Ivory Oath

4. Viviana

I can hear the rain. It’s making me thirsty.

It feels like such a waste, all of that water pouring into the ground and not a single drop of it making its way to me. The window in my old apartment leaked every time it rained. I stuffed the crack with a towel and replaced it every hour while the rain lasted. Right now, I’d wring that dirty city water straight into my mouth if I could.

The only water I get is with my meals. It’s a small cup three times per day. It’s enough to keep me alive, but it’s nowhere near enough.

Why couldn’t there be a leak in the ceiling above my bed? I’d sit here with my mouth open for hours gathering every drop. I’d look like Dante when he ran around trying to eat snowflakes last Christmas.

I dismiss that thought as quickly as it appears. I have to be careful where I let my mind wander. Right now, I can only think about what I can control.

Which isn’t much.

I stare up at the painfully dry ceiling and groan with my painfully dry throat.

I can’t be buried too deeply underground if I can still hear rain pattering off the roof, right? I choose to see that as a good sign. Mostly because nothing else going on in my life could be interpreted as anything even close to good, and I need a win right now.

The metal bed frame squeaks as I roll over. The mattress is actually not terrible, but I’d give the chains around my ankles and wrists a firm zero stars. My skin is itchy and raw from the constant friction. After two days, I’m at the point of begging to have them taken off, but there’s no one to beg. The monosyllabic man who brings me food doesn’t seem very sympathetic and Trofim hasn’t come to see me in two days. At least, I think it’s been two days.

That’s a win in some ways, too.

But I also know the only reason he hasn’t visited is because he’s off cooking up plans on how to torture me for the rest of my life—however long that life may be.

If he was spending his time in this cell with me, I might be able to think this is the worst it will ever get. Unfortunately, I know better.

My hands fall to my stomach. To the baby growing inside.

This would be easier if I wasn’t pregnant. It would also be a hell of a lot easier to stop eating and drinking the measly rations Trofim sends and let myself die as a dried-out husk in this room.

But I can’t do that without hurting my baby, so I’m still here.

The bolt in the door clicks open and, for a second, I’m shocked that it’s already mealtime again. The hours in here stretch like taffy. Each time the door opens and more food is brought in, I’m not sure if it’s been hours or days since I’ve eaten.

But right now, I know it hasn’t been very long.

Then the door opens and I see why.

Trofim stops in the doorway, his hands folded behind his back. “Excited to see me?”

I shrink back against the wall. It’s easy to think about Trofim as some annoying pest when he isn’t right in front of me. Like he’s nothing more than some washed-up, has-been loser. It was so easy for Mikhail to overpower him that I can forget how terrifying he is.

Then he looms over me and I can’t think about anything else.

“Or are you still waiting for my brother to break through that door and fuck everything up again?” he hisses.

“He saved me.” My voice is hoarse. I haven’t used it in days. “You’re the one who fucked everything up. Mikhail?—”

“Isn’t coming,” he finishes for me. Trofim kicks the door closed and reveals a water bottle from behind his back.

In an instant, my focus changes. Trofim is a threat, but dehydration is a bigger one.

I need that water.

Trofim knows this, which is why he takes a long, slow pull on the bottle.

Nothing about Trofim is attractive, but I’m mesmerized by the movement of his throat as he swallows. My body tries to mirror it, but my esophagus is made of sandpaper. My insides grind together dryly.

“Mikhail isn’t coming for you, Viviana. He tossed your ass on the curb for me to find.” Trofim grips my chin and the only reason I don’t flinch away is because it puts me closer to the water bottle in his other hand. “After the way you embarrassed me the night before our wedding, I should kill you. I could… if I wanted.”

“You are killing me,” I rasp. “I’m thirsty.”

Trofim ignores me. “But I’m giving you another chance. You get to make the choice you should have made all those years ago and choose the better man. The stronger man.”

It’s hilarious. If every fiber of my being wasn’t focused on getting a single gulp of water, I’d laugh in his face.

“Please, Trofim.” I rotate my face into his hand, nuzzling his clammy palm with my cheek. “I’m thirsty.”

I feel disgusting. Pathetic. Like a street cat begging for scraps.

Trofim runs his fingers through my knotted-up hair and instantly, I want to shave my head. Hell, I want to peel my skin off where he touches me. I’d even go so far as to?—

Suddenly, he fists his hand in my hair.

“Ow!” I yelp. My neck strains as he tips my head back.

Trofim gives me a tight smile. “Open your mouth, Viviana.”

If I had any extra moisture in my body at all, I’d spit at him. Instead, I slowly let my mouth fall open.

Trofim lifts the water bottle over my mouth, tipping it painfully slowly towards my parted lips. Too thirsty to be ashamed, I fight against his hold on my hair to get closer.

“Be patient,” Trofim growls. “I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”

The first drop of water splashes into my mouth and I actually moan. It’s barely enough to bother swallowing, but I gulp at it desperately.

I’m still waiting for more water when Trofim’s mouth crashes over mine.

His tongue dives into my open mouth and I nearly gag from the force of it. I try to jerk away, but he has a firm hold on my hair.

I’m suffocating. He drops his weight onto the chain dangling from my wrists, and I’m pinned down. I can’t move, can’t breathe.

When Trofim pulls back just an inch, I gasp for air. He tugs on my hair, arching my neck even further. “Don’t fight it, Viviana.”

He leans forward to kiss me again and I flinch away. I don’t have anywhere to go, but he notices.

“The sooner you accept that you and I are going to end up together, the better off you’ll be.” His eyes are black as he leans down to kiss me again.

I squeeze my eyes closed and let him.

It’s a claiming, bruising kiss. When Trofim slides closer, I’m terrified this won’t stop at a kiss.

But finally, he pulls back.

He studies my face and I will myself not to cry. I don’t want to make him angry. Even worse, I don’t want him to like it. As soon as Trofim thinks he can torture me like this, he will.

So I meet his eyes, desperate to give him nothing.

“I can give you what you want, Viviana,” he advises, backing towards the door, taking the water bottle with him. “If you’ll let me.”

He can’t give me Dante. Or Mikhail. He can’t give me anything I want.

I can still hear the rain pounding on the roof as Trofim slips out of the room and closes the door behind him.

When I’m alone, I bury my face in the mattress and sob.

And all I can think is, What a waste of tears.