But… my period is a few days late. And I know it's not for the reason he suspects or hopes for.
One night, we share a joint together. I sit in his lap, and he blows smoke in my mouth. I take the joint from his fingers and take a tentative hit. I love the way I get lightheaded, and the pressure on my chest loosens.
But that night, I fall asleep high. I dream. I dream so hard. I’m pinned down and screaming for mercy, but no one comes.
I wake up in a sweat.
I should know it was just a dream. I try to tell myself that it is, that I'm not awake, that I'm with Matvei now, not in my father's house, which isn’t even there anymore. But it's so vivid, so real. Especially the fear.
It claws at my chest like a parasite, as if trying to get out of my skin. It shakes me to my core. I can still see my abuser—his thick face and jowls, his oily hair and thick fingers. The way he glared at me when I wouldn't submit. I can still feel the pain.
The kicks to my rib cage. A kick to my stomach. The way he ordered his men to beat me and watched, the fucking bastard. The pain. The helplessness. The blood.
I roll over to find Matvei hard and ready for me. I don’t want to tell him no.
I want to forget.He slides into me mirthlessly, fucks me until I scream his name, and falls asleep, still inside me.
But I don’t forget.
I remember lying in my room, eating saltine crackers and hot tea, the only thing I could keep down in the aftermath of that brutal beating. My father, not to my surprise, took his friend's side.
"You should've gone with him," he said. "How could you do this to me?"
He looked at the broken, beaten body of his daughter and actually said to me, "You should've thanked me for this. He would've taken care of you.”
As if he knew anything about taking care of me.
"He won't take you now," he said, but he never mentioned what happened to me when he arranged my marriage to Rafail. I decided then that I would not be used as their property. I wouldn't be taken.
And a part of me, even now, feels that.
I fall back asleep, almost instantly back in the room at my father’s house. I want to wake up again. I know this isn’t real—I know this is the past, and I have to wake up.
I thrash in the sheets. They're tangled around my legs, and the pain is too much. I'm still half in the dream, still clutched in his grip, the pain of that night etched in my memory as if carved into stone.
I've never felt so helpless in my life, and I told myself then it was the last time.
No one can hurt you if they can't find you.
There's a wetness between my legs. Strong arms wrap around me.
I scream, thrashing, biting at air.
"Anissa, Jesus, it's me."
I'm pinned to the bed, and Matvei's eyes are above mine, boring into me with concern.
"You're dreaming. You're just dreaming. Are you okay?"
I blink, and his face is in front of me. But I can still see my abuser. I can still hear his oily voice, see the yellow of his eyes, and still feel his grip on my arms as he held me and assaulted me.
It flashes in my mind like a bad movie.
I close my eyes, and this time, the memories don't go away like I've trained them to.
I clear my throat.
I try to speak, but I'm in actual pain. It takes a minute to realize it's not just from the memory.
