Page 31 of The Marriage

All the curtains in the room were closed, leaving Karine cloaked in darkness. Just the way she always liked it. Except when they were in the hotel suite—she’d loved the way the sunshine poured in through the glass walls, spilling over her body in the mornings.

Karine rejoiced in daylight then, but it didn’t last long.

“She’s fine—surface-wise, I mean. She just hasn’t eaten since she got here, and she’s refusing to speak to anyone, leave her room, or engage in anything else.”

Sylvia spoke with a very matter-of-fact tone into the phone. All over again, Karine could feel her cheeks burning with anger. Flushed hot and red. Once again, she was being treated like a naughty child in this place.

They’d report her bad behavior back to her husband, and what? The idea of him knowing she wouldn’t eat or talk might shame her into doing it?

That was a joke.

What would Roman do about it?

He was fucking coward, too.

“Karine, please talk to him, and you’ll feel better, I promise. Even if you’re still mad, you will feel better in a way. He’s been waiting all morning to speak with you.”

While Sylvia pleaded, Karine simply wedged both her arms between her thighs, bringing her knees up in the fetal position. This wasn’t a conversation. Only one person was speaking, after all.

“She isn’t giving me anything—yeah, I’m sorry Mr. Avdonin,” Sylvia murmured, her voice distant a bit like she had turned away.

Karine blinked at the wall. She didn’t care what they thought of her. They could write as many reports as they wanted, come up with plans for therapy if it satisfied them—but she wasn’t going to comply.

How far would they go when she continued to refuse? Restrain her if she got violent? Force medication down her throat?

She couldn’t care less.

“He wants to know when he can call you next, if you don’t want to speak with him now,” Sylvia said.

Karine sighed, saying softly, “He can call when I’m dead.”

That’s not what the therapist told her husband.

“I suggest we call you when she’s feeling more up to it, Mr. Avdonin,” Sylvia whispered into the phone before ending the call.

Karine’s throat felt dry, but she wasn’t interested in drinking anything. That meant moving. Breathing more. Being. The only thing going through her mind was how close she had been to freedom, that he’d dare to let her live, and now it was all over.

And it was all Roman’s fault.

“Karine, we’re trying to help you here. I hope you come to that realization sooner rather than later.” Sylvia’s happy-go-lucky demeanor hardened a bit when she added, “For your own sake.”

“Who do I have to call to wipe my ass?” Karine hissed in response.

*

She walked out to the Zen garden two days later.

Several more attempts had been made by Sylvia—and other members of staff—to try and bring Karine out of her shell. None of it worked, and she only did what she wanted when she wanted to do it. She refused all contact and conversation, too stubborn to give everyone else what they wanted when she didn’t have anything at all.

Apparently, Roman had called several times since that first phone call. She’d refused to speak to him, too.

At the garden, she stood over a small pond, watching the colorful fish swimming around. The scaly bastards had the right idea. Short life span. Their only purpose in life was to feed, reproduce, and then die. A simpler cycle.

There wasn’t emotion involved.

Pain was primal.

“Drink this.”