Chapter 17 Elena
ELENA
Iwake to the sound of my own breathing. It catches me off guard because I'm not coughing or gasping. I'm just breathing.
My eyes open slowly, my vision adjusting to the light coming in. The bedroom slowly comes into focus.
I don't move at first. I just lie there, going over each part of my body in my head, taking stock of how I'm doing.
The nausea that's been gnawing at my stomach for days is gone. The sharp, stabbing headache that's been pulsing behind my eyes is gone, too.
The trembling, the cold sweats, the deep exhaustion, all of it is gone.
I place my hand on my chest. Even my heartbeat feels stable and not erratic anymore.
I sit up slowly, pushing the blanket off.
My skin is damp, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. The sheets beneath me are cool with sweat, like I've just broken a fever.
I glance at the nightstand and see a few towels and a bucket that thankfully is empty.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stand and wait.
The room doesn't spin. I take a step, and then another. No wobble, no off-balance feeling, none of it.
For the first time in what feels like forever, my body feels like it belongs to me again.
I walk over to the bathroom slowly, testing my balance with each step.
The door is still splintered near the lock where Adrian forced it open days ago.
The memory rushes back. Me on the floor, vomiting until there was nothing left, Adrian kneeling beside me him holding my hair back. Me asking him to stay.
I grip the edge of the doorframe, my chest feeling tight.
And since then he's stayed by my side.
The thought twists something inside me, and I don't know if it's gratitude or shame or something darker.
I step into the bathroom and flip on the light. I catch sight of myself in the mirror above the sink and freeze.
My hair is a tangled mess, dull and lifeless where it used to shine. My skin is pale and clammy, and the dark circles under my eyes make me look sick.
My lips are cracked, and my color is gone.
I look like a damn ghost.
I turn away from my reflection and move to the shower, twisting the knob until water streams from the showerhead.
Steam begins to rise as I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The hot water hits my skin like a thousand tiny needles.
I tilt my head back, letting the water cascade over me. I feel like it's washing away everything I've been through in the past two days. Hell, the past 18 months actually.
I know that's impossible but a girl can hope. It does feel like the first time in months I've felt clean.
Maxim's house had showers, of course, but they were always monitored. Anya would stand outside the door, listening, making sure I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to.
Here, I'm alone.
I reach for the bar of soap on the ledge and scrub my skin, washing away the grime and the invisible stain of Maxim's hands.
I wash my hair twice, working the shampoo through the tangles, rinsing until the water runs clear.
After I rinse the conditioner out, I finish up and turn off the water. I step out and wrap a towel around myself and stand in front of the mirror again, wiping the steam away with my hand.
My reflection stares back at me, clearer now.
Still broken, but I can see part of me again.
I turn and walk back into the bedroom, pulling on the clean clothes Adrian found and left folded on the chair, a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt.
They're too big, but they're warm and they don't smell like Maxim's cologne or Moscow.
I sit on the edge of the bed, running my fingers through my damp hair, thinking.
Wait, I'm actually thinking clearly.
This is the most clear-headed I've been.
And then it hits me. My brain fog is completely gone. For the first time in eighteen months, there's no chemical blanket muffling my thoughts.
No artificial calm smoothing over the jagged edges of my emotions or numbing me to keep the rage at bay.
And the rage. It's been there the whole time, simmering beneath the surface, waiting. But now there's nothing holding it back.
It floods through me like fire, hot and uncontrollable, burning away everything else.
I grip my knees through my sweatpants as the anger roars louder, drowning out every rational thought.
Why didn't he come sooner?
The question fills my head, demanding an answer.
Eighteen months.
Eighteen fucking months.
I was there, drugged and beaten and sold, and he was where?
Living his life?
Breathing free air while I suffocated in the dark?
My hands curl into fists and the sudden urge to scream overtakes me.
I want to break something. I want to hurt him the way I've been hurt.
And beneath the rage, there's something else that's fueling all this, too.
Shame.
I think of the men who looked at me before I arrived in Moscow.
I think of Maxim's hands on my skin, his breath on my neck, his voice in my ear telling me I belonged to him.
I think of the pills he forced down my throat, the way he paraded me through rooms full of people who looked at me like I was a prize to be won.
And I think of Adrian.
The boy who kissed me in the square and promised to protect me.
The boy who left me to rot.
The shame twists into something darker, something uglier.
Is this my fault?
Did I do something to deserve this?
Am I not worthy anymore because of what I'd let happen to me?
Or is it all because of him?
My breathing quickens, my chest constricts as the thoughts spiral out of control.
I can't sit here anymore. I can't stay in this room with this anger clawing at my insides.
I need to see him. I need to know why.
I stand abruptly and march out of the bedroom.
Moving down the hallway, I'm not even sure where I'm going, but the anger is pushing me.
I follow the sound of movement, my pulse pounding in my ears, my hands trembling with the force of the rage building inside me.
I find him in the living room.
He's sitting in a chair, his phone in his hand, typing something.
Beside him, the fire crackles.
He looks fine, content even, and that snaps loose everything.
"Adrian."
My voice is sharp, assertive.
He looks up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.
For a split second, I see relief flash across his face, and then he takes in the look on mine.
He stands, his phone lowering to his side.
"Leni..."
"Don't."
The word comes out fast, and he stops mid-step.
I take a step closer, my hands still fists at my sides.
"Why?"
He doesn't answer.
"Why didn't you come sooner?"
My voice rises, sharp and raw, and I take another step toward him.
"Why did you let them take me? Why did you let me stay in that place while he..."
My voice breaks, and I choke on the words.
"While he put his hands on me? While he drugged me and treated me like I was nothing?"
Adrian's jaw tightens, but he doesn't speak.
He just stands there, his eyes on me, his body rigid.
"Eighteen months, Adrian. Eighteen fucking months!"
I'm screaming now and shaking with rage, but I don't care.
"Where were you, huh? Where the fuck were you?!"
He opens his mouth, but no words come out.
And that's when the rage takes over completely.
I lunge at him.
My fists slam into his chest, hard and fast. The impact sends a jolt up my arm.
He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch.
I hit him again, harder this time, the sound of my fists against his solid muscles echoing through the room.
"Why didn't you save me?!"
I scream the words, my vision blurring with tears, my hands aching with every blow.
"Why didn't you come for me?!"
I keep hitting him, over and over, my lungs burning, my arms trembling with the effort.
And he just stands there.
He doesn't catch my wrists or try to restrain me. He doesn't tell me to calm down.
He just takes it. Every hit. Every scream.
Every ounce of rage I've been carrying since the day they came for me.
He absorbs it all, his body solid and unmoving.
"I hate you!"
The words tear out of me, broken, and I pound my fists against his chest again.
"I hate you so much!"
My hands are on fire now, shaking with exhaustion.
But I can't stop hitting him, and I can't stop screaming.
Because if I stop, I'll have to face the truth.
That I don't hate him, that I never could.
That the part of me that still loves him is what hurts the most.
My vision blurs completely now as tears stream down my face, and my legs give out.
I collapse against his chest, my fists uncurling, my palms pressing flat against his shirt. I sob into his chest, my body shaking, my breaths coming in short, desperate gasps.
And then his arms wrap around me, and he pulls me against him, one hand pressing against the back of my head, the other wrapping around my waist.
He buries his face in my hair, and his voice is low when he speaks.
“You are my breath, my life, my everything. And I failed you.”
The words hit me like a blow, and I gasp, my fingers clutching at his shirt.
"I'm so so sorry, Leni. I'm so fucking sorry."
He holds me tighter.
"Hit me again if you have to. I deserve it all. Hate me all you want, because the truth is, I hate myself for everything that has happened to you.”
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his dark eyes burning with something raw and fierce.
"But I am never letting you go. Never letting anything happen to you ever again."
His arms tighten around me, and I break completely.
I bury my face in his chest, my sobs tearing through me, and he holds me through every single one.
He doesn't let go or pull away.
He just holds me up, his body a solid anchor in my chaos.
And for the first time in eighteen months, I let myself fall apart.
Because, no matter what, I know in this moment with him, despite all my swirling emotions, Adi is the only person I want with me. The only person who is the constant light in my darkness.