Page 27 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

The day drags on until it grows dark outside.

I can’t gauge time, but I know that when the moon slivers past my bedroom window—it is near the time when Avraam should come to bed.

Tonight, I promise myself, I won’t say anything to him to upset him. Even if it means I don’t get to have a conversation with anyone—I would rather just have him next to me than spend another night alone like I did last night.

I wait, and the moon drifts past my window, creeping higher into the sky, completely out of my view. Avraam should be here already.

I sit with my back against the headrest, waiting, quiet, tense.

Silent tears roll down my cheeks and soak the front of my t-shirt.

He isn’t coming.

Even after I accept that fact, I still can’t bring myself to lie down in bed and try to get some sleep. I just can’t.

I can’t be alone like this. I was never meant to be alone like this.

The next day is worse.

It’s longer, colder, more empty than ever before.

And when night falls, I am in a complete panic.

I start shouting for him.

Screaming out into the silent house for anyone to hear me and come and speak to me. I just need to see another face. A presence. I need to not be alone.

I call out his name and nothing happens.

No one evens bothers coming in to tell me to shut up.

I start kicking at the headboard, pulling at the cuffs on my wrists.

I pull and tug and twist my hand until my skin is bleeding.

The pain distracts me from the fact that I am so alone in here.

The more pain I feel, the less I think about the solitude, so I keep fighting against the handcuffs.

Then suddenly, I fall back onto the bed, and my hand is free.

For a moment, I don’t understand what has happened and I just stare at my wrist, bleeding, already turning blue. My skin scraped away and raw.

I’m free.

In complete disbelief, I sit up, looking around the room.

All my noise and no one cared—but it doesn’t matter now.

I’m out of the restraints and I can get away.

I slide off the edge of the bed, flexing my wrist which is now starting to feel the pain of my escape.

But I’m so happy I don’t care.

I run towards the door, crouch down and pull out my hairpin. I can’t believe that I have still have it, but I’m so relieved I do.

I start working the lock, feeling like an expert when it clicks, moves and snaps open. I stand up and push the door open. No one is waiting there.

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