MICHELE DE LUCCHI, First Chairs, (1983). Artwork unknown. Material lacquered wood and tubular metal, manufactured by The Memphis Design Group, Italy. Photograph by interior designer Kelly Wearstler. / Huffington Post
"Should I break your legs? So you can't ever run away" 2p Italy please?
“Let me go!” you demanded, as you struggled to break free. Around your wrists were handcuffs keeping you tied to a bed.
“You’re quite the fighter, aren’t you?” Luciano commented. “Even after all the bleeding and all that screaming, you still haven’t given up. I admire your tenacity.”
You glared, but remained silent. You’ll never admit it, but you were afraid of him. All those months of being stalked, harassed, and hunted down, he left you paranoid and frightened. But you couldn’t show that. After all, that is the one thing he wanted you to do. Give up.
Scowling, you watched the Italian drag a chair from a nearby desk to the side of your bed. His bed. There, he sat.
“Listen, Bella. I love you very much. I wouldn’t have hurt you if you weren’t so… Disobedient.”
You felt goosebumps around your arms. You felt an icy, agitating feeling course throughout your body. The scornful smirk, his eyes that glowed with trouble… Nothing good happens when he has that expression on his face.
“But. If no punishment will work on you, then…” Luciano paused, thoughtfully. Then, the smile on his face widened as he thought of an idea. A bad one… You gulped.
“Should I break your legs?” he mused. “That way, you can never, ever run away again.”
At this point, you became an agitated wreck. Even though it was near impossible to break free from the handcuffs, you pulled and yanked. There was no way you’re going to be stuck here. No way!
You still remember those nights. Luciano would whip you, cut you, poison you, and so forth. He would watch you as you endure all the pain. Only because you tried to run away…
“Don’t fret. You won’t feel it when it happens.”
“No! Luciano, please! Please! Don’t do this!” You pleaded, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your heart pounded against your chest, and the pain around your wrists were unbearable from all the pulling that you did.
Luciano pulled something from his pocket. Something similar to a cloth. Hopelessly, you could only watch him clamp the piece of cloth over your nose and mouth. You could smell something strong. Something similar to a chemical.
It was too late when you realized what it was. Your frantic attitude was no more in less than a minute as you became weaker. Simply holding onto his hands were difficult. Before you lost consciousness, you had a final glance on Luciano’s devilish smile.
Gently like he was holding a precious doll, he laid you on the bed. Running his fingers down your hair, he felt victorious, but also relieved. He didn’t originally think of crushing or cutting your legs off, but he almost lost you for a second. He was too careless that he actually lost sight of you.
While it was fun letting you run away and make you think that you actually had the chance to escape, he wouldn’t want to experience that feeling of loss again. He had went this far, and he finally has you in his arms. If he ever lost you, he would go mad.
After he regained his composure, he took his phone from his coat pocket. About the plan of breaking your legs…
GIO PONTI, The Italian Culture Institute (Instituto di Cultura), Stockholm, Sweden (1954). Featuring an early Leggera-chair (1951) by Cassina and a custom-made writing desk in oak, laminated wood, oak-veneered wood and brass. Italian Carrara-marble floor.