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Chapter 15
Vanya greets me in the morning, and he’s the one who helps me bathe with as much dignity as I can muster. There’s a notable difference though.
Vanya is clinical.
Mischa was…methodical. Damn near obsessive, even—like my body was a tool he’d studied every inch of. A collector, polishing his favorite toy.
I’m sweating beneath the sheets. The air in this room has little circulation, and a part of me longs for the warmth of bathwater. A change of scenery.
Anything.
Vanya does his best to linger, entertaining me with small talk, but he can’t stay long.
And I’m alone again.
It’s the loneliness that feels so different from my time with Robert. I used to crave it. Cherish it. Only in silence could I gather up the broken pieces of my soul and try to reassemble them. I was Ellen, always Ellen. Sweet, dutiful, doormat Ellen.
It’s only hours after Vanya delivered my second meal for the day that I sense someone else there, lingering on the outskirts of my room, recognizable only by smell.
He waits like any predator, anticipating the moment I tense with an awareness of him. Maybe he can hear my pulse surging in a pathetic patter of noise. When the symphony of heartbeats reaches a crescendo, he steps forward.
From my position, I can only make out his profile. Long and unkempt, his hair shrouds most of his face, leaving the rest of it cast in shadow. The stubble has returned already to coat his chin, which flexes as he prepares to issue a command or another insult.
Hoarse and weak, my pathetic tone beats him to the punch. “I can’t live like this.”
He jerks in place as if he’d been about to lunge. Pounce. Attack. Now? He stands there, his head cocked.
“I can’t,” I admit, hating the fear so plainly evident in my voice. Leaving any part of myself bare to him disturbs me like nothing else. But it’s better than the alternative: this fucking endless silence. “I refuse to live like this—”
He turns for the door and I can’t stop myself from leaning forward, clutching fistfuls of the sheets for balance.
“Please…”
He stops and I break.
“Pleasedon’t let me live like this. I’m sorry if I hurt you—if Iinsultedyou,” I add when he flinches. “But I’m so damn tired of begging you for mercy.”
He stays just long enough to give me hope that my words managed to reach him before he slips over the threshold and escapes the room.
For the rest of the day, I’m left here, alone, trapped in bed, forced to listen to the ongoings of the manor seeping through the walls. Murmured snippets of conversation provide no context. No reprieve.
Eventually, I tune the noise out altogether and turn my focus toward gingerly stretching and flexing each limb, desperate to move. A funny thought makes me snicker as the daylight grows dimmer and Vanya appears with my evening meal.
Of all the various forms of torture Robert employed to break me, this might do the trick.
Sheer, utter boredom.
* * *
I’m startled awake by the sound of footsteps nearing my bed. Heavy and slow, they aren’t Vanya’s. Neither is the hand that snatches my blankets from me, leaving me shivering in the pale glow of dawn. The rest of the house can’t be up this early.
Though I suspect that the figure before me hasn’t slept at all.
He’s silent as he slides a hand beneath my legs and lifts me from the bed. I settle awkwardly in his arms, aware of just how stiff he is against me. Still angry. Still fuming.
Still gentle.
A part of me marvels at that. Robert didn’t have an ounce of the same control. Which made him easier to handle in a way. I could talk him down with a few groveling words at a time and all would be well—until the next time.
