Page 63 of Deceitful Bond

“And what, my dear wife, is that?” His voice is soothing, too smooth.

The sound of it flows over my feverish skin as I inhale deeply, and my body longs for Andrei to touch me. The day we married, a part of me really did want him. I hoped a part of him would want me equally as much.

Whenever Andrei stares at me, I feel like I’m his world. But now, it’s clear that I’m only a tool for getting something bigger. What’s worse, I can’t even bring myself to throw those awful words in his face.

That he made me the one thing I hate more than anything else in this world.

Andrei moves closer and takes my hand in his. His sultry eyes hold me captive, not the locks on the doors. I raise my hand to touch his rising and falling chest but put it down again. I have to hate Andrei, or I might fall carelessly in love.

He lifts my bloody wrist to his mouth and presses his lips to it. I feel his tongue against the wound and my eyelids lower.

“We would do this as children,” he explains. “Kiss it better.”

I yank my wrist away from his mouth.

“No.” I shake my head. “I won’t. I can’t. And you can’t make it happen. You won’t get your way.”

The silence in the room weighs down on me as my ragged breaths fill the space between us. I shouldn’t have said that. It was too much. His hand drops to his side, and I stand there foolishly, my wrist in midair. I lower my gaze, hoping the floor will open up and I’ll drop through it to the floor below. I want to run as fast as I can away from him.

I lift my gaze but can’t read the thoughts behind his dark eyes. So inscrutable I can’t even figure out what he’s thinking. There is a hidden secret to him that I can’t decipher, and that leaves me feeling frustrated and confused.

I want to know, but Andrei will never tell me the truth.

Andrei is fixed to the spot as if my raw emotions have blown his brain.

Closing my eyes, I pray as hard as I can that Andrei will pull me into his arms. I wish for him to tell me that I’m wrong, that none of the awful things I heard are true except that I am his wife.

I open my eyes and stare at him desperately, but Andrei says nothing.

I tug the wedding ring off my finger and fling it onto the silver tray on the vanity. It makes a harsh clattering sound as it bounces against the metal. Andrei starts when I take off the earrings. Maybe he does care.

“Why did you marry me?” I stare at my pale reflection in the mirror. “Tell me the truth.”

“I needed you.”

Liar.“Why?”

He falls silent again.

“You know what? I don’t care anymore.” I toss the earrings down beside that gaudy ring. “I’m tired of being a part of other people’s plans. I’m tired of playing a supporting role in my life, not knowing what will happen next. Nobody cares what I want to do with my life. So do whatever you want and take what you want. And to hell with you.”

I stumble into the bathroom and take down my hair. Flinging open cabinets, I search for a band-aid. I won’t ask forhishelp as I throw open cabinets, looking. My wrist leaves a bloody mark against the pristine white paint. I don’t care because this place is not who I am. None of this is.

With spite, I swipe my wrist across the cabinet, leaving behind a jagged red mark. As if I’m tagging the walls with graffiti.

I stand in front of the sink and brace myself against it. I wait like a pathetic fool for Andrei to appear. I wait for him to prove me wrong and check on me. I wait for his lips to touch my skin as tenderly as he held my wrist and tell me that having meisthe plan.

Instead, I hear nothing but deafening silence, and I wonder what he’s doing until I hear his phone chime.

“Da.” The door to the bedroom opens, and then Andrei is gone.

I peek out of the bathroom to make sure that the bedroom is empty. Rushing toward the door, I grip the knob and turn it. Locked. I lift my fist to bang on it but stop myself just in time.

Why give Andrei anything else, including my anger?

Why give him any more than what I’ve already given? He loves to see me hysterical. He’s always acting superior while he goads another trashy reaction out of me. I glare at the door as if he’s standing in the doorway. Finally, I head toward the bathroom, pausing to yank off my dress.

The bandages are inside the cabinet over the sink. A neat line of boxes, as if the room’s occupant constantly needs mending. I place cotton over my wound and then bind it with gauze.

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