Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
“Anissa”
I stir in my sleep, somewhere caught between reality and a drugged state of consciousness.
There's… a woman in my dreams. A woman with silvery gray hair and kind eyes, and my heart aches because I know her.
“Mom?” I want to say, but that doesn't seem right; something's wrong with it.
"Where are you, Polina?" She wrings her hands, and she's crying. There's a man—no, there are several men, faceless but not quite strangers, there with her, comforting her. They're familiar, but I couldn't name them. I couldn't place them.
My heart aches. I reach for her, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
I try, desperate to communicate with her as she gets farther and farther away from me.
I can’t see how she’s drifting away, so I’m helpless to get to her or bring her back to me until her back is to me.
The farther she goes, the harder I try to get her attention.
"I'm here," I want to say, which makes no sense to me, even in my dream, because… my name is not Polina. My name is Anissa. I have no mother. And who are the strangers?
Half waking, I feel strong arms around me, warm, comforting. Restrictive. I scream and thrash, but it does no good. I open my eyes and sit up, gasping for air.
I turn toward Rafail… my husband. He holds me. "You're all right," he says, and even though it looks like he's trying to soothe me, concern is written across his features. "I've got you. It was just a dream. Just a dream."
It’s terrifying to wake from one dream only to realize that you’re living in a nightmare. "It's all right," he says, his voice softer this time.
I remind myself over and over… My husband. This is my husband. I married him and wear his ring. I still don’t remember.
There's some comfort in at least knowing who he is. This is my husband. I'm getting to know him, and I’m safe. I’m okay.
All right, I can do this. Just as a trial, I push one of his arms, which is wrapped around me, until he lets me go. He’s only trying to comfort me, not restrain me.
This time.
Still, my heart is beating so fast that I feel a little sick.
I sit up in bed and look around the room. "It was just a dream," I repeat.
We had sex the first night, the two of us, and it’s been a few days since then. He’s touched me, talked to me, but mostly worked hard at making sure no one bothered me so I could “rest” and “recover.”
I won't call it making love because I don't know him well enough to call this anything even close to that. There’s something about the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, that spoke more to me than his harsh words and angry glares.
This man, who is still a practical stranger to me, is a lover. He knows his way around my body, and I definitely enjoyed the novelty of being with him. It was nice to lose myself in him for a little while.
“What’s going on?” he asks in a low, husky murmur.
"Do you want to talk about it? Was it a…
bad dream or something?" he says. There's a little divot between his brows that tells how much effort it takes for him to be gentle. He’s worried about me.
Give Rafail Kopolov a sword and tell him to slay your dragons, and he'll do it without hesitation. Ask him to talk about emotions, and he’s terribly out of his element.
I may not know who I am, but I'm starting to get to know who he is.
"It was," I say quietly, looking away because I'm still trying to sift through the memory of what happened. "There was a woman—an older woman, someone who could've been my mother. But you told me I don’t have a mother."
"You don't," he says quietly. There’s no sign of a lie.
“She called me Polina.” I look at his face for some sign of recognition, but either he's a very good liar, or the name is unfamiliar to him too.
"I've never heard that name before," he says. "I mean, I don’t know anyone who goes by that name.”
I open my mouth to tell him, but something holds me back. I look away.
I am vulnerable, split wide open, and completely at his mercy.
Who is Polina?
Maybe I need to keep a few things to myself. Maybe—
His finger under my chin gets my attention. I swing my gaze to his as he cups my jaw. "You looked like you were going to speak and then stopped. What is it?"
"The name wasn't unfamiliar to me, Rafail. It felt… like it fit.”
He stares at me and nods, perplexed. “That isn’t your name. I know these types of medications can really wreck dreams. I'll ask the doctor to put you on something else tonight.” He frowns. “How's your pain level?" He’s eager to get answers, something tangible.
A dragon to slay.
"Manageable," I say softly because it is much better than it was. I sigh. I feel like one of those people in a movie, gifted with a vision and determined to get others to see what they can’t. Any moment, he’ll take my temperature to see if I’m delusional.
Quietly, thoughtfully, he pulls me over to him and holds me against his chest, then wraps one arm around me tentatively, as if he knows it's something he should do, but he doesn't quite know how.
I let him comfort me. It feels like a choice.
In the soft quiet of early morning, the memory of the dream fades until it's just that… a distant memory. A dream that I'll forget. I hope I do because it only makes me nervous, like a fear of forgetting something important on overdrive. I’ve forgotten everything important.
I try to go back to sleep, but after the shot of adrenaline and triggering memories, I am wide awake.
I think with my eyes closed. Then I open them and stare at the ceiling.
I enjoy the comforting heft of his arm strewn over me, but I can't tell if he's sleeping or not.
I try to take a look—his eyes are closed, but he may be awake.
I reach over, grab one of his small chest hairs, and give it a little tug. His eyes fly open.
"What the fuck?"
"Sorry," I say, trying to stifle a laugh. "I didn't know if you were sleeping or not."
"If I was, I'd be wide awake now," he says. His voice is still all sleepy-husky. It's sexy as hell.
"Sorry," I repeat. "Get some rest. I need to get up."
He grunts and closes his eyes.
An undeniable urge to run courses through me. I run early in the morning. I need that. I know that now. Impossible to do with this damn cast, but I’ll get there again. I’ve been cooped up in this room, in this bed, and I’m ready to get out of here.
Polina—it's the one thing from my memory I can't forget. A name. It’s mine. Somehow, the name Polina is more familiar to me than Anissa. It’s like solving a riddle, and the answer to it is just beyond my reach.
Rafail seems as clueless as me, at least when it comes to my name.
Every once in a while, I get a hint he’s hiding something from me, but right now, he seems genuinely confused.
As I still against him, watching light filter through sheer curtains, my thoughts are jumbled and confused.
Polina.
The name sits in my mind, clinging with the memory of something I can't shake. The older woman… her tears, stricken face… she seemed familiar, like someone I would know. But who? Not old enough to be a grandmother, yet the desperate way she called my name… she didn’t feel like a stranger to me.
I push myself out of bed quietly, thankful I am not in as much pain as I was before.
Maybe he was right about the medication.
When I look over, one of his arms is across his brow, and he snores gently.
I feel the urge to run again. I want to escape the confines of this room.
The confusion. But I hesitate. I don't know who I am or even where I am, and it's dangerous out there.
Still, I need air and space to think. I tug on a loose pair of sweats with wide bottoms that fit over my cast and a T-shirt. I look around the room. Now that I’m dressed, I don't know what to do with myself. I need a damn pair of crutches.
"Where do you think you're going?"
I shouldn’t be surprised at how easily he wakes.
I turn to see Rafail sitting up, his gaze locked on mine and that perpetual scowl on his face. Though his voice is calm as usual, there's an unstable edge to it.
"I'm just going outside," I say, trying to sound casual like it's not a big deal and I'm not trying to escape the suffocation of this room. “I want fresh air.”
"How? You don't have any crutches."
“I can manage to hobble around outside.”
"You're not hobbling around outside," he says firmly, swinging his legs out of the bed before he stands. "No way."
I cross my arms, defiance bubbling up inside me. "Why not? I need some fresh air. I need to clear my brain."
Fortunately for him, he has use of both legs, so he makes short work of closing the distance between us. As my heart beats faster, I hold onto a chest of drawers to steady myself. "It's not safe out there."
Now it’s my turn to frown. "What am I, Rapunzel?"
He glares at me and doesn’t answer.
I throw up my hands. "Where is it safe, then?"
I watch as he stabs a finger at his chest. "With me."
Sadness settles over me as I look around the room. It's a prison in here.
"What's so dangerous out there?" I ask, and I try to be brave, but my voice trembles a little. Outside the window, the sun has begun to rise, bright light tickling the edges of the estate. And what an estate it is, at least based on what I can see from here.
There's hope in the air, promise, and I know then why I like the early morning.
I stare out the open window like a bird in a cage, peering out into freedom and possibility.
I swallow hard, my emotions wobbly and unpredictable.
It's hard enough not knowing who I am. Harder still not knowing when or how I’ll ever have freedom again.
"You’ll do what I say, Anissa.”
I sigh and don’t respond as he continues. “I have enemies, and so do you. For now, we're keeping our distance. You've got a lot to do around here. You don't know anybody in this house, and before the accident, you had work you were going to do for me."