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I manage to smother the first sobs beneath my palm. Eventually, that isn’t enough. A handful of bedsheets. A pillow. Only by biting down over my palm can I stay silent in the end.
My eyes stream as my body heaves. There’s no comparison for this pain. I just have to suffer through it, experiencing every emotion I’ve ever felt tenfold. Agony. Guilt. Relief. Gratitude.
It doesn’t last long. The second I hear someone approach, I choke my sobs down and fight to compose myself. Not Mischa. I’m aware that my newcomer isn’t him even before I face them from over my shoulder. This figure is smaller. Thinner. Her blond hair is a wild, matted tangle, clashing with the blue, feminine dress someone gave her to wear.
She eyes me from partially behind the doorway.
“Can I help you?” I rasp when she doesn’t move.
She shakes her head. Then she points to the tray near my bed and mimes eating with her hands.
“Mischa,” I snarl. Once again, the bastard proves that he isn’t above sending a child to do his dirty work.
“I’m not hungry,” I reply politely, hoping my irritation doesn’t seep into my voice. “I’ll eat later…”
I trail off as she pads closer and lifts a bowl from the tray. Holding it out to me, she nods to the broth within. Apparently, I have no choice.
It’s a thin, simple soup but still delicious. I drain it quickly under the girl’s watchful eye. Satisfied, she starts to leave the moment I swallow the last drop.
“Wait,” I call out, and she pauses near the doorway, impatiently fidgeting with the skirt of her dress. “What’s your name?”
Her wide eyes meet mine and she shrugs.
“You can’t talk?”
She shrugs again and then scurries away before I can ask her something else. This time, however, I follow her. It takes me ages using the crutches—or so it feels like. By the time I enter the hallway, I only have the sound of her quick steps rounding the corner to guide me. It isn’t long before I can get a sense of where she’s headed. Sure enough, not far from Mischa’s office, his voice greets me.
“Did you do it?” he demands gruffly. “She ate all of it?”
The girl must nod or whisper something to him, because he grunts, satisfied.
“Fine. Here’s your share.”
I come close enough to make out the smaller shape of the girl standing before the desk. Mischa must place something onto her hand, because she draws it back, observing the contents intently. Then she extends the same hand toward him again.
“Good,” the man praises, slapping something else onto her palm. More money, I suspect. “Never trust anyone not to cheat you. Always count your shit. You catch on quick—” Suddenly, he cocks his head and a frown distorts his mouth. “But next time, I will teach you how to ensure that you aren’t followed.”
The girl whirls around, spotting me.
“Go,” Mischa tells her.
She whizzes past me, and I attempt to follow her.
“Wait.”
I don’t want to. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to keep moving. Ignore him. Resist. I manipulate one of the crutches forward and take a step.
“I said to fucking wait.”
Old Ellen Winthorp would have obeyed the twisted baritone. She would have cowered and let him inside her head again. New Ellen, however, is too fucking tired. I keep inching along as my neck prickles with an awareness of the man glaring after me.
He doesn’t follow me though. I reach my room alone and collapse, panting, onto the bed. Here, I curl up and try once again to process everything swirling around my head without going insane. When I hear the soft steps of someone approaching, I don’t try to be polite.
“I’m sorry, Vanya, but I’m not hungry—”
“Look at me.”
I guessed wrong. My body stiffens at the sound of Mischa’s voice.
I lift my head just enough to spit out, “I’m not in the mood to be used as a fucking pawn in your goddamn war, either.”
He stands there so long that I’m sure he’ll attack. Lash out. Insult. I’d like to think I’m ready for him, but I’m not. I’m so tired of his game.
Closing my eyes, I lie here with my face buried in the sheets. I’m not sure exactly when he leaves. The only thing I’m aware of is that darkness falls gradually, confining me like a cocoon.
And that he’s gone.
