Eliuteria

Chapter 11

A bitter laugh left my lips as I observed the room. It was as lavish and frivolous as every other part of the suite. I hated everything about it. While humans were sleeping on cots and uncomfortable mattresses that were worn and had entire ecosystems living in the cushioning, this room had a giant bed with more pillows than any one person could ever need. Five or six of the girls back in the paestra could have shared the bed easily and had room to spare. Everything about it only added to my anger, my disgust.

The bedspread wasn't pulled and neatly tucked into the corners under the mattress and the pillows weren't arranged perfectly for decoration, it must have been the room Eliró slept in. Maybe he'd been laying down readying for sleep when I arrived. I regretted that I hadn't chosen another room. There were other rooms in this suite, rooms where Eliró didn't sleep.

Crinkling my nose, I stared at the bed. One man sleeping in a bed large enough for more. In the recesses of my mind, I knew he was not directly responsible for my living conditions but that didn't make it okay. That didn't make me hate him any less in that moment.

Twisting the lock on the doorknob—something I knew wouldn't keep them out, but made me feel better anyway, I crossed the room until I stood in front of the bed. And then, I jumped on it. It was every bit as comfortable as I thought it would be, but instead of enjoying the cloud-like feel of the mattress and the softness of the blanket I wanted to destroy it all. I gripped the soft comforter in my hands and ripped it from the mattress. It fell somewhere behind me on the floor. I grabbed a pillow next, intent on ripping it to shreds but completely unable to, and it joined the blanket on the floor.

It wasn't enough. Not after the day I had, not after the way he'd raised a hand at me.

I wasn't content to have simply unmade his bed. So, I stood and began jumping on it, scraping my dirty shoes on the pristine sheets, and was satisfied to see them marred with dirt. But instead of diminishing my rage, it only egged me on. It was immature and completely out of character, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from throwing a tantrum like a child.

I jumped from the bed and crossed the room until I was standing in front of a hanging on the wall. A piece of art that I was sure was worth more than my life. More than the lives of a dozen humans. And no one saw anything wrong with that. No one cared that a piece of canvas was more cared for than a living being.

I wanted to destroy it.

My eyes darted around, I needed...something.

A quick scan of the room confirmed that there wasn't anything sharp enough, so I stalked to the bathroom and dressing area hoping to find a discarded weapon or razor, but there was nothing. Except for a cup and some soap, the counters were clean. And so were the drawers, and the closet, and the shower. But I needed something. I had to do this.

I found my answer as I met my own eyes in the mirror. Balling my fist, I gritted my teeth together and punched the glass as hard as I could. Pain shot through my arm and I cried out as it traveled all the way to my shoulder, but my cry was muffled by the sounds of the glass mirror shattering. Several pieces fell to the sink below but the largest stayed on the mirror and I pried it carefully free with my fingers.

Holding a large piece of sharp glass in my hand I walked back to the painting. Gripping the shard tightly I stabbed it into the fabric dragged it along creating a large rip across the middle. I pulled back and started again in a different spot. Over and over, I stabbed at the painting both relishing and hating the sounds of the threads snapping and ripping apart. It was a tattered, unrecognizable mess when I ran out of steam.

Staring at the piece of art I'd just demolished I wasn't sure if I felt better or worse.

Tears I hadn't wanted to cry fell from my eyes. Most of my anger was gone and I was left with just the hurt. I thought Ro was my ally in this, but I was just a piece to manipulate. I walked toward the bed, pausing long enough to pick up the blanket, and collapsed on top of the mattress. I stared blankly up at the ceiling. Through the door I could hear remnants of the heated discussion Eliró and Tauzil were having. I couldn't make out what was being said, but the sentiment was clear. It didn't matter how nice the furniture was, how pretty the paintings were, or how comfortable the beds were, no one in the suite was enjoying any of it.