entire life again with the truth.”
Pav blinked. “You want me with her tonight?”
“I don’t care what happens after the front door closes, as long as it’s what she wants to do, Pavel. I only care that she doesn’t know the truth about what’s happening outside her door until I’m ready to tell her. I should be the one who does it. She already hates the rest of us … I’d like to give her someone who she won’t hate when she finally knows everything. She doesn’t hate you.”
Yet.
7.
HOW TIGHT did I put the cap on this damn thing?
Viktoria glared at the bottle of vodka as she twisted on the cover harder in an attempt to get it off. She didn’t think she was strong enough when drunk to put a cap on so tightly that she couldn’t get it off when sober, but here she was, once again proving herself wrong.
Finally, she got the cap to twist when she used a dishcloth to aid her efforts. The promise of a full night’s sleep, helped out by liquor, was on the horizon. After a night like tonight, being crammed into a space full of too many other people, she was going to need that.
It wasn’t that she dreamt of other people attacking her—it rarely worked out like that in her dreams. Instead, she dreamt of Boris in the crowd, watching her. Even in her dreams, she could feel his jealousy like it was thick hands closing around her throat. She could practically taste his possessiveness the same way she could still taste blood in her mouth when he’d hold her head still so that he could shove his co—
The knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts from going any further. She wasn’t sure whether she should be thankful for that or not. Especially considering she had started to close her eyes as the flashback came on because she still hadn’t learned.
She had yet to figure out that closing her eyes and willing the memories away didn’t actually take them away. If anything, it made it them sharper and clearer. She’d open her eyes, and still see him. She’d look around, find her place was empty but for her, and still taste blood and cum in her mouth.
Viktoria set the bottle on the counter and put the cap beside it, even as the knocking on her front door continued on. She had a good mind to shout at whoever it was to quit it, but she couldn’t even talk like this.
Her throat was too tight, and she couldn’t drag in enough air to satisfy her lungs despite the fact she was sucking it back faster than ever. Her hands trembled against the countertops, just like the rest of her body, too.
Five days of her life seemed to be what would define the rest of it. Five days of hell at the hands of a monster followed her day in and day out. Oh, sure, people didn’t see it when they looked at her. She put on a good front and kept people at a distance with her cold demeanor and harsh attitude, but she knew. She couldn’t ever fucking forget.
It was constant.
She ached in her bones.
The pain wasn’t something anyone else could see because it was invisible and tailored just for her. Like a thousand little papercuts just under the surface of her skin. She didn’t want to feel them, but she didn’t get any choice.
She was a leaf in the wind.
Twisting.
Falling.
Dying.
In the cupboard, just above her head, two bottles of medications taunted her. She didn’t even have to see them to know they were there. Despite being adamant on the fact that she didn’t want to take medications to get this under control, her therapist went ahead and wrote the prescriptions anyway.
Viktoria didn’t know why she decided to fill them when she knew there was no way she was going to take the anti-depressant and Xanax. Still, she’d done it, and now every single time she had another one of these moments—usually a couple of times a day on a good one—she felt like the medications there fucked with her head.
She was reminded that someone was still at her door when another knock echoed throughout the bottom level of her house. She didn’t know who in the hell would be at her door at this time of night, and she had a good mind just to ignore it altogether. It wasn’t like she planned on letting whoever it was come