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Tiana
I heave a sigh as I lean forward in my seat, looking at Irina.
I reach out and gently brush her silver hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
“It’s been almost three weeks. Can you believe that?” I ask her, as she’s sitting in usual chair, staring out the window at the garden, with a faint smile playing in the corner of her lips. My own chair is pulled alongside hers. I’ve sat with her here almost every day since my first visit. Coming to see her daily has now become a habit. It’s a quiet reprieve from the clusterfuck of confusion my new life has become.
“It’s been um... interesting,” I continue, choosing my words carefully. “He’s… well, he’s not as bad as I thought he’d be.”
Not as bad?
Understatement of the year, Tiana!
I can’t help but blush as memories of our heated encounters flood my mind. Memories of things I could never say out loud in front of Irina, even though she doesn’t seem to register my words. “Well, most of the time, anyway. Sometimes he is cold and distant. But then, I catch him looking at me… like he cares.”
I stifle a smile, remembering our last argument when he caught me going through his closet when I thought he’d be out. I know, I know... it was childish of me, but I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been locked in here for over three weeks with a man I barely know anything about. The urge to learn more about him has become all-consuming.
And then, as usual, I was caught red-handed.
The incident led to another spanking, which I would never have believed I’d enjoy so much. But I do. So I’ve decided that I’m insane.
I shake my head, dispelling the thought. “I know it’s probably just Stockholm Syndrome talking. I mean, it must be, right? I don’t know what to make of it most days,” I confess to Irina, who seems to be dozing off in the sunlight streaming through the windows. “One minute he’s as cold as ice, and then next...” I pause, because what generally happens next is something I can’t tell Irina, conscious or not. “And the next, I could cheerfully slap him!”
I know she’s not really listening. I know I’m talking to myself rather than talking to her, but at least her presence makes me feel like I am in someone’s company. Poor woman. I can only imagine what she must have been through that led her to be in a state like this.
Three weeks!
I almost can’t believe it’s only been a little less than three weeks since I first laid eyes on Kirill Vyronov. It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet it also feels like just yesterday when I was reeling in horror as I heard his voice rumble for the first time - bidding a million dollars for me. And every day leads me deeper down a path that frightens me. Because I can’t let go of what I need to do… and that is to get out of here.
Keep your eyes on the prize, Tee.
Except I don’t say my intentions out loud because there’s always the fear that there’s lucidity beneath Irina’s silence.
Is she listening to me?
I really hope she’s not. I often confide in her in these little moments together. My quiet confidante.
“Sometimes… he treats me like I’m precious. To him.” I gnaw on my lip. “He took me to dinner after buying me an entire designer wardrobe. And we went to the opera; we saw La Traviata. It was the first time I’d ever been.” I’d felt like a queen, dressed in a designer gown and wearing a diamond choker he’d presented me with before we’d left. “And then, in the next breath, he’ll say something that seems purposely intended to remind me how I got here.” Something that reminds me that I’m just a little more than a slave.
Except I don’t really feel like a slave.
Not anymore.
“There are times when I… I miss him. Can you believe that?” The words almost surprise me when I hear myself say them out loud. How could I miss someone I’m trying to get away from? “He works so much and leaves me alone all day. Aside from those goons who follow me around all day. And aside from my time with you…”
You’re definitely going insane, Tee.
But who could blame me? My entire life boiled down to spending my days within the confines of an opulent mansion, guarded by a group of thugs, talking to Irina, and having mind-blowing sexual encounters with Kirill in the evenings. And it’s only been three weeks since I got sold at an auction and that my father was gunned down in front of me. It’s a lot to process for any normal person. Who wouldn’t go crazy under such circumstances?
I give a tiny start when Irina turns to look at me with a clarity that makes me blink back at her in alarm. But then her lips curl into a sweet but vacant smile as she looks down at where her hands are clasped on an embroidered quilt that’s been tucked over her knees.
I smile back. I know that she’s slipped into that strange world of hers again. It makes me sad. And lonely. And sorry for her. No decent human being would stay sane after what she’s gone through.
But there is also something else. Something that is weighing on my mind, penetrating my thoughts for the last few days.
Something really big…
“I’ve missed my period,” I whisper when it seems she’s dozed off again. “What am I going to do, Irina?” I sink deeper into my chair and rub my forehead. It hadn’t occurred to me until the start of this week that I was four days late; I’ve always been like clockwork.
