I stare for a moment, lift one, then the other. I’ve never paid much attention to them before. They’re round, full and look bigger than I thought. I hope they don’t make me look weird.
I take off the rest of my clothes and stand naked in front of the mirror, forcing myself not to rush or look away.
I examine every inch of myself. My stomach is flat, marked with faint scars left behind from Grigori’s belt. He liked drawing blood with the buckle. I turn around, noticing the same faint scars across my back. Most of the marks have faded, others still visible if someone gets close and knows where to look. That will never happen. No one’s getting close to me like that. I know it now.
I’ll never have a boyfriend.
Or get married.
I accept it and shove the thought away, locking it deep inside where it belongs, with all my otherwhat ifs, fantasies and dreams that were never meant to come true.
I open the cabinet, finding a razor and shaving gel. I've shaved a few times before. I started right before going to cheer camp after convincing my mom I was old enough to start shaving. I haven’t done it since then and hope I remember how without cutting myself.
I turn the shower on and step inside for the second time today. The hot water feels incredible, so I take my time. I glide the razor up my legs and the movement feels familiar. No biggie. I shave my legs and underarms, hesitate, then decide to shave the hair between my legs. I don’t like it there. I wash my hair again, using only a small amount of shampoo, then add conditioner and let it sit the way my mom used to tell me to. I work through the knots I ignored earlier, section by section. It takes forever. My arms hurt from holding them up so long, but I keep going.
When I rinse my hair, I can finally run my fingers through it without catching on tangles and knots. Afterward, when I’m out of the shower, I pull on the clothes Roman bought me. They're a little too big or maybe I’m just smaller than I should be. Either way, he tried to guess my size and didn’t quite get it right. I’m not upset about having clothes that don’t quite fit. Other things, yes. But not this.
I look at myself in the mirror again and smile this time. I actually look… decent, maybe even pretty. I know I need to gain some weight, but that’ll take time. I braid my hair into two clumsy and loose French braids, crossing my fingers they hold for the day.
Half an hour later, I drink one of the nutritional shakes from the cabinet. It’s sweet and the rush of sugar reminds me of how much I miss candy, chocolate and ice cream.
Maybe if Roman’s in a good mood one day and I tell him something useful, he’ll buy me some.
I wash the dishes, wipe down the counter and clean the table. It’s hard not to think about how much I hated chores when I was a kid. I used to drag my feet, whining that parents only had children to make them clean.
Now I wish I could go back in time and tell my parents I was sorry for being a brat.
I had a perfect life back then and didn’t realize it, including doing chores.
After a while, I run out of things to do. I go back to the bedroom and tell myself I’ll just lie down for a minute. I’m more exhausted than I thought because the moment my head hits the mattress, I fall asleep within minutes.
I dream that I'm in my family’s house in New York and it looks exactly the way I remember it. The brown leather couch with the soft cushions and the sunken spot where my dad always sits. The table where Kayla and I used to do puzzles is scattered with toys. My mom is on the phone laughing with one of her friends. My dad is moving around the living room, searching for something. He always is. My sister’s trying to get everyone’s attention, begging us to sit down and watch her pretend concert. She’s all dressed up in a pink and white dress covered in sequins, wearing the ugly pink glitter shoes she begged mom to buy her.
There's a knock at the door. My dad hurries across the living room and opens it. Grigori Ivanov stands on the porch.
I open my mouth to scream, to warn them, to beg my dad not to let him inside. Not to let him anywhere near us. Nothing comes out. My body won’t move and my mouth won’t work.
My dad smiles. He shakes Grigori’s hand and invites him in.
No. Get away from him. He's going to kill you and he’s going to take me. Don't let him in. Please.
They can't hear me, no matter how loud I shout and plead inside my head. Kayla runs up to Grigori, spinning in her dress and asking if he wants to hear her song. I'm still screaming, still trying to warn them.
Grigori looks over at me and grins. Even in my dreams, he frightens and torments me. Suddenly I'm outside. I’m standing in the front yard, staring through the window as my family laughs with him, like nothing is wrong. A hand tugs at mine. It’s Kayla. She’s outside with me now, giggling as she pulls me away from the window.
"Can’t catch me!”
She takes off running. I chase her, Grigori forgotten. We race across the yard, dodging trees and past the flowerbed. I'm laughing, bursting with so much happiness. Kayla is fast but I’m older and faster. I'm gaining on her. I reach out, my fingers brushing her shoulder. “Gotch?—”
An arm snakes around my waist. I’m yanked backward and lifted off the ground, pulled away from my sister. Away from everything. I spin around.
It’s Roman. He’s staring down at me, his gaze searching my face.
I wake up with my heart pounding and my skin slick with sweat. I sit up just as I hear the lock turning, the front door being opened, followed by footsteps moving through the apartment.
"Nala."
I go into the living room to see Roman setting a paper bag on the table. He turns when he notices me. His gaze sweeps over me, quick and subtle, but I notice it. He looks away fast.
