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One particular article caught her attention about children and art. How through painting or drawing they could express the fears they couldn’t actually speak about but instead could draw or paint in order to release them from their mind and lessen the burden of the memory. Although she wasn’t a child,
when she was victimized. She swallowed hard. She couldn’t seem to get the visions out of her head tonight.
She opened her bedroom door and quietly made her way down the hallway and to the gardens. It was at the last door, the room belonging to Star, that she noticed the door was ajar. She paused a moment and glanced into the darkness. It was eerily quiet, and she felt her heart clench with fear just thinking about what Star would do to a person who snuck into his room and watched him sleep.
She quickly stepped away and walked right across the hallway to the studio, opened the door, and then closed it. When she was inside she leaned back against the door and sighed. How bad was it that she had the urge to go to Star for help? She would go to any of the four men to help her feel safe and secure. Many times she thought about how they took care of her when they first rescued her. Each of the men was incredibly handsome and had special characteristics about them that she found to be attractive.
Krane was the most outgoing and the friendliest. He was as tall as Star but leaner, like a martial arts fighter. He had almost strawberry-blond hair and bright blue eyes. He squinted a lot, like he was analyzing a person or untrusting. There was Lucca, who was tan, fit with lots of muscles, and a little over six feet tall. His dark hair, dark eyes, and handsome face made her imagine him in uniform as an American soldier. That was something else she overanalyzed. Their capabilities as servicemen. The way they all came into Cornikup’s estate and infiltrated it, taking out the guards and ending her nightmare, was like something out of a movie.
Then there was Border. He had some facial hair, not too thick. His hair was slicked back except for a thicker piece that hung slightly over his eyes in some fashionable playboy style. He was quiet and firm, intense in appearance and personality. He didn’t say much but when he spoke it was short and direct.
She pushed off the door and looked out at the darkness through the large sections of windows. It gave her an uneasy feeling. She didn’t like how the nightmares left her so fragile and needy. She wanted to fight them best she could but they kept repeating over and over again. She walked to the easel and grabbed a new canvas. In her head she had flashbacks of her prison, the home where she was forced to obey or be beaten. She closed her eyes and whispered. “No. No more.”
* * * *
Border was heading out for an early run. He was having trouble sleeping and heard Malayna walking around and then head into her studio. She was having trouble sleeping, too, and the muffled sounds of her screams had him on edge.
He knocked on the door and walked in, finding her staring at an empty white canvas with tears rolling down her cheeks. He swallowed hard.
“Malayna?” he whispered. She hadn’t even heard him knock or enter the room. He watched her use her palms to wipe her face and she wouldn’t look at him.
“Border, what are you doing up?” she asked but remained staring forward.
He walked closer. “I couldn’t sleep, and thought I would go for a run.”
She turned to look at him, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening from tears. She looked lost in the baggy blue hooded sweatshirt.
“This early?” she asked him.
He walked closer and then bent down.
“You had trouble sleeping, too. I heard you,” he said and her eyes widened. She went to move and he grabbed her arm. She stopped and turned to look up at him.
“I heard you walking around and head down here. You look so tired, Malayna.” He held her gaze and watched the tears fill her gorgeous blue eyes then pour from them.
“I can’t take it, Border. I try and try so hard to not let the nightmares, the fear get to me. It’s been more than a month. I want them to stop. I want to forget what happened.”
He felt terrible for her. She was a victim, and none of them knew exactly what Vlladim and Cornikup did to her for three years. He knew what it was like to be a victim, to be a prisoner and get beaten down, and he didn’t like to talk about it either.
“I see you placed a new canvas up there. Did you have something in mind that could help take away the fear you’re talking about?” he asked.
She wiped her eyes and looked up at the empty canvas.
“To be honest, Border, I was thinking of trying to remember any positives about the place I was held prisoner.”
His chest tightened. He felt out of place, and like he was the worst person for her to confide in. Out of all of them Krane was the most understanding and calm.
She looked at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that and made you feel uncomfortable. I’m just frustrated, I guess,” she said and stood up. He stood up, too, and kept a hand on her waist. She was very close. He could smell her shampoo and feel how thin she was, but up top her large breasts pressed against the hooded sweatshirt.
“I’m not uncomfortable. It’s just that I don’t really express my feelings well. I have my own issues, like most people do and well, I keep them inside.”
“Then we’re a lot alike. Well, at least I used to not let out any emotions. I couldn’t or I would suffer for that,” she said and her eyes filled up again. She went to turn and he couldn’t let her. Instead he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her close.
“Don’t let them win. Cornikup is dead and Vlladim will be caught. You have a full life to live. You’re only twenty-one years old.”
“Twenty-two in two weeks,” she added.
“Really?” he asked, not knowing that.
