Chapter 7
NALA
I’m alone inside Roman’s apartment.
Or, inside the apartment he’s keeping me hidden inside. I don’t believe for a second this is his actual apartment. It’s too bare, like no one ever really lived here. I bet he has a much nicer place somewhere else.
I stand slowly and cross the room, careful with my injured foot. I stop in front of the window, my hand hovering near the blinds before I remember Roman’s warning. They stay down. Always.
I’m tempted to lift them, take a peek outside but I don’t know if he’d find out and I don’t want to risk it. I don’t know what would happen if I upset him for real. He didn’t react when I implied he wasn’t a real businessman, but I don’t want to push my luck and find out what really sets him off.
Weirdly enough, without Roman here, I don’t know what to do with myself. In the basement my routine was easy. I’d wake up, eat when I got food and spend the rest of the time staring at the ceiling and fantasizing. And of course, sleep and wait for Grigori.
I didn’t have to do anything down because there wasn’t much to do. There’s not much to do here either, but at least I don’t have to waste away on a mattress with no space to move. Here I can walk and not feel completely caged in.
Still, I need something to focus on. I need a task. I need… I need to see myself.
I’ve been putting it off since last night when I noticed the mirror in the bathroom.
I got scared and turned my head, pretending it wasn’t there.
Even after I showered this morning, I kept my head down, too embarrassed and nervous to see what I look like after so many years.
Afraid I’ll be disappointed in the person staring back at me.
There was no mirror in the basement bathroom. It didn’t bother me, I didn’t care. Why should I when how I looked was the least of my concern then. But now… I’m starting to care.
I don’t know what changed. Maybe it’s because I’m not underground anymore. Maybe it’s because I want to know what Roman sees when he looks at me.
Doesn’t matter.
I want to know what I look like for myself.
I want to know who I am, who I’ve become in the last seven years.
I also want to make sure I don’t look funny or weird.
I know I shouldn’t think like that, but I can’t help it.
My parents always said looks don’t matter.
I’m sure they’re probably right, but I don’t think it’s wrong to want to look nice, especially in my case of not being very smart or having any useful skill apart from reading people.
For example, I don’t even know how tall I am. I only know that when I stood next to Roman, the top of my head only made it to his chest, telling me I never got as tall as I thought I would.
I take a deep breath. Okay Nala. You can do this. It’s just a mirror.
I enter the bathroom, edging closer to the mirror.
Time to see who I am. I lift my gaze slowly, nervously.
I see myself. It’s me, but I don’t recognize the girl staring back at me.
I remember what I looked like when I was eleven.
I lift a hand and touch my cheek where I used to have a scar from falling off my bike.
It’s gone, faded as if it never happened.
My cheeks are thinner now, no longer round and soft.
Puberty happened without me noticing, except for my period.
I have two tiny black dots on the left side of my nose, freckles maybe. I don’t remember them being there before. I trace my lips. The little beauty mark is still there. At least that stayed the same.
I lift my shirt, noticing how my collarbones jut out. My skin is lighter than I remember, still dark, but dulled from years without sunshine.
I pick up a section of my hair, examining the strands. It’s healthier than I expected and not as tangled as before. An improvement. I let the curls fall and keep looking. My gaze drops lower to my breasts.
I stare for a moment, lift one, then the other. I’ve never paid much attention to them before. They’re round, full and look bigger than I thought. I hope they don’t make me look weird.
I take off the rest of my clothes and stand naked in front of the mirror, forcing myself not to rush or look away.
I examine every inch of myself. My stomach is flat, marked with faint scars left behind from Grigori’s belt.
He liked drawing blood with the buckle. I turn around, noticing the same faint scars across my back.
Most of the marks have faded, others still visible if someone gets close and knows where to look.
That will never happen. No one’s getting close to me like that. I know it now.
I’ll never have a boyfriend.
Or get married.
I accept it and shove the thought away, locking it deep inside where it belongs, with all my other what ifs, fantasies and dreams that were never meant to come true.
I open the cabinet, finding a razor and shaving gel. I've shaved a few times before. I started right before going to cheer camp after convincing my mom I was old enough to start shaving. I haven’t done it since then and hope I remember how without cutting myself.
I turn the shower on and step inside for the second time today.
The hot water feels incredible, so I take my time.
I glide the razor up my legs and the movement feels familiar.
No biggie. I shave my legs and underarms, hesitate, then decide to shave the hair between my legs.
I don’t like it there. I wash my hair again, using only a small amount of shampoo, then add conditioner and let it sit the way my mom used to tell me to.
I work through the knots I ignored earlier, section by section.
It takes forever. My arms hurt from holding them up so long, but I keep going.
When I rinse my hair, I can finally run my fingers through it without catching on tangles and knots.
Afterward, when I’m out of the shower, I pull on the clothes Roman bought me.
They're a little too big or maybe I’m just smaller than I should be.
Either way, he tried to guess my size and didn’t quite get it right.
I’m not upset about having clothes that don’t quite fit. Other things, yes. But not this.
I look at myself in the mirror again and smile this time. I actually look… decent, maybe even pretty. I know I need to gain some weight, but that’ll take time. I braid my hair into two clumsy and loose French braids, crossing my fingers they hold for the day.
Half an hour later, I drink one of the nutritional shakes from the cabinet. It’s sweet and the rush of sugar reminds me of how much I miss candy, chocolate and ice cream.
Maybe if Roman’s in a good mood one day and I tell him something useful, he’ll buy me some.
I wash the dishes, wipe down the counter and clean the table. It’s hard not to think about how much I hated chores when I was a kid. I used to drag my feet, whining that parents only had children to make them clean.
Now I wish I could go back in time and tell my parents I was sorry for being a brat.
I had a perfect life back then and didn’t realize it, including doing chores.
After a while, I run out of things to do. I go back to the bedroom and tell myself I’ll just lie down for a minute. I’m more exhausted than I thought because the moment my head hits the mattress, I fall asleep within minutes.
I dream that I'm in my family’s house in New York and it looks exactly the way I remember it.
The brown leather couch with the soft cushions and the sunken spot where my dad always sits.
The table where Kayla and I used to do puzzles is scattered with toys.
My mom is on the phone laughing with one of her friends.
My dad is moving around the living room, searching for something.
He always is. My sister’s trying to get everyone’s attention, begging us to sit down and watch her pretend concert.
She’s all dressed up in a pink and white dress covered in sequins, wearing the ugly pink glitter shoes she begged mom to buy her.
There's a knock at the door. My dad hurries across the living room and opens it. Grigori Ivanov stands on the porch.
I open my mouth to scream, to warn them, to beg my dad not to let him inside. Not to let him anywhere near us. Nothing comes out. My body won’t move and my mouth won’t work.
My dad smiles. He shakes Grigori’s hand and invites him in.
No. Get away from him. He's going to kill you and he’s going to take me. Don't let him in. Please.
They can't hear me, no matter how loud I shout and plead inside my head. Kayla runs up to Grigori, spinning in her dress and asking if he wants to hear her song. I'm still screaming, still trying to warn them.
Grigori looks over at me and grins. Even in my dreams, he frightens and torments me.
Suddenly I'm outside. I’m standing in the front yard, staring through the window as my family laughs with him, like nothing is wrong.
A hand tugs at mine. It’s Kayla. She’s outside with me now, giggling as she pulls me away from the window.
"Can’t catch me!”
She takes off running. I chase her, Grigori forgotten. We race across the yard, dodging trees and past the flowerbed. I'm laughing, bursting with so much happiness. Kayla is fast but I’m older and faster. I'm gaining on her. I reach out, my fingers brushing her shoulder. “Gotch—”
An arm snakes around my waist. I’m yanked backward and lifted off the ground, pulled away from my sister. Away from everything. I spin around.
It’s Roman. He’s staring down at me, his gaze searching my face.
I wake up with my heart pounding and my skin slick with sweat. I sit up just as I hear the lock turning, the front door being opened, followed by footsteps moving through the apartment.
"Nala."
I go into the living room to see Roman setting a paper bag on the table. He turns when he notices me. His gaze sweeps over me, quick and subtle, but I notice it. He looks away fast.
"Feeling better?”