Chapter 13 Elena
ELENA
Iturn the lock with shaking fingers, and my chest heaves as I back away from the door, one step, then another, my eyes fixed on the handle, waiting for it to rattle.
Waiting for the door to explode inward or for a fist to crash through the wood as he forces his way in to drag me out by my hair.
That's what Maxim would have done.
But none of that happens.
I glance around the room, unsure of where the hell I even am.
The walls are dark wood, and the bed is massive and covered in a thick white duvet. There's a nightstand with a lamp and a door to the left that leads into a full bathroom.
I'm safe here, maybe, but I don't feel that way.
I feel like the walls are closing in, and I can't seem to get a good breath. My hands won't stay still either.
This is all just too much for me.
I mean, the chateau, the blood, Maxim's lifeless body, and Adrian.
Fucking Adrian.
I close my eyes and press the bottom of my palm against my temple as my fingers pull at my hair.
I need to calm down, to breathe.
I need… my pills.
My eyes snap open, and I stumble toward the nightstand where I dropped my small purse earlier.
No, wait. That was in my room with Maxim.
I wasn't carrying anything when Adrian dragged me out of that room.
Panic flares in my chest.
I pat my pockets frantically, digging my fingers into the fabric of the jeans I'm wearing.
Nothing.
I check again, both pockets, front and back, my movements jerky and desperate.
Empty.
No, no, no.
I spin around, foolishly scanning the room like I'll magically find one.
My breathing quickens. I should have grabbed something.
My purse. My coat. Anything.
Why didn't I think?
It's because I wasn't thinking at all.
Because I never had to think. Maxim always made sure I had my pills. He controlled everything, and now I don't have them.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, my legs giving out beneath me.
My hands tremble in my lap, and I curl my fingers into fists, trying to stop the shaking.
But it doesn't stop. It gets worse.
A tingling sensation spreads across my skin, starting at my fingertips and crawling up my arms like a thousand tiny needles.
I rub my hands together, trying to make it go away, but the tingling intensifies, spreading to my legs, my chest, my face.
The room feels freezing, and I pull my arms around myself, shivering, but the cold doesn't last.
A wave of heat crashes over me, and suddenly I'm burning.
I shove my sleeves up, my skin flushed, and I feel sweat beading on my forehead, but nothing's there.
What's happening to me?
A dull pain grows behind my eyes, and it pulses to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
I squeeze my eyes shut and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
Breathe, Elena. Just breathe.
But the panic is rising, making everything worse, and I can't push it down. I've never felt like this before. I must have never gone this long without taking it.
Shit, without the pills, I can't push anything down.
Eighteen months of buried thoughts, suppressed emotions, and silenced screams start clawing their way to the surface, and I can't stop them.
I don't want to feel this, to remember things, but it's too late.
The memories come flooding in, fast and relentless.
The van, the cold concrete floors, the auctions, the other girls, Maxim's voice, low and threatening, telling me I belonged to him now. Everything I was made to do, every movement monitored. All of the beatings.
And finally, Adrian.
Hot anger ignites in my gut as those stupid words he uttered replay in my mind.
How hard this has been.
That's what he said.
Like he's the one who suffered. As if he's the one who was taken and drugged and sold.
Where was he? Where the fuck was he?
I waited and waited, thinking he would come, thinking he would find me.
But he didn't. No, he let me rot.
He let me disappear, and he didn't come for me until now.
Eighteen fucking months later.
The anger cracks, and something darker rushes in to fill the space.
It's raw and devastating, and before I know it, a sob tears out of me, loud and broken. My hand covers my mouth, trying to muffle the sound as I cry.
The tears come fast, streaking down my face, and I can't stop them.
My shoulders shake as I sob into my palm.
I don't want him to hear me. I don't want anyone to hear me.
The cries shake my body, and my chest aches, and I feel like I'm breaking apart from the inside out.
Why didn't he come sooner?
Why didn't he find me before Maxim did all of those things? I was alone and scared and broken.
God, it's all too late. The memories are there, and I can't unsee them.
I sob harder, my entire body trembling, and I hate myself for crying, hate myself for being weak, hate myself for not fighting harder, for not escaping sooner, for not…
A darker thought creeps in, quiet and insidious.
You should have ended it.
You should have jumped from that balcony.
I gasp and shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
No.
No, I can't think like that.
But the thoughts don't stop. They never stop.
They're always there, lurking at the edges of my mind, tempting me.
Only the pills silence them, and now they're gone, and the whispers are getting louder.
I scramble off the bed and stumble toward the bathroom.
Maybe I can splash water on my face to calm down.
But when I reach the bathroom door, I stop, not wanting to even see my own reflection.
I turn back toward the bed, and the room now feels too big, too bright.
I need to hide, disappear from all this.
I lunge for the bed and yank the heavy duvet off, dragging it over my head as I collapse onto the mattress.
The darkness is immediate, but it's too heavy, and I feel like I can't breathe.
I rip the duvet off and gasp for air. The room tilts slightly, and I blink, trying to steady myself.
Suddenly, I'm so tired, and my body feels like it's made of lead, every muscle aching, every bone heavy.
When was the last time I slept without the pills?
I don't remember.
I pull the duvet back over my head, slower this time, and curl into a tight ball beneath it.
The darkness is suffocating, but it's also safe.
No one can see me here as I cry.
I close my eyes, and the sobs finally start to fade, replaced by a deep exhaustion I've never known that pulls at every part of me.
My breathing slows, and my body goes limp as the world around me fades, and before I know it, I'm gone.
brEAK?
I jolt awake, kicking the sheets off of me, and my eyes squint from the sudden brightness.
I groan, turning my face into the pillow to avoid the sunlight. As I fully come to, my head throbs. The headache I felt the twinges of has gotten worse. It's a pulsing pain that radiates from the base of my skull to my temples.
My mouth is dry, my throat raw, and my stomach churns with nausea.
I wonder what time it is.
I blink, squinting at the window, but the light is too bright to tell. Morning, maybe, or early afternoon.
I sit up slowly, my body protesting every movement. I lift my arms out, and my hands tremble.
That mixed with everything, I think I'm having withdrawals.
It's the strangest feeling. My muscles ache, and every joint in my body feels stiff and sore, like I worked out in the gym for hours.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit there for a moment, staring at the floor. I then look up at the door, and the sight of it sends a spike of panic through my chest.
I locked him out. I disobeyed.
Will I be punished?
I force myself to stand because I know I have to open the door and face him. If I don't, it'll just be worse.
I walk slowly toward the door. My fingers hesitate on the lock, and I take a deep breath, bracing myself.
He's going to be angry. I'm sure of it.
I turn the lock and pull the door open.
I tense up, but no one's there. No servant giving me that "you fucked up" look or someone telling me I'm not allowed to leave.
Instead, noise comes from the kitchen as the smell of food drifts down the hall.
I step into the hallway, and the smell gets stronger as I move toward the kitchen.
I round the corner and stop. Adrian is standing at the stove, his back to me.
He's not holding a gun or a belt to hit me.
He's holding a spatula.
The pan sizzles on the stove in front of him.
For a split second, the monster fades. Images of the blood-splattered man who killed three men last night disappear into slow-moving memories.
And now, standing in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast, is the silly boy from Bucharest who stole my heart.
The boy who used to try and sneak into my bedroom at 2 a.m. The one who moved me out of the concrete place in the city to a nice home in Bra?ov.
The one who laughed when I burnt dinner and kissed me anyway.
The man I loved.
My breath catches, and I don't move.
I just stand there, staring at him, my heart pounding.
He hasn't noticed me yet.
He's focused on the pan, and for the first time since he burst through that door at the chateau, I see him.
It doesn't last long, however, for the memories to turn dark, and anger lines my thoughts.