I do not relax.
I buck and wrestle with them, forcing them to drag me every inch of the way.
They drag me past the empty cages.
Past the room that I normally attend for training, the door closed and Cecile’s voice ringing out from behind it.
Stefano – where is he—
My struggles increase when I see the cold, clinical space. The chair. The stirrups. Beside it, Reed glances down at a clipboard in his hands, flipping through pages. “She had a child fairly recently, you said?”
My heart wrenches, my response ripped from me. “Don’t you even mention her.”
He raises his eyebrows, not remotely fazed by my outburst.
As if he’s seen it a hundred times before.
Everyone ignores me, even as the guards press me down into that chair. They strap my arms down. My chest. My abdomen. My hair tumbles over my face, my panting breaths harsh and erratic.
Salvatore does my legs himself, a small smile on his face as he dismisses the guards. Stepping back to watch, as Reed steps closer, snapping on a pair of gloves and pulling a trolley closer.
“Deep breath, Caterina.”
***
My husband walks me back to my bedroom.
His hands travel over my back. Lower.
When he pushes me up against the bedroom door, I stare stonily over his shoulder as he presses his mouth against my neck.
“We will have dinner together tomorrow night.” The touch of his tongue makes my skin crawl. “To discuss our future. Wear something appropriate.”
I stare back at him dully. The space between my legs aches as he pushes me through the door, closing it behind me.
The minutes tick past as I stay in the same place. My skin itches where they drew my blood.
Finally, I move. Once I’m sure that my legs will hold me up.
My reflection doesn’t look any worse than yesterday. The same hollow eyes look back, the bruises perhaps a little more faded but new ones springing up in their place.
I stare at myself.
My fist smashes into that mirror, hard enough that a crack appears.
Over and over again, I hit it, until my breathing is harsh and raw.
Glittering shards of broken glass rain around me, my blood speckling the white porcelain of the sink.
When I’m finished, I clutch the sides with bloodied hands and lose the contents of my stomach.
Day 43 – Stefano
Shouting wakes me.
Unfurling my body from the cold floor, I haul myself into a sitting position. The guards are fighting with someone down the hall.
Gingerly, I prod at my body, assessing the damage. Mainly superficial, but—
