He stood up off the king-sized platform bed. He tossed his phone on the stark white duvet cover and rubbed his hands over his head from front to back, pacing the master suite. He anxiously waited for the beep that would let him know she had responded to his text.
He made his way over to the floor-to-ceiling window that separated him from Atlanta. It was ironic that he felt trapped in such a big, open city. But that was how JuJu made him feel. Between the verbal and physical abuse and the threats to have him deported to his native country of Brazil, Ferrari often felt helpless. Sometimes he looked at that window and imagined himself jumping out.
He walked back over to the bed and picked up his phone. No response. He worried that too much time had passed since the last time they communicated. Was that all she had wanted from him? Or had she moved on? He logged onto Facebook. Maybe she had messaged him. That was more private than texting back and forth. He needed to hear from her.
Don’t think it was my choosing to not get in touch with you before now. She did it again. Almost killed me this time. Then held me up at the lake house for four days with no food and no cell service. She just brought me back to the condo. And only so she could entertain guests at the lake house for Thanksgiving dinner. She told everybody I flew home for the holidays. But the truth is, she locked me in here. If I leave I will have no way of getting back in. I hope you understand. It is she who is the problem. Not you. Not me. If you tell me you still love me, I will take away the problem once and for all. I just need to hear from you. Please.
Ferrari
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