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Fear.
I look down at my naked body and notice a lot of things at once. First, I don’t see any signs of struggle on my skin. There are no traces of bruises or cuts or marks that would speak of the worst kind of violation.
A wave of relief floods me, bringing forth salty tears. A loud sob forces its way past my lips. My legs buckle. I reach out to keep my balance, sliding against the cold shower tiles.
After a few seconds, I put on a slightly warmer setting, hoping it will reignite my temper. I’m going to need it to get out of here.
I wrap myself in a clean towel, marveling at its softness. I look around the luxuriously decorated bathroom, hoping to find something to wear, but come up empty.
Yakov didn’t think that far ahead.
My throat is dry, but not enough for me to give up on fighting this. I put on my old clothes and go back to the bedroom. With time, the effect of the drug he put in my drink will start to weaken. I simply need to take a few more minutes of rest. The headache remains, but I need to push through.
Even though I’m not expecting miracles, I still go ahead and try to open the door. Disappointment turns my face to stone. I’m locked in.
With nothing else to do, I sit on the edge of the bed and lie back. My eyes start to grow heavy again. Instead of attempting to fight sleep, I allow it to take over. It’s too much effort to resist.
I blink and wake up again. The headache is gone.
A smell of food is wafting into the room. Fresh energy causes me to fling myself out of bed. My gaze zeros in on the fully stocked food trolley. It wasn’t there before I fell asleep.
I wheel it to the bed and sit down. My mouth waters at the thought of devouring the soup and chicken cutlets. I don’t hesitate to take the first spoonful and moan.
There’s a bottle of water, but I prefer to enjoy the flavor of the soup before I dig into anything else.
The rumbling in my belly stops only when all the soup has been cleaned from the bowl. Only then do I pick up the bagel and rip a huge bite from it. My satisfaction skyrockets when my tongue welcomes the taste of jelly and crunchy peanut butter. I pour myself some water and enjoy the meal.
I won’t bother going on a hunger strike. If I want a chance of getting out of here, I’m going to need my strength. Not to mention the fact that I’ll eventually get out.
Though Yakov didn’t think about clothing when he set me up in this room, it’s clear that he doesn’t want me dead.
I don’t wish to make any wild speculations or paranoid fantasies, but it seems that he put me in here so he could have his way with me whenever he felt like it. There’s no other reason why he would drug and kidnap me. No man does that without the intention of following through with his dark fantasies.
I lie back and stare at the white ceiling, trying to remember something.
Footsteps approach the door, and my pulse flies into a sprint. I hold my breath, listening for a clue, trying to identify the person coming my way.
I exhale in frustration when the footsteps don’t stop but continue walking past my door.
Is this how I’ll spend the rest of my life? Alone with a belly full of food and no sun to kiss my skin?
It’s not fair.
I haven’t lived.
And why am I again the one paying for my brother’s stupidity?
Surely Yakov could be convinced to let me go. I just need to find a way to appeal to him. Perhaps then, he’ll understand that his hatred of me is unjustified. If anyone should suffer, it should be Igor.
Damn my brother’s recklessness.
I close my eyes, willing myself to relax. But without a clock or a schedule, I can’t track time.
My father will find me.
He must.
If not for me, then for the hit his reputation will take when people find out that his daughter was kidnapped. It would be disastrous for his position.
