were about to burst.
"Are you okay, Señorita?"
Ellen slowly lifted her head, cautiously opening her eyes little by little. A faint smile played on her lips as she looked at the concerned face of her Mexican maid.
"I'm... fine, don't worry," she murmured weakly.
It was clear from her maid's expression that she wasn't convinced by Ellen's reassurances, as she replied doubtfully, "But you don't look well, Señorita. Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor—"
"No... I told you I'm fine," Ellen snapped, her voice tense as she tried to stand up, leaning on the edge of the treadmill. But the broken look she saw in her maid's eyes made her soften her tone as she cautiously nodded towards the vanity table.
"It's just a headache, Teresa. Please, bring me the painkillers from the drawer and some water."
She didn't have to wait long. Teresa quickly brought the requested items.
Ellen swallowed the pills in one go with the glass of water Teresa handed her. She realized how thirsty she was, needing to quench her thirst after the exertion on the treadmill.
"More, please," she requested eagerly, pointing to her empty glass, which was promptly refilled with water.
When she finished, Ellen thanked Teresa with a tired smile.
"Why don't you rest, Señorita?" Teresa suggested, her eyes drifting towards the bed. She added in a gentle tone, "Lie down for a bit while I prepare some food for you. Taking medicine on an empty stomach isn't good."
Ellen didn't intend to argue. She was indeed hungry and in desperate need of the rest her body craved, like a drowning person longing for a lifeline.
"Okay," she replied quietly, then went to the bed, where she sat for a moment. She picked up a towel to wipe the beads of sweat glistening on her face and body, feeling the strong painkiller starting to take effect. The pain gradually subsided, and her muscles began to relax.
She sighed in relief as she rested her head on the pillow, but the sudden ringing of her phone startled her, making her sit up straight again. For a moment, she stared motionlessly at the phone vibrating on the nightstand, a feeling of unease and apprehension creeping in at this unexpected call so early in the morning.
Truthfully, she had a strong hunch about who was calling and why, which made her reluctant to answer right away. However, she knew that no matter how much she dodged or avoided the call, the cursed phone wouldn't stop ringing and vibrating until the caller on the other end got a response from her. Perhaps delaying would only worsen what awaited her. So, after a few moments of anxious hesitation, she reached out her tense fingers toward the phone. She wasn't surprised by the name displayed on the screen.
A bitter twist formed on her lips. (She always knows how to pick her moments,) Ellen thought as she brought the phone to her ear, her body tensing up.
"Yes, Mother."
As expected, her mother's voice roared through the receiver with blind anger:
"Why did you leave?"
"I wasn't feeling well, so—"
She couldn't finish her sentence; her mother cut her off, her voice growing sharper:
"I didn't ask for excuses."
"But!…"
"But! What? You disobeyed me."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, but her apology was futile—it only fueled her mother's anger further.
"Your apologies mean nothing to me, you wretched girl," her mother spat, her venomous words piercing Ellen's heart like a dagger, deepening wounds that had never fully healed. Yet, she wasn't done; she pressed on with even harsher cruelty:
"You are something that should never have existed."
(Please, stop...) Ellen silently begged, clutching the towel in her hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her eyes darkening with the weight of sorrow and despair.
Her mother's sharp words, like the edge of a knife, reopened the old wounds in her heart, causing them to bleed once more. Memories from her distant, yet ever-present, past flooded her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to scream, to defend herself, to let out the words that had been burning in her chest for years, and to plead for the mercy she knew her mother's stone-cold heart would never grant her.
But, as she had always done when it came to her mother, Ellen remained rooted to the spot, unresponsive, as lifeless as the dead in the face of her mother's merciless assault. She simply listened in silence as more venomous words spewed through the receiver.
"It would be best if you never repeat this behavior again, you worthless nobody."
"Understood," Ellen replied, her voice cold as ice. Then she added, "Any other orders?"
She asked this with a detached tone that completely masked the storm of dark emotions swirling inside her. Her mother's killing words and that arrogant tone she always used with her were like a frigid wind, snuffing out any warmth in her soul, sending a chill deep into her heart, and killing any budding feelings, no matter what kind. This had been her mother's eternal role in her life. For the first time in her twenty-four years, Ellen could honestly say she was grateful for the call because it had brought her back to reality. She was thankful her mother had played her part so well once again, for her life was complicated enough as it was without adding any more unnecessary complications.
As expected, her mother hung up on her violently without another word.
Ellen tossed her phone onto the bed with indifference and raised her right hand to her head, freeing her thick hair from its confinement, letting it tumble wildly over her shoulders and down her back. She cast a dark glance at her reflection in the mirror, her lips curling bitterly as she addressed the image staring back at her.
"Welcome back to reality."
"Your breakfast, Señorita, I—"
It was Teresa, who, upon seeing the look on her mistress's face, chose to remain silent, realizing this wasn't the time to say anything. More than anyone else, she understood the meaning behind that terrifying look she saw in Ellen's eyes.
It was a look devoid of emotion, or rather, the look of a woman who was dead inside, soulless. Unfortunately, Teresa knew all too well who could bring Ellen to this state.
"Damn her," she muttered through clenched teeth as she set the breakfast tray on the small table by the window before retreating from the room, cursing the countess under her breath. She left just as Ellen moved toward the bathroom door, determined to put the madness of that night behind her and move forward with her life as if nothing had happened. After all, someone like her had no right to waste her precious time on what she considered trivialities in a life solely dedicated to her work and nothing else.