Page 36 of Unleashed

I try to go back to sleep, but after the shot of adrenaline and triggering memories, I am wide awake. I think with my eyes closed. Then I open them and stare at the ceiling. I enjoy the comforting heft of his arm strewn over me, but I can't tell if he's sleeping or not. I try to take a look—his eyes are closed, but he may be awake. I reach over, grab one of his small chest hairs, and give it a little tug. His eyes fly open.

"What the fuck?"

"Sorry," I say, trying to stifle a laugh. "I didn't know if you were sleeping or not."

"If I was, I'd be wide awake now," he says. His voice is still all sleepy-husky. It's sexy as hell.

"Sorry," I repeat. "Get some rest. I need to get up."

He grunts and closes his eyes.

An undeniable urge to run courses through me. I run early in the morning. I need that. I know that now. Impossible to do with this damn cast, but I’ll get there again. I’ve been cooped up in this room, in this bed, and I’m ready to get out of here.

Polina—it's the one thing from my memory I can't forget. A name. It’s mine. Somehow, the name Polina is more familiar to me than Anissa. It’s like solving a riddle, and the answer to it is just beyond my reach. Rafail seems as clueless as me, at least when it comes to my name. Every once in a while, I geta hint he’s hiding something from me, but right now, he seems genuinely confused.

As I still against him, watching light filter through sheer curtains, my thoughts are jumbled and confused.

Polina.

The name sits in my mind, clinging with the memory of something I can't shake. The older woman… her tears, stricken face… sheseemedfamiliar, like someone I would know. But who? Not old enough to be a grandmother, yet the desperate way she called my name… she didn’t feel like a stranger to me.

I push myself out of bed quietly, thankful I am not in as much pain as I was before. Maybe he was right about the medication. When I look over, one of his arms is across his brow, and he snores gently. I feel the urge to run again. I want to escape the confines of this room. The confusion. But I hesitate. I don't know who I am or even where I am, and it's dangerous out there.

Still, I need air and space to think. I tug on a loose pair of sweats with wide bottoms that fit over my cast and a T-shirt. I look around the room. Now that I’m dressed, I don't know what to do with myself. I need a damn pair of crutches.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I shouldn’t be surprised at how easily he wakes.

I turn to see Rafail sitting up, his gaze locked on mine and that perpetual scowl on his face. Though his voice is calm as usual, there's an unstable edge to it.

"I'm just going outside," I say, trying to sound casual like it's not a big deal and I'm not trying to escape the suffocation of this room. “I want fresh air.”

"How? You don't have any crutches."

“I can manage to hobble around outside.”

"You'renothobbling around outside," he says firmly, swinging his legs out of the bed before he stands. "No way."

I cross my arms, defiance bubbling up inside me. "Why not? I need some fresh air. I need to clear my brain."

Fortunately forhim,he has use of both legs, so he makes short work of closing the distance between us. As my heart beats faster, I hold onto a chest of drawers to steady myself. "It's not safe out there."

Now it’s my turn to frown. "What am I, Rapunzel?"

Heglaresat me and doesn’t answer.

I throw up my hands. "Where is it safe, then?"

I watch as he stabs a finger at his chest. "Withme."

Sadness settles over me as I look around the room. It's a prison in here.

"What's so dangerous out there?" I ask, and I try to be brave, but my voice trembles a little. Outside the window, the sun has begun to rise, bright light tickling the edges of the estate. And what an estate it is, at least based on what I can see from here.

There's hope in the air, promise, and I know then why I like the early morning. I stare out the open window like a bird in a cage, peering out into freedom and possibility. I swallow hard, my emotions wobbly and unpredictable. It's hard enough not knowing who I am. Harder still not knowing when or how I’ll ever have freedom again.

"You’ll do what I say, Anissa.”

---