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“Don’t,” I whisper, shifting away when he crouches down behind me. I can hear every single taut muscle bend and move with his lithe actions. “Don’t call me that. My name is Willow.” I need to say it for my sake as well as his.
He sighs, clearly frustrated. But that’s all he’s getting out of me because I just want to be left alone. He reads the silent “fuck you” and stands. When the hatch closes, I exhale, thankful for the solitude.
Escaping now seems impossible, which leaves me with dire thoughts. I don’t want to be sold to someone named Aleksei Popov, but according to Saint, the deal is already done. So what options do I have left?
The fact Drew was the one who apparently orchestrated this hurts more than I can explain. But how can I believe Saint? How can I believe Drew would do that to me?
What a mess, and to make matters worse, I have formed some sort of…attachment to my kidnapper.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t even like him, but I can’t deny whenever he’s near, my body responds in ways it shouldn’t. I know some say it’s normal to respond sexually in extremely anxious or stressful situations, but it feels wrong. I feel dirty, just how I once did.
My heart is heavy, but I’ve run out of tears. I have never felt more imprisoned than I do right now. Thoughts which scare me cross my mind because I can’t, I won’t be held captive anymore. Saint has made it clear where I’m going won’t be sunshine and flowers. I will never be able to go home. I will forever be a prisoner.
So the choice seems simple as my hands are tied.
Clutching the cross around my neck, I apologize to my father. “Sorry, Daddy, but I won’t live like this. I hope you can forgive me.”
Coming to a slow rise, I ignore the throbbing in every part of my body and mind and focus on looking for something to end the pain. My eyes instantly seek out a length of rope and then scan the wooden rafter above me.
It’s an out. A bleak end, but at least I’ll decide my fate.
Climbing to my feet sluggishly, I flinch, breathing steadily through my nose to push past the pain. I put one foot in front of the other and commence my stagger toward the rope. I’ve been in a dark place before, but this time, it feels different.
I work in a robotic manner as I reach for the rope and tie a noose. Once it’s tight, I drag a chair along the floor and stand on it, looping the rope around the rafter and tying it tight. With the noose in hand, I go to place it over my head but stop, holding it in front of me and peering through the simple loop with the ability to take away life.
They say when faced with death, your life flashes before your eyes. That doesn’t happen to me. All I see is my hopelessness. With a deep breath, I loop the noose around my neck and tighten it. A single tear falls because I wanted to achieve so much, but it’ll never be.
Peering down at the floor, I wonder what Saint will do with my body. A sea burial makes the most sense, and besides, who would mourn me? If I had a gravestone, marking my existence to the world, who would visit?
My father is dead. My mother may as well be too. And my husband is apparently the reason I stand here with a noose around my neck.
“No one will miss you when you’re gone.”And Saint is right. No one will.
I don’t have any last words. My soul is broken. So taking a deep breath, I step forward, ready to take the plunge, but it seems God isn’t done with me yet. The noose tightens, and I gasp for air, but after only hanging for a split second, the rope comes undone, and I plummet to the floor with a thud.
Wheezing, I yank at the rope, tearing it from my neck and tossing it across the room with rage. I can’t even do this right. “Fuck you,” I curse at no one in particular, thumping my fist against the floor.
I’m half expecting Saint to come charging down here to cuff me until we arrive in Russia. But he doesn’t.
Helplessness overcomes me once again, so I surrender. I could lie down on the lounge, but I much rather prefer the coldness to the hard floor. Besides, I should get used to such lodgings because where I’m headed, I doubt I’ll be given any comforts. I was sold, remember? Like some animal at market.
Drawing my knees to my chest as I lie on my side, I close my eyes and wonder why I was saved…when I didn’t want to be.
“Come on, you need to eat.”
The urge to inhale deeply and bask in a delectable scent has my eyes popping open, but when I realize I’m still in hell, I quickly squeeze them tight.
Saint crouches behind me, attempting to lift me from my half-sitting position. I don’t know why he’s helping me, but I refuse to talk to him. I may be his prisoner, but I’ll be damned if I speak to him again.
I’m floppy from lethargy and a broken spirit, and it doesn’t take him long to coax me to my feet. I’m unstable, but he uses the chair I stood on hours ago to set me down. How ironic. It now offers me support, when once upon a time, it offered me death.
I don’t focus on anything. I just stare into thin air. This irritates Saint as he crouches down in front of me, forcing me to look at him as he grips my chin and offers me some jerky. But he can go to hell. “Eat.”
I turn my cheek in response.
“So you’re not talking to me anymore, is that it?”
We never talked. He’s delusional if he thought we ever did.
