Chapter 37
Aurelia
It’s been about two days since they put me in my new chains. Heavy, cold, the metal biting into the same raw skin until my bones themselves are locked down. It’s more freedom, but not enjoyable by any means.
The doctor has been in and out, fussing over Adrian in quick, clinical movements, injecting him, stitching, checking his pulse like he’s some prize pig they can’t afford to lose. Taking him in and out of this cage, each time he comes back more bruised than the time before. I know what that means: Adrian still has something they want. That’s the only reason he’s still breathing.
Most of our hours awake, we sit together. Sometimes in silence, sometimes trading pieces of our old lives, as if talking about who we were makes the room feel less suffocating.
In less than a week, I’ve learned more about Adrian than I ever thought I would—his stupid jokes, his laugh, the fact that he hums songs under his breath when he thinks I’m sleeping. And for some reason, that almost makes it worse. Because I shouldn’t trust him.
And I don’t.
Kinda.
I haven’t given him anything useful, but he is sitting there with his broken jaw and his easy smirk, acting like we’recellmates instead of pawns waiting for the axe, and I almost pity him for it. I don’t trust him for obviously betraying people, for being tangled in this mess that keeps spilling blood across my skin, but I’ve gotten used to his kindness. So I focus my disdain for Nikolai.
Adrian’s advice—he likes you, play into it—echoes in my skull. I hate that I even think about it, that I test my tone and my eyes when I know he’s near. I hate the way his presence changes the air, thicker, heavier, the shadows kneeling when he steps close.
I rarely see him.
I’m pretty sure he couldn’t care less about his Italian prisoner, yet, no matter how many times I tell myself not to, I look for him.
A harsh metal clicks, and my neck twists, finding Maksim unlocking the cage to deliver our basic necessities for survival.
Food, water, and a fresh bucket.
Yeah, peeing in the same bucket as Adrian has definitely deepened our casual bond as well.
With the clank of a dish and a pot in the centre of the room, I turn to Maksim, trying something I haven’t yet felt the strength to do.
Pretend.
“Thank you, Maksim. It’s really sweet of you to bring everything.” An abnormally cheerful voice comes out higher than expected.
That immediately shoots Adrian’s droopy eyes up toward me.
He’s checking me to see if I’m having a mental breakdown, and though I doubt I’ll win any acting awards soon, it seems to have the desired effect.
Maksim smiles, reacting as if he’s never been thanked before.
“Crazy… but a very nice girl,” he says in a thick Russian accent.
I smile and nod as he leaves the room a bit less grumpy-looking.
“I see you’re taking my advice,” Adrian says, lighter than he’s been in hours.
I squint at him. “What advice?”
“My advice to stop being a bitch to everyone.”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but you’re starting to like me,” he waves a finger lazily between us. “This—right here—we’re trauma bonding.”
His grin is crooked, self-satisfied, like he’s proud of naming it.
“Yeah,” I admit, surprising myself when I smile back. “Maybe we are.”
