36. 36 – Stasi
I stumble from the room, blindly turning towards my bedroom instead of the kitchen. I close the door and press myself against it, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths.
I need a minute.
More than a minute.
I need to not go back into that fucking room tonight. I don’t want to watch them with her, don’t want to see Rafe’s hand touching her fucking arm.
And the smug look in Ella’s eyes as she looked at me, the knowledge between us, her silent message that she has won and I have lost – is almost too much.
And them. After everything – I thought we had made progress, that they were starting to see – but if tonight has proved anything, it’s that all I am to them is a commodity. Something to pass the time with.
Silas hasn’t even looked at me, when last night he didn’t look away while he was inside me.
“Stupid, Anastasia,” I breathe. My vision blurs, the prickling at the back of my eyes threatening to spill over. “So fucking stupid.”
Everything that I thought we had, that we were staring to find again. It all feels like ashes in my mouth, nothing but a package of pretty lies.
And I have to go and face them again. Another round, another knife in my chest.
But they’ll be leaving soon. Dinner will be over, and Ella will leave.
Another hour, maybe two at a maximum.
I can do that.
Not that I have a choice. But I take another, fortifying breath and spin, pulling the door open.
Pink lips twist up. “ There you are.”
Ella shoves me back into the room with a hard push to my shoulder, leaving the door ajar. “I’ve been walking up and down the hall looking for you.”
She sounds irritated. I cross my arms as she looks around my basic room. Her lip curls. “They seem to be taking very good care of you. I’ll confess that I’m a little disappointed. It hardly seems fair, does it?”
I stay still, watching her. “You’re fucking delusional, you know.”
She makes a show of checking her pale pink nails, studying them. Her fingers brush against the ridiculously sized stone on her finger. Her engagement ring. “That’s no way to speak to your future queen, Anastasia.”
And then she straightens. “I don’t think I’m very happy with this arrangement after all. Crispin promised me that you were being punished. You don’t look like you’re being punished.”
My hands tighten into fists. “What more do you possibly want? Twenty years of my life , Ella. Do you truly hate me so much that even that isn’t enough for you?”
“Yes,” she hisses. Her face darkens, mouth twisting as the last bit of the facade she keeps up slides away. “I despise you.”
“I never did anything to you,” I force out through the anger in my chest. It feels like it’s growing, that it’s going to swallow me up if I don’t hold it back. “I never hurt you, Ella. We both know it. And I’m the one with the fucking scars to prove it. Now get out of my way.”
I try to push past her, but her nails bite into my arm as she shoves me back.
I ball up my fists, fully intending on making her move, but she waggles her finger at me. “Touch me, and you’ll be back in the main prison before midnight. Parrish is missing you dreadfully, I hear.”
I stiffen. “What the hell do you want?”
Ella’s laugh is low and vicious. She clicks her tongue. “Since I can’t seem to trust in Crispin to dish out an appropriate punishment, I’ll have to do it myself.”
She twists, opening up my wardrobe as I stare.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She glances at me from over her shoulder. “You don’t seem to have any belts here. Why is that?”
My whole body goes cold. Numb.
“If you think that I’ll stand here and accept that without a fight,” I grit out, “you’re wrong. And I don’t give a damn what happens to me because of it.”
She pushes the door closed with a sigh as I try to move past her again. “Such a pity. You used to be far more agreeable. I suppose I’ll have to make do.”
Her hand whips out, and she backhands me across the face.
My head yanks violently to the side, and I stumble into the wall, smacking my face against it. A small, pained noise rips from my throat as ringing erupts in my ears.
“There,” Ella says primly. I blink through the tears at her. “That’s better. I do hope you haven’t damaged my ring, Anastasia.”
My hand raises to my mouth. The pads of my fingers come away stained with red, the cut in my lip dripping. “You need help,” I breathe. “Truly, Ella.”
She only smiles. “Do I, though? Or are you so desperate to prove yourself that you hit yourself in the face? Such a petty, jealous way to live, Anastasia. Perhaps in another few years, you’ll be more accepting of the consequences of your actions. I’ll have to make visits on a more regular basis.”
She walks past me, pulling the door open. “You really should put some ice on that. Your face is quite vile enough without the swelling.”
Her heels click against the wooden floor as she walks away, and my ass hits the floor with a thump as I lean my head back against the wall.
I must have a fucking punchbag for a face. First Lazarus, now Ella. The slicing, sharp pain fades to a dull ache as I sit there, cautiously prodding at the blood with my tongue until I’m certain the bleeding has stopped.
Slowly, I get to my feet, wondering how I’m going to explain this. Or maybe Ella is already spinning her fantasy tale, eyes wide in false sympathy at my strange behavior. I’ll make a stop at the bathroom, see how bad it looks first.
With a sigh, I glance up to the doorway.
And the two men filling it stare back at me.
Kit takes a slow step forward, his hands raised. His eyes are fixed on my mouth. “Stasi.”
His voice is rough, guttural. His finger brushes against my mouth, just barely.
I swallow. Search for an explanation. “I… I was just…,”
“We heard,” Rafe says behind him. His tone is frigid. “We heard all of it. You don’t need to make up an excuse.”
His tone is ice cold as he steps inside, flanking Kit so they’re both surrounding me.
“All of it?” I ask weakly.
Rafe’s nod is slow. He reaches out and turns my head to the side, examining it. “This wasn’t the first time she’s hurt you.”
There’s no question in his words, and I shrink back, away from the judgment in his tone. “I didn’t do anything, I swear—,”
And I let out a muffled grunt, as Rafe’s arms wrap around me. “Jesus Christ,” he snaps into my hair. “Do you really think we’re blaming you ?”
Tension lines every one of my muscles, stopping me from sinking into him, from drawing on the warmth of his body to chase away the ice in my own. “That is normally what happens.”
“Stasi,” Kit breathes. His face is drawn. “I didn’t know she was hurting you.”
I shake my head as best I can, even with Rafe wrapped around me. Slowly, I step away from him. His hands drop to his side, balling into fists. “It’s not… it wasn’t all the time.”
“One fucking time,” Kit snaps. “One time is too damn much.”
“Kit was right.” Rafe’s words make us all fall silent.
And his face… there’s so much pain there. Realization, grief, understanding. “It wasn’t you, was it? It was always her.”
My laugh feels like sandpaper. “And all it took was seeing her slap me across the face to realize it.”
Rafe closes his eyes. “I knew.”
His voice is gravel, low and pained. “I already knew. I just… I just needed to be sure.”
The words send a prickle of foreboding along my spine. “What do you mean? You needed to be sure?”
When he doesn’t answer, the suspicion hardens. Solidifies. “You invited her here. Because you… what? You wanted to prove something?”
His face twists. “No. It wasn’t like that.”
I take a step back from him. I can’t even look at him. “Every time I think you cannot possibly hurt me anymore, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Rafe.”
His head snaps back like he’s the one who’s been hit.
But I’m the one taking all the fucking punches. Over and over again.
“And you.” I turn to Kit. “You… knew about this?”
His violet eyes are dark. Almost black in the low light. “It wasn’t like that. They needed to understand, Stasi. We need to fix this.”
“And now we can,” Rafe adds in a low tone. “She’s not going to get away with this, Stasi.”
He looks so determined. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why let me go through all of that – tonight – and not say anything?”
Rafe’s eyes drop. “Because… I needed to see it. Silas needed to see it.”
“So you arranged it,” I breathe. “And my word wasn’t enough for you, Rafe, was it? Why would you believe me? Why would you trust me ?”
He opens his mouth to argue, and I hold up my hand.
“I get it,” I say, my throat tight. “I honestly do. I lied to you once. But don’t try to tell me how sorry you are now, after you put me on display and paraded me in front of her. After you’ve spent the whole night fucking flirting with her. Own your shitty decisions, the way I owned mine.”
“I’m sorry.” And he looks sorry. His face pale with shock, the sorrow and regret fucking radiate from him. “None of it was real. Not a bit of it.”
My laugh is sad. “It felt real enough to me. I’m going to clean up my face now. I’m still expected back there.”
“You’re not going back,” Kit says firmly. “Rafe will make your apologies, and mine. We’re going to clean up your face.”
Rafe hesitates, but then he nods. “This discussion isn’t over.”
“It feels pretty done to me.” I poke at my face. “Unless you have any other surprises you’d like to tell me about?”
“I deserve that,” he says in a low voice. “And more. But I don’t want any more secrets between us, Stasi. I’m done with them.”
He’s gone before I can respond. Kit nudges me towards the door. He’s silent as we head down towards the kitchen, moving straight past the door to the dining room where voices echo out. I glance around for Ellen as we head down the steps, but she must still be upstairs.
“Sit.” Kit settles me onto a stool, coming back with the first aid kit. “I fucking hate how often I’ve had to do this.”
“Well.” I mumble as he presses gauze against my mouth. “People do seem to enjoy hitting me.”
“That’s not funny,” he snaps.
I lift one shoulder. “Wasn’t supposed to be.”