Page 49 of Bound Vows
“Sorry about the mess. I’ll be sure to bleed more considerately next time I throw myself through your windows. Though thereprobably won’t be a next time, since I’m apparently too sick to execute even the simplest escape plan.”
He lifts me carefully, cradling me against his chest as he carries me toward his office.
I rest my head against his shoulder despite myself, breathing in his familiar cologne mixed with worry sweat. “Everything hurts, Andrei. My head, my body. I can’t even think clearly. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I’m calling Dr. Morrison. These cuts need professional attention, and you need proper medical evaluation.” He sets me down on the leather sofa and begins gathering supplies from his emergency kit. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad things were getting?”
“Because I thought I could handle it. I thought I could manage the symptoms while staying strong enough to escape when the opportunity arose. Turns out I’m not as resilient as I thought.”
“You’re more resilient than you realize. Most people would have broken under these circumstances.” Andrei applies pressure to the worst cut on my arm, and I gasp at the sharp pain. “How much of your recent behavior has been performance?”
“Some,” I admit. “The severity, maybe, but not the symptoms.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m too hurt and too tired to control anything.” I close my eyes as another wave of dizziness hits. “The performance is over, Andrei. This is what your protection looks like.”
Before he can respond, his phone goes off with Dr. Morrison’s call. While Andrei explains the situation and requests anemergency house call, I lean back against the sofa cushions and chuckle to myself at how spectacularly my escape plan has failed.
Not only am I more injured than when I started, but I’ve also revealed the extent of my deception without gaining any advantage. Worse, the symptoms I’ve been dramatizing feel increasingly real, which means whatever’s happening to me is progressing beyond my ability to fake or control it.
“The doctor will be here within an hour,” Andrei announces as he ends the call. “In the meantime, we need to control this bleeding and keep you conscious.”
“Consciousness is overrated. I was having such lovely dreams about freedom and fresh air. Though I suppose unconscious prisoners are easier to manage, and I don’t want to give you that satisfaction.”
“You’re my wife, who’s recovering from a serious injury sustained during a moment of desperation.” He sits on the edge of the sofa and continues applying pressure to my wounds.
“The difference is semantics. I’m still here against my will, still isolated from everyone I care about, and still suffering from symptoms that seem to worsen every day. The fact that I hurt myself trying to leave doesn’t change the fundamental problem.”
“The fundamental problem is that you’re not safe anywhere else. Your brother’s coalition will lead to violence that could destroy both our families. Keeping you here protects you from becoming collateral damage in a war you didn’t choose.”
I reach for his hand with my uninjured arm. “Look at me, Andrei. Really look at me.This is what your protection looks like.”
Dr. Morrison arrives one hour later, a distinguished man in his sixties with silver hair. He examines my injuries with professional detachment, asking questions about pain levels and range of motion without showing curiosity about how I acquired them.
“The glass needs to come out immediately,” he announces after his initial assessment. “Local anesthetic should be sufficient, but you’ll need stitches and careful monitoring for signs of infection.”
“Do whatever’s necessary,” Andrei says from his position near the door. “Money is no object.”
“The patient’s consent matters more than your financial resources,” Dr. Morrison replies, shocking us both. “Maya, are you comfortable proceeding with the extraction here, or would you prefer hospital facilities?”
“Here is fine. I doubt Mr. Volkov would appreciate the exposure of taking me to a public hospital.” I settle back on the sofa where they’ve positioned me and try to relax. “Though I appreciate you asking for my opinion.”
Dr. Morrison prepares his instruments and medication, but I notice how he glances between Andrei and me with growing concern. When he administers the local anesthetic, he leans closer and speaks quietly.
“How are you feeling overall, Maya? Beyond these specific injuries, I mean. Are you eating well, sleeping regularly, experiencing any unusual symptoms?”
I consider lying, but something in his kind eyes makes me want to tell the truth. “Severe headaches, dizziness, fatigue, anddifficulty concentrating. The symptoms started after we arrived here and seem to be getting worse.”
“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”
“Since we arrived three days ago. Getting progressively more severe.” I glance at Andrei, who’s listening to every word. “I don’t know what’s causing them.”
Dr. Morrison nods and begins the delicate process of removing glass from my arm. “Isolation can have significant psychological and physical effects, especially for people accustomed to active social lives and personal autonomy. The human mind and body need stimulation and choice to function properly.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” Andrei asks from across the room.
“That’s a medical fact. Women like Maya require mental engagement and some degree of control over their environment to maintain both psychological and physical health. Cage a wild bird, and it will eventually stop singing. Sometimes, it stops eating as well.”
