But all I’d really done was suppress fears that were always lying in wait, dormant but ready to spring to life at a moment’s notice.
My head is clouded with a fog I can’t explain. I can’t feel my body at all. It makes me wonder if I’m dying. But the pain still persists and that tells me that I’m still clinging to life.
Only life can hurt this bad.
I’ve always imagined death to be something like floating. You rid yourself of all your earthly shackles and just… fly away. Like running faster and faster until you outrun everything—gravity, reality, all of it.
Until there’s nothing to hold you back. And no one to haunt you.
The dreams finally subside. I’m so tired that my mind gives up the ghost, stops conjuring memories of my broken, twisted past.
I’m okay with that. The past is exhausting.
* * *
When I finally open my eyes, it feels like I’ve been sleeping for days. I’m numb all over, my stomach feels hollow, and yet, I’m not hungry at all.
I’m lying in a massive bed in a room that’s actually quite beautiful. The walls are a light cream. The floors are gleaming hardwood. The edge of the carpet I can see is a soft, pastel blue that draws in the light coming through the arched windows on the far side of the room.
“How are you feeling?”
The voice elicits a gasp. I twist my neck to the side so fast that I feel it crack. I wince before realizing that Kian has been standing by my bedside this entire time and I never even noticed.
“What are you—”
I try and move, but there’s resistance around my wrists.
I look down at my wrists and realized I’m cuffed to the bedposts. One arm chained in each direction.
Kian watches me, unblinking. His beard looks riddled with gray today, more so than usual. It glistens silver in the light.
“If you behave, I’ll take them off.”
I grit my teeth, feeling anger burn through my body. It actually feels good. Anger is a much more useful emotion than fear is. I’ve often thought that anger pushes you into action, while fear just debilitates you. And I’ve had enough debilitation for one lifetime.
“Take them off now,” I hiss.
My words sound strange. I actually croak a little as I speak. Apparently, I haven’t used my voice in a long time. It sounds rusty.
“No,” Kian demurs. “I think you might need them a little longer.”
“I need them a little longer?” I ask. “Or you do?”
He gives me a hard smile. “You had a rough week.”
Week? So that’s why I feel like I’ve been asleep for days. Because I actually have been.
“How long?”
“It’s been four days since I found you at the club with Rokiades,” he tells me. “I’ll admit, I was shocked to find you in there with him. It wasn’t until hours later, after I spoke to Emile, that I pieced together what happened.”
“Emile?” I ask, trying to put the pieces together myself. My life over the last week feels a bit like a patchwork quilt.
“My maid,” he explains. “She comes to the penthouse a few times every week to clean it for me.”
My body goes cold when I remember the kindly older woman who had unwittingly released me from my claustrophobic little cell.
“What did you do to her?” I demand.