I should have stopped him. Should have told him to pull out.
But I didn't. Because part of me wanted it. Wanted him to replace that memory with something else. Something that was my choice, my decision.
Except it wasn't really a choice, was it? Not when I'm this fucked up. Not when I can't tell the difference between desire and desperation.
I close my eyes, trying to push the memories away, but they cling to me like grease on my skin, impossible to scrub away. The feeling of Kazimir inside me. The way he'd looked at me, his eyes dark with want. The way he'd come, hot and deep, and for just amoment—just one perfect moment—I'd felt like I was reclaiming something.
But then reality crashed back in. He's not different. He's just another man who took what he wanted and then apologized after.
I open my eyes and find him watching me. Our gazes lock, and for a moment, neither of us looks away.
I can see the guilt in his eyes. The regret. The desire that's still there, simmering under the surface despite everything.
This time, I hold his gaze until he looks away, before turning back to the window. My body aches. God, everything aches. I shift again, trying to ease the pressure on my ribs, and a sharp pain lances through my side. I gasp before I can stop myself.
"Are you okay?" Kazimir's voice cuts through the silence.
I don't answer. I don't even look at him.
"Svetlana—"
"I'm fine," I snap, and I can practicallyhearhim rolling his eyes.
"You're not fine. You're in pain."
"And whose fault is that?" The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don't take them back. The truth is that, of course it isn’t all his fault, even if what happened between us last night definitely exacerbated it. But being angry at him right now is easy, and it feels good, so I let myself be angry.
He's quiet for a moment. "Do you need anything? Water? Painkillers?"
"I don't need anything from you."
But even as I say it, I realize how thirsty I am. My throat is dry, and my lips are cracked from the cold. I haven't had anything to drink since before we left the safe house. I don’t actually think I’ve drunk anything since that vodka last night.
As if reading my mind, Kazimir stands and moves to the small galley at the back of the plane. I hear him openingsomething up, and then he returns with a bottle of water. He sets it down next to me, then returns to his seat without a word.
I stare at the water. My pride tells me not to touch it. Not to accept anything from him. But my body overrides my pride.
I reach for the bottle, unscrew the cap, and drink. The water is cold and clean, and it feels like heaven on my raw throat. I drink half the bottle before I stop, gasping. When I look up, Kazimir is watching me again.
"Thank you.” I was raised with manners, even if everything else has been stripped away. He nods but doesn't speak.
I sip the rest slowly, letting the cold soothe my throat. Outside, the sun is setting. We're over the ocean now. We're leaving Russia behind, heading toward whatever comes next. I try to focus on that, on what I’m going to do. I don’t know if Kazimir is going to help me beyond this, or if I even want him to. I don’t want to owe him more than I already do.
What I want is to disappear. To become someone else. Someone who wasn't tortured and raped and broken. But I don't know if that's possible. I don't know if you can ever really escape your past, or if it just follows you wherever you go.
My eyes feel heavy. The exhaustion is catching up with me, pulling me down. I let my head rest against the window, the cool glass soothing against my skin. Maybe I'll sleep. Maybe I'll dream of nothing.
Maybe…
—
I'm backin the cell. The door is opening, and I know what's coming. I try to move, try to run, but my body won't respond.
Hands grab me. Pin me down. "No," I try to say, but no sound comes out.
They're laughing. Always laughing. One of them is on top of me now, forcing my legs apart, and I can't stop him, can't fight, can't?—
I jerk awake with a gasp, my heart pounding.
