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Like I said, foolish.
“You know there is no such thing as a virginity test,” I’d yelled, thighs still constricting at the memory of Dr. Wyatt probing me, face drinking my reactions. “There is no way to fucking test that,” I’d continued, getting enraged. Anteros I’d understood. The men, I’d understood. I didn’t like it, but I’d understood. She should have known better.
“Granddaughter.” She’d gripped my chin and pulled me to her. It was hard and pinching, her nails biting into my flesh. “Dr. Wyatt isn’t testing them physically, he’s testing them mentally. Virgins tend to react differently to what Dr. Wyatt does.” She’d dropped me and I’d gasped.
“There is so much you need to learn,” she’d said with pity.
“I don’t want to learn this.” I’d gestured to the room, to Lucia, to my fucking dress—and brought my hands quickly to my chest, feeling the very air was tainted.
With an almost frustrated sigh, Lucia had set down the magazine she was reading and put all of her focus on me. “This is how we survive. This is what sustains us.”
“This is evil,” I’d stressed.
She’d laughed, tinkling and musical but cold. “Well, evil pays for your pretty dresses.” I’d looked at the dress I wore, the shoes on my feet. At the time, I was still playing dress-up doll, but I’d slipped the shoes off immediately and chucked them into a corner. Her smile had dropped.
Since that day, I’d stuck to jeans and a t-shirt. Lucia didn’t give me any money unless I asked, and I wasn’t going to ask for her slave money. So, I stole everything from a thrift store. I figured it was less evil. I had one pair of jeans, two t-shirts, and a jacket.
“This is all so fucked,” I’d said, backing away. “I’ll never go back down there.” I was almost out the door when her even, melodic voice drifted over my shoulder.
“Not even to visit your beloved Papa?”
I fell asleep to the memory and it became like a dream, playing over and over again in my brain until it was distorted and warped and mean. Papa was calling to me and I couldn’t get to him, Lucia kept laughing, and I felt I had to get to him or I would never know the truth of anything.
When I awoke, nothing was clearer.
I pressed my face into the mattress before immediately regretting it and sitting up. Up to that day, the only news of Papa I’d had was that he was safe, but he’d been underneath me the entire time, in the fucking basement. I’d thought when Lucia rescued me it would be different. I’d hoped we would be a real family, and in my mind, a real family meant love. It meant no lies, no deception.
I was so fucking wrong.
I stared at the ruby curtain holding me captive. I still hadn’t seen Papa. I hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning me, and most days I thought prisoner to Lucia was a fair trade for everything he’d done to me. But I had questions—so many questions. Lucia still hadn’t told me anything concrete. Living here was torture, everyone knew more about me than me. I wanted to ask him if he was really my father, or if the rumors were true. I wanted to ask him why he’d left me to the Beast. The obvious, unspoken rule was that I was to stay here…
I got up and pulled aside the velvet fabric, looking down the hall: dank, dimly lit, some curtains swayed, but no guards, no Lucia.
I tiptoed out. I didn’t really know where he was, but there were only two directions in the basement. One went upstairs, the other curved into shadow until the curtains disappeared. As I was coming around the bend, I stopped short before I ran into
someone.
Nikolai.
It took me a few moments to realize he was actually there, and not just a figment of my nightmare. When I realized, I scrambled against the damp wall. I had no idea what he wanted from me, and truthfully I was scared it was the same thing all the men who came down here wanted.
Nikolai scoffed. “Get over yourself. I’m not into that doe-eyed fuck me thing you have going on.” He waved a flippant hand in my direction.
“What do you want?” I tried to sound strong even though I was in nothing but pajamas in a place where women were given away freely. Then Nikolai took all of that away by stepping closer and forcing me to flatten myself.
“I trust you haven’t broken the rules of our agreement,” he said. “The Beast is eager to find out what’s inside the needle. Imagine how furious he would be to find out it was you who tried to kill him.”
“You put it there,” I hissed. “I didn’t even know it was fatal—you said it was a tranquilizer.”
“That’s not what the tapes say.” He looked me up and down, seconds passed like minutes, and then he said, “I think I did see some men down here who are into that doe-eyed fuck me thing, though.” He grasped my pajama top between his thumb and forefinger, pulling the fabric from my body. I held my breath as he glanced down the hall, hating myself for my fear. Then he dropped it without another word, disappearing toward the curtains.
The urge to run back, curl into a ball, and cry on the mattress was overwhelming, but I pressed on.
Papa was just around the curve. His wrinkled, tan fingers and his naked foot came into view as I rounded the final bend. Lucia had him locked up behind bars—as if down here was an actual fucking dungeon.
“The game is on,” Papa muttered to himself. “It’s on and I haven’t bet anything. The fridge is empty. I have to fill it. Have to have my drinks for the game.”
“Papa?” I tested. He stopped muttering, looked straight at me, and for a moment I had hope. Then he uttered some gibberish about a horse race and looked away. Disappointment welled in my gut at his response. The years of alcohol and the stress of being taken must have broken his brain. I just hoped I could glean some information from his ramblings.
