Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Just nothing.
It is the only way. And I won’t let go of this notion. I won’t give up. It’s the only hope that lives in the barren landscape of my soul. The only true freedom I will ever have. The course has been set, and deviation is not an option for me.
This is the thought that carries me through. The only thing that carries me through.
***
There are seven days in Arman’s absence. I don’t leave my room, and the only time I see another soul is when Karolina comes to my door. She uses Arman’s leave as an opportunity to take out her hate on me. I rarely get to eat when he’s away, and she takes advantage of my already battered face by hitting me every time she pays a visit. Even if I wasn’t shackled to the wall, I doubt I could find the strength to fight back anymore. My body is thin and weak. I don’t need a mirror to know that.
It only grows weaker with every passing day. I welcome that weakness. And her fists too. There is always a chance she will go too far.
But it never happens.
On day four, I hear her arguing with someone outside my door. It’s in Russian, so I can’t understand the words, but it’s the voice that’s familiar. The voice that belongs to the man I now know to be Alexei Nikolaev. The door cracks open, and I can only recognize the distorted shape of his figure from beneath my swollen eyes. His footsteps are soft as they approach, but the words out of his mouth are harsh.
I don’t know what he says to Karolina. But she doesn’t reply.
He kneels before me, his fingers gentle on my cheek again.
“Did she do this to you?” he asks.
I don’t know why, but I want to answer him. I hate him. But the kindness of his touch dissolves my armor, if only for a second. My lips open, but they are too cracked to speak. I haven’t had water all day. It takes me several tries to get the word out.
“Both.”
He nods. And then rises to his feet. There is a blurred flash as he moves towards Karolina and slams her into the wall with his hand around her throat. I can only listen to the harsh cadence of his words, not understanding them.
Karolina nods, the sound of her blubbering satisfying me in a way I have not felt before.
And then, he is gone.
For the next three days, Karolina delivers three meals a day and does not touch me again.
When Arman arrives home, his mood is fouler than usual, and I don’t even see it coming. He blasts into my room, spewing something about what I told Nikolaev, and how I will regret it. He beats me all over again and then chokes me until I pass out.
When I wake up, I’m a bloody fucking mess, and Karolina is hunched over me, cleaning me with a sponge, a smirk on her face.
“It is for your own good,” she says in her thick accent. “Soon you will get out of this place, make us both happy.”
I try to process her words, but my head is still spinning and nothing makes sense. My eyes are too heavy. And I can’t keep them open any longer.
When I do wake again, it’s with a stinging slap to my already sore face. I draw in a sharp breath, only to realize I’m now propped in an upright position against the wall. Arman is standing in front of me, with another man behind him. It takes me a second to recognize Alexei. His lips are pressed together, those steely blue eyes boring into me.
“Did you hear me, pizda?” Arman growls, raising his arm again.
Alexei clips out a quick string of words which causes Arman to halt, and I can tell it burns him. Arman does not take orders from anyone. And yet he is taking orders from this man. So perhaps it’s true what those slaves said. Perhaps he is ruthless. A man not to be crossed.
But what interest does he have in me? His eyes move over me in a calculating pattern, observing every bruise and scrape. Arman takes this as his cue to start poking at my body. He seems to be pointing out all the things that he considers my flaws, and he is none too gentle about it. But Alexei is not looking where Arman points. His eyes are on Arman, watching his face intently. The noxious thumping of my heart tells me this can’t be good.
Alexei steps forward, absently running a strand of my hair through his fingers. I flinch at the pain in my scalp, and he frowns.
“She is American, is she not?” he asks.
I glance up at him curiously. He already knows I’m American, since he spoke English to me last week. So why is he pretending he doesn’t?