28
Wren
Five times. Five times Kolya’s come and drugged me. I think. Everything’s blurring together now. I smell like bile and sweat and blood, and my stomach is twisting itself into a pretzel. And God. I’m so hungry. Except…when I’m not. Which is most of the time.
It’s dark again outside the frosted glass window. Has it been one day? Two? How can I not know? Ryker hasn’t come for me. If he’s dead…Kolya would have told me. He wants me to suffer. To beg him for another dose of relief. But…why hasn’t he tried to rescue me?
I stifle a sob as I remember Ryker’s kiss. How he smelled. His touch. I was so stupid. If I’d listened to him…maybe I’d be in his arms now. The walls shift and almost pulse as I force myself to my knees, my anxiety returning with a vengeance as my heart rate skyrockets.
My arms and legs feel like they weigh a ton, and my head pounds, the room spinning around me as I try to pull myself up.
I think…if Kolya plans to dose me again, he’s late. I don’t have a watch, and there’s no clock in this bathroom. But though I’m weak, disoriented, and woozy, my thoughts are clearer now than they’ve been since he first drugged me.
Everything hurts. My ribs. My arms. My head. The last time he came…he was so angry with me he didn’t even speak. Just wailed on me with his fists until my lip split and blood filled my mouth, half choking me. I begged then. Begged him to stop. To take the pain away.
I begged for him to drug me. The realization sends more tears streaming down my cheeks, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop crying.
Z explained to me once…what it felt like. Why he couldn’t stop getting high.
“It’s like you don’t care about anything, Wren. All your problems…they just go away. I…hated myself. Hated my life. And heroin…took all my pain away.”
Not just the pain. The terror. The sickening anticipation of what’s coming next. I…remember…a little. As soon as the heroin hits my vein, I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t hurt. Or…I don’t care if I do…I’m not sure. It’s like…I’m at peace.
I understand Z better now. His addiction. Because I want that peace. Ineedit. There’s no anxiety. No panic. But…there’s also no me.
The mirror shows the horrors of what he’s done to me. Sunken, blackened eyes. Blood staining my lip and chin. Deep scratches down my neck and breasts. There’s still vomit in my hair. I splash a little water on my face, cup my shaking hands under the flow and try to drink, but I can’t hold more than a few drops at a time.
I’m so scared. Panic tightens a knot in my chest and I sink back down to the floor, my head between my knees. When I fall over, my fingers brush my ankles, tangling in the chain keeping me locked to the sink.
The sensation distracts me enough to draw in a shaky breath. It’s…almost thin. Forcing my head up, I rub my eyes to try to clear my vision. In college, I had a couple of epic hangovers, and this…this is ten times worse.
“Focus,” I whisper to myself as I blink hard and stare at the chain. The cuff is thick. Maybe two inches tall and heavy. But the chain…I…I could break it. I think. If I get free…can I escape before he kills me?
Wedging my other foot against the pipe, I grab the cuff and pull as hard as I can. Not enough leverage. Maybe if I scoot over towards the toilet. I try again, and I think I feel a little give. Sweat dampens my brow, and my head pounds hard enough I fear it’ll split in two, but with one final tug, the chain snaps, and I tumble back, my head slamming into the porcelain bowl.
I lie there panting, willing my ankle to stop sending sparks of pain racing up my calf. I don’t know how long it takes me to move. Five minutes maybe—though my sense of time is so warped, it could be an hour.
Ten inches of chain hang from the cuff, and I wrap it around my ankle, tucking the end between the cuff and my skin. On my hands and knees, I crawl towards the door, but stop with my hand on the knob. I need a weapon. Even as weak as I am…something.
But this bathroom is as empty as I am. Tears choke me as I look wildly around the room until I remember…the toilet tank has a metal float arm inside. It’s not much, but it’s something.
My stomach pitches as I lift the lid, but Kolya seems to be obsessed with cleanliness. This bathroom is spotless. Elena cleaned up all of my messes, and I swipe at my cheeks as I remember the last time I saw her. Strung out, Kolya’s handprint across her cheek.
Focus. Weapon. Escape.
The metal arm snaps off easily, and I take a few unsteady steps towards the door.
A wave of dizziness threatens to send me back down to my knees, but I force a deep breath, lean against the wall, and press my cheek to the cool wood door.You can do this, Wren. Get out.
Cringing as I crack the door, I expect Kolya to be standing on the other side, laughing with a syringe in his hand. But the bedroom is empty. The lavish, four-poster bed takes up much of the space, and my bare feet land on thick, plush carpet.
I’m halfway across the room when I hear his voice. “Wait downstairs,” he says. “I am tired of her resistance. She needs additional…motivation. And the first time I take her…should be private.”
Oh God. He’s going to rape me. I barely have time to slide my pitiful weapon under the pillows before he slams the door, his lips curled into a snarl.
“Clever girl,” he says as he stalks towards me.
“Please…” I throw up my hands. “I…I need…more.” I have to try to convince him I’m not a threat. “Don’t…leave me…like this…” Forcing myself to take a step towards him, I plead, “I need you to…take the pain away.”
