Adriana’s breathing is ragged now, tears tracking down her face as she stares at me, silently begging. Erik rips her shirt with a blade and traces it between her breasts. She’s wearing a bra, thankfully.
My hands still twitch, but I don’t step forward or even speak. I just stand there while something inside me screams loud enough that I’m sure the room should be shaking from it.
After a long moment, Alexei exhales in satisfaction. “Alright,” he says quietly. “You’ve shown perfect control.” He gestures, and Erik finally releases the restraints. Adriana slumps forward slightly, breathing hard, shaking, her eyes still fixed on me in disbelief.
I still don’t move.
Alexei steps closer, stopping just in front of me, his voice soft enough that only I can hear it. “I wonder,” he says. “Did you not move because you simply don’t care about this woman? Or you don’t want the pain?”
Both.
Fuck, no.
He tilts his head. “Speak. Now.”
I clear my throat, and for the first time since this began, I speak. “Both.”
Adriana whimpers at that, looking at me like I’ve broken her heart. But I ignore it, instead, focusing on the piece of shit standing before me. His steely gray eyes study my face so closely that I want to cave his fucking skull in.
“Good,” he praises. “Instead of Erik dosing you today, you can do it yourself.”
Erik hands me the kit, and I snatch it quickly, my veins screaming for a hit.
“You’re done for the day.”
My head tilts slightly.Already?Normally, we’re here for hours. But I don’t complain.
My body feels numb when Erik and Aiden escort us back to the guesthouse. Adriana hasn’t said a word. Her lip is split, blood dried at the corner. Bruises are already blooming on her cheek. The red mark around her throat is worse. When we step inside, it’s too quiet.
“Adri—” I start.
She’s already crying and moving to the bathroom. The door slams. Locks.
I follow, standing in front of the door. “Adriana, I’m sorry.”
The door yanks open. Her eyes are blazing through tears. “You juststoodthere. You let him hurt me.”
I stare at her, my mind dull. “They weren’t going to kill you. And they shock the hell out of me when I disobey. So yeah. I let it fucking happen.”
Her mouth closes. The anger fades into both hurt and sudden understanding.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, but the words feel empty.
“I hated watching you do nothing,” she whispers.
I don’t answer, so she shuts the door again, and the shower starts. With a sigh, I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands.
Why the fuck can’t I feel anything anymore?
The rest of the day bleeds by with Adri barely speaking to me. She was already cracking. What they did to her just nudged her closer to the same edge I’m dancing on every fucking day. I keep wondering which one of us will fall first. I don’t know what happens if we both do.
She’s stretched out on one end of the couch, watching some girly shit. I catch the nameGossip Girla few times. Figures. Rich kids ruining each other’s lives. Fitting.
I’m on the other end of the couch, staring at nothing. I fade in and out a lot lately. Minutes disappear. Thoughts don’t stick around. It’s almost as if I sometimes don’t register language. I’ll surface for a second, realize I’m still here, then sink away again. It feels like being half-dead.
I googled derealization and came to the conclusion that I’m having frequent episodes of that almost daily. It scared me at first, but now when I feel them come on, my response is just…distant. It's like a cousin to anxiety, but feeling like your soul is pulling from your body.
The light outside dims slowly, and my stomach growls. It must be evening time. Adriana lifts her glass of water, eyes glued to the screen. She doesn’t look at me. I dosed meth about thirty minutes ago. That might explain my current state. Or maybe this is just what I am now. I know I've been losing weight, and the drugs are making it worse. Soon, people could look at me and not even realize I'm the same Jude Graves that played for them on stage.
