Page 127 of His Darkest Obsession
"You filthy little?—"
I don't wait to hear the rest. This moment of chaos is my only chance. I push past her, past Vassily's hesitant hands away when he sees the vomit on my shirt, and bolt through the door.
My feet pound as I rush up the stairs. I don't dare looking back, and I don't dare stopping.
By the time I reach the bedroom that Anatoly first brought me into and slam the door behind me, my lungs are on fire. Once the door is secure and locked behind me, I slide down against it, gasping for air as panic crashes over me in waves.
But the queasiness doesn't subside. It rises again, stronger this time, and I scramble across the floor to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before my stomach empties itself again.
I rest my cheek against the cool porcelain, whimpering softly as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
How did everything fall apart so quickly?
Just this morning I was wrapped in Anatoly's arms, feeling safe.
Feeling loved.
What a joke. He never loved me. He never even cared about me. He was just playing me this entire time.
The tears start slow and quiet at first, and then build until I'm sobbing uncontrollably, hugging the toilet like it's my only friend in this nightmare. With each shuddering breath I take, the cries grow louder and louder until I'm ugly crying on the bathroom floor while my heart thuds like a drum in my ears.
It thunders louder and louder. And it takes me a while before I realize that it's not my heartbeat that I'm hearing.0
It's someone's knocking.
"Go away," I try to call, but it comes out as a pathetic croak instead. I don't want to face Anatoly right now. I don't want to face anyone.
"Indigo?" Svetlana's voice, gentle but firm, comes through the door. "Are you alright?"
Only then do I pull myself up on shaky legs. I splash water on my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown, before staggering to the door and opening it.
Svetlana's eyes widen at the sight of me. "What happened?"
"I'm alright," I lie, my voice hoarse. "Just... something I ate didn't agree with me."
I can tell she's not buying it. But thankfully, she doesn't call me out.
"I just got back from dropping off Amara Malcolmovna at school," she says, holding up a white paper bag. "I brought pastries on the way back. I thought you might want some."
The mere mention of food makes my stomach roll again. I swallow hard and force a weak smile.
"Thank you, Svetlana." I take the bag with trembling fingers but don't open it. "I think I might need something a little blander right now, though."
Svetlana tilts her head slightly. Those piercing eyes that look just like Anatoly's continue to look at me. I know she sees the redness on my cheek and the haunted stare in my eyes. There's no escaping that.
I brace myself for the barrage of questions that she might throw at me.
But that barrage never comes.
Instead, she nods gently. "I'll check the kitchen for some crackers, maybe some plain toast?" She pauses. "Tea with ginger might also help settle your stomach."
"That would be great," I whisper. "Thank you."
She nods once, decisively. "I'll be back shortly."
As soon as her footsteps fade down the hallway, I close the door and slide down against it until I'm sitting on the floor. My knees pulled tight against my chest, I rest my forehead against them and close my eyes.
The darkness behind my eyelids offers no comfort. All I can hear is Anatoly saying those words:"I care for no one but the bratva, and I shall love none other than the bratva."
