Chapter 8 Elena
ELENA
Maxim came back late last night.
I heard the door unlock, heard his heavy footsteps stumbling across the threshold. He reeked of whiskey and cigars, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
I was in the bedroom and I froze, holding my breath.
He swayed in the doorway, staring at me for what felt like an eternity. Then he turned, collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, and passed out.
I didn't move for some time, praying that he would just stay asleep and not want my body.
Finally, after he'd been snoring for some time, I got into bed, as far from him as I could, curled up, and fell asleep.
This morning, he woke up, stood over me until I swallowed my pill, then mumbled something about diplomatic meetings all day and then tried to leave without another word.
I should have let him, but I had to ask him what his plans were for me today.
A simple question. A stupid question.
It irritated him that I asked, of course, and he shoved me to the ground for it, though maybe I deserved it. I don't know.
"I was going to tell you to be ready for dinner, but being as you're so fucking needy, maybe I'll rethink this evening," he said, his voice cold and sharp. "Maybe I'll just have you eat in your room instead. Maybe you'll never leave until this event is over."
Then he slammed the door, locked it, and left me here in limbo.
But I know better. I know I have no choice but to act as if I'm going to the dinner.
Being dressed up with nowhere to go is better than not being ready. Maxim wouldn't like that. And being beaten here isn't something I want. It's too hard to hide fresh black eyes or cut lips around lots of people.
Still, I make my small, safe stance and refuse to put the evening gown on yet.
Sitting in my own clothes until the absolute last possible second is the only tiny sliver of control I have left in my life.
So I'll take it and sit here and wait.
My eyelids feel heavy, as do my limbs, too.
I turn my head slowly, my gaze drifting toward the large glass window that leads to the balcony.
The thought surfaces again, quick and quiet.
Jump.
It would be so easy.
Just stand up, walk to the window, and open it. All I'd have to do then is step out onto the balcony, climb over the railing.
And then I blink again and the window is still there. The balcony is still there. But the thought is gone, buried beneath the chemical fog.
I exhale slowly and lean my head back against the wall.
My eyes close.
I don't know how long I sleep, but I know that I do.
When I open my eyes, the light in the room has shifted. The sun is lower now.
I stand and pour myself some water, my mouth feeling dry.
As I drink, I notice a painting on the wall across from me of a field.
Rolling green hills and wildflowers scatter across the grass. A clear blue sky stretching endlessly overhead.
It reminds me of home. My real home.
Romania.
The fields behind our apartment building. A pleasant break from the concrete walls.
My sister and I used to run through them, laughing and shrieking as our dad chased us, pretending to be a monster.
He'd roar and stomp his feet, his hands reaching out to grab us, and we'd scream and run faster, our legs pumping, our lungs burning, our hearts racing.
And when he finally caught us, he'd scoop us up in his arms and spin us around until we were dizzy and gasping for breath, and then he'd kiss our foreheads.
I sigh. God, I wish monsters were only ever make-believe.
I set the glass down and walk away, the image of my father bright in my mind.
Suddenly, the heavy brass door handle jiggles.
I flinch and my elbow knocks into a heavy book resting on the edge of a table.
It crashes to the floor with a loud thud.
My heart slams into my ribs and I hold my breath, staring at the brass handle.
It jiggles again.
Please don't be him. I'm not ready.
I lean forward and listen.
Then, footsteps, and they are walking away.
I let out a shaky breath, my chest heaving. Just a guest with the wrong room maybe. Either way, it's not him.
More time passes, and eventually the lock clicks heavily first, then the handle moves.
This time, it is him.
Maxim storms into the suite. He's radiating violence so greatly that I can feel it before he's even spoken.
The tension, the tightness, and the clear giveaway, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
Some sort of business or political deal downstairs went wrong. It must have.
He loosens his tie and paces the room for a few moments, breathing heavily.
His gaze finally snaps to me.
"Why the fuck are you not dressed?"
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
"I asked you a question." His voice is low, dangerous.
"You." My voice cracks and I swallow hard and clear my throat. "You came back early. I didn't know."
"You didn't know?" He laughs in that condescending way he does. "You didn't know that when I tell you to be ready, you are supposed to be ready?"
"I'm sorry. I'll—"
"You will what?" He steps closer, towering over me. "You'll embarrass me? Is that what you'll do? You'll walk into that dining hall looking like this, and everyone will see what a disobedient little whore I've been keeping?"
"No. No, I promise. I'll be ready. I won't embarrass you."
He raises his hand.
I shrink into myself, bowing my head, verbally agreeing to everything to de-escalate him.
"I will be good. I promise. I'm sorry. I'll get dressed right now. Please. I'm sorry."
His hand hovers in the air and I can feel the threat, the violence coiled in his muscles, ready to snap.
I close my eyes, bracing for the impact because I know it's coming.
A massive, loud bang hits the heavy oak door and the wood shakes in its frame.
Maxim stops dead and turns toward the door, his face twisting in fury.
Another bang, harder this time, and the door rattles.
"Go away!" Maxim yells, his voice sharp and venomous. "I am busy!"
The banging doesn't stop.
It gets harder, louder, and faster.
The wood splinters near the lock and I scramble backward, pressing my back against the wall, my hands fumbling in front of me.
Maxim walks toward the door, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched.
"I said go the fuck away!" he roars and switches to yelling in Russian. It's too fast for me to understand.
Another bang.
And another.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Who is trying to break in? Why? What's going on? This doesn't make sense.
Maxim reaches for the door handle, his hand gripping it tightly as he turns it.
And then.
It bursts wide open.