Chapter 4 Elena
ELENA
The dining room swallows me whole.
That's what it feels like every single morning. The ceiling stretches twenty feet above my head, painted with frescoes of Russian saints with golden halos, the exact opposite of anyone's traits in this house.
The table extends the length of the room, dark mahogany polished to a mirror shine. Twenty-two chairs line its edges, ten on each side, and one at each end.
But as usual, only one seat is occupied. Mine.
The plate in front of me holds food I didn't ask for. Blini with caviar, smoked salmon, and a side of fresh berries arranged in a perfect circle.
Two crystal glasses flank my tray, one with orange juice and the other with water.
I haven't touched any of it.
My hands rest in my lap as I stare out the open window, daydreaming about my life that I used to have. About my family, my sister, and sometimes still, him.
The breeze hits my face and for a moment I think about how absurd it is to feel a lovely, gentle breeze that carries the fresh scent of flowers and joy while being trapped in hell.
Like clockwork, Anya stands near the door, her hands clasped in front of her black uniform. She's a few years younger than me, maybe twenty-two, with pale blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. I don't think I've ever seen her do it any other way.
Her eyes keep darting to the breakfast tray and I know exactly what she's looking at.
That damn thing sits on a small silver dish beside my water glass. Pale blue and the size of a Tic Tac.
"Ma'am," Anya says, her voice cutting through the silence and my wandering thoughts.
I blink, but keep my gaze fixed on the window.
"Ma'am, you know you need to take your pill."
No one cares if I eat, but skipping my "medicine" isn't allowed.
I slowly look down at the silver tray where it rests.
"If Mr. Volkov finds out you haven't taken it..."
"He'll what?" I ask, my voice hoarse from disuse.
Anya's breath hitches and she shifts at my question, the sound of her shoes squeaking against the marble floor.
"He'll be very disappointed," she says carefully. "Please, ma'am. Don't make this difficult. Not today. Not with your trip."
I almost laugh.
Me making all this difficult? Unbelievable.
Even if I were, it's not as if Maxim Volkov is capable of something as human as disappointment. As if he doesn't have a dozen other ways to express his displeasure that don't involve words at all.
That thought makes my jaw ache again.
The phantom pain shoots through the bone and radiates into my skull.
I remember the first week here. The first time they brought me the pill.
I refused and even spat it back in Maxim's face.
The guard grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back so hard I thought my neck would snap. Maxim's fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my jaw open. Someone else pinched my nose shut.
I couldn't breathe.
I thrashed and kicked and tried to bite, but they held me down. The pill scraped against my tongue, so bitter and chalky. Water came next and I choked on it, gasping and sputtering.
They didn't let go until I swallowed.
Then they did it again the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
Until I stopped fighting.
My fingers unclench in my lap, and I reach for the pill.
Anya exhales, relief washing over her face like she's the one avoiding punishment.
I pick it up between my thumb and forefinger. I used to wonder what it was, what chemical cocktail they designed to keep me docile and compliant, but I don't wonder anymore.
I just know what happens when I don't take it.
The memories come back too strong. Not the soft, golden ones of my family or of Adrian spinning me in the courtyard or kissing me by the fountain. No, those memories of him are locked away where I pretend I can't reach them.
The ones that come back are darker.
The ones that whisper in my ear late at night when the house is silent and I'm alone.
You could open the window.
You could climb onto the ledge.
You could jump.
It would be instant. You'd be free.
My hand trembles. I need the pill now. I hate that I need it, but I do.
Because without it, I don't trust myself not to listen to those whispers. Without it, I'm not sure I want to keep surviving this, and through it all, there's still some fucked up hopeful part of me that clings to the hope that somehow it'll all get better.
"I'll take it now," I say softly. "Tell him I did."
I place the pill on my tongue and reach for the water glass. The liquid is ice-cold as it slides down my throat, carrying the pill with it.
"Very good, ma'am," she says, her tone warmer now.
She moves forward and begins gathering the untouched plates. The berries. The blini. The salmon that smells like the sea I'll probably never see again.
"When you're ready," she says, stacking the dishes on the silver tray, "go upstairs. Olga is waiting to help you pack for the trip."
I can't believe it's already been almost a week since he told me about it.
This stupid ambassador summit where Maxim will parade me around like a prized animal and whisper threats disguised as endearments.
I nod, though she's not looking at me anymore. Her main job is done for now.
She lifts the tray and walks toward the door. Her footsteps echo against the marble as she walks away, leaving me alone.
The door closes with a thud, and the silence rushes back in and I sit perfectly still.
My hands return to my lap, fingers loosely curled now. The fight has drained out of me, replaced by the familiar waiting.
The pill doesn't kick in instantaneously, though I wish it did.
I have learned that on an empty stomach it comes on faster, maybe fifteen minutes, so I always skip breakfast. The late afternoon dose takes longer, because I can't go so long without food.
Either way, when it takes me, I know the signs.
First, my limbs will start to feel heavy. Not unpleasant, just weighted. Like I'm sinking into the chair, into the floor, into the earth itself.
Then a sort of buzzing starts.
It begins at the base of my neck and spreads outward, a low hum that drowns out everything else.
My thoughts slow and I feel my heartbeat relax.
The sharp edges of my world soften until everything is muted and distant, and this place doesn't look like hell but more like a nice place with grittiness.
Once I feel that, then I can start my day.
Then I can go upstairs and let Olga dress me like a doll and pack my suitcase and smile when Maxim tells me to smile.
But not yet, not until the drug takes hold.
So I sit and I stare at the window across from me and wonder what my father is doing right now. If my sister still paints and if my mother has her afternoon coffee at that cafe across from their house.
A noise somewhere in the house startles me and I look around the room at the empty chairs. I hate them. They're a constant reminder every single day that I am alone.
That no one is coming.
My throat tightens, and I press my lips together, forcing down any sad emotions.
Fuck, I need this to kick in, I think and rub my forehead as if I can massage the drug into my brain faster.
Besides, crying does nothing.
I used to cry in the beginning. I cried so much I didn't think it was humanly possible. But I learned quickly that crying doesn't change anything.
It doesn't bring Adrian back. It doesn't rewind time to the moment before they took me, and it doesn't undo the eighteen months I've spent in this nightmare.
So I stopped.
I don't cry anymore.
I just wait until... there it is.
Now I can begin my day.
I stand and my legs feel like they belong to someone else, but they carry me across the room. I reach for the handle, my fingers brushing the cold brass.
And then I stop.
I do my final test. I close my eyes, for just a moment, and try to remember what it felt like to be happy.
To laugh.
But the memory won't come, and that's how I truly know the pill has dug into me.
So I open the door and step into the hallway, leaving the empty dining room behind.
And along with it, my thoughts. Now, I can operate on autopilot. I won't have to think.
I won't have to remember. I won't have to feel.
And for now, that's enough.