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It’s been erratic my whole life. Part of being a ballerina. It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve never had a normal cycle.
I grip the edge of the sink, trying to breathe, telling myself that over and over again. Trying to reassure myself that it really is nothing. That it can’t be that I’m pregnant with Mikhail’s baby.
I’m not sure if I can think of a worse time–or a worse situation, if that were the case.
I nearly jump out of my skin when he bangs on the door. “Natalia?” His voice is sharp, irritable. “Are you done in there? You can’t just sit around in there forever–if you’re faking it, I–”
“I’m not!” I snap back, my nerves feeling as if they’re fraying more and more with every word he says. “I know you could hear me throwing up in here. Just give me a second.”
“Hurry up,” he says flatly, and I let out a long breath, looking at my pale, drawn reflection in the mirror.
It’s nothing,I tell myself again, and then I straighten, opening the door.
“We’re going upstairs so you can clean up and get dressed,” Mikhail says without preamble, his gaze sliding over me as if he’s already regretting the fact that I’ll be putting clothes on. “With this other person hanging around the house, watching, I’m not going to risk them breaking in and stealing you away.”
There’s a heated look in his eyes that eases my anxiety a little. “We need groceries and supplies,” he says shortly, nudging me towards the stairs. “So you’re coming with me. And we’re going to try to make sure there’s no chance of anyone recognizing you, this time.”
It doesn’t matter,I think as I start to climb the steps.There’s no point in trying to escape, not now, not without money or anywhere to go.
There’s no one left who could help me other than Ruby. And I’m not about to put her in that kind of danger.
Natalia
The shower feels like heaven. I vaguely remember Mikhail bathing me last night after he took me down from the ropes, saying something about me feeling as if I was going into shock, but it doesn’t compare to how good the hot spray of the shower feels. It’s another brief space of time to be alone, and besides that, it soothes my sore muscles. I wash my hair, rubbing conditioner through it from roots to ends twice to try to mitigate the damage that the bleach did, and finally, regretfully, step out to dry off.
It feels strange, seeing myself with blonde hair again. I still don’t exactly look like myself, not with the odd coloration left from the cheap dark dye, and it feels like I’m stuck somewhere in the middle between who I used to be, and who I tried to hide behind in order to escape.
I quickly brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, tugging out any knots before walking into the bedroom. Mikhail is waiting for me, an impatient expression on his face, and he gestures to the clothes on the bed. “Hurry up,” he says, an echo of earlier, and I just nod, reaching for the dress.
It’s a grey ribbed cotton tank dress, with a few buttons at the low neckline, and I’m well aware of how it looks. I can see Mikhail’s eyes gleam with lust as he looks at me, my slight cleavage more than apparent, the cotton clinging to me like a second skin.
“That suits you,” he says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he nods back towards the bed. “The rest of it is there.”
A pair of grey and white suede sneakers, a baseball cap, aviator sunglasses. Nothing overtly disguising, but enough that I probably won’t be recognized. It’s the oldest disguise in the book, but I don’t doubt it will work, especially once he fills me in on the rest of what he has planned.
“We’re going to the next town over,” he tells me flatly. “Just in case. I’m not going to risk getting into an altercation with someone because they recognize you. We’re going to go, get what we need, and come back.”
I want to askwhat then, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“Just remember,” he adds, “your money is here, Natalia. Your passport, everything you might need to escape. There’s no getting away. So don’t think about trying anything while we’re out.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I shoot back, glaring at him as I braid my wet hair, coiling it into a bun at the base of my neck and putting the baseball cap on. “What would be the point, when I have everything I want here?”
Mikhail starts to speak, but I cut him off. “I know. You have other things you can do with my smart mouth. Should I get down on my knees now, or when we come back from our errands?”
“You’re on thin ice,” he growls, but he nudges me forward, his knuckles pressing against the small of my back as he pushes me towards the door. “Let’s get going.”
Much like the day we took the trip to the dance store, there’s nothing like more time spent indoors and tied up in a basement to make me appreciate sunshine and fresh air. It’s another lovely day, and as we step into the warmth, I breath in deeply, wanting to savor it. I can’t help but feel that there’s a chance I might not have an unlimited number of these days to come.
There are flowers landscaped in front of the house, and I breathe in the scent of them as I walk down the stairs, savoring it and the warmth of the sun on my skin, the breeze across my face, in a way I’m not sure I ever have before I ended up in this house. It’s not something I take for granted any longer.
The ride to town is silent. I can feel my pulse beating in my throat, my nerves on edge. I don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time we ventured out–I don’t want to have to lie to someone else, to wonder if they’ve now become a loose end for Mikhail to tie up. I knot my fingers together in my lap as we drive, hoping that it will be a quick trip. Nothing dramatic, nothing that leaves me feeling sick and afraid when we get back.
Sick.I remember the episode in the bathroom earlier, the taste of bile still faintly at the back of my throat no matter how many times I’d brushed my teeth, as if I’m constantly on the verge of vomiting again. My stomach knots for an entirely different reason, and I wonder if I’ll be able to get away from Mikhail for even a moment–if there might be a way to get the thing I need for my own peace of mind, without his knowing.
“Stay close,” Mikhail tells me as he parks and we get out of the car, his voice a short, tight bark, and I feel that coil of anxiety again. I can tell he’s on edge, and my gaze flicks to his back as we walk, knowing that beneath the slightly loose lines of his shirt, there’s a gun there–and probably other weapons hidden somewhere on his person, too.
I follow him into the store, trying to look as normal as possible. I slip the sunglasses off, wondering if he’ll notice and insist I put them back on, but it’s uncomfortable to try to walk around indoors with them, and if anything I would think it would make me more obvious. He says nothing, and I walk by his side and just a little behind, glancing around for a chance to slip away for just a second.
