Page 45 of Stripped

"Pozhaluysta. Please. They hurt you." Her hand brushed her cheek and Pim noticed the yellowing of an old bruise, covered by makeup. She had fought back. "Please."

"I can't," she said, setting the slip down.

Ivanna started to cry again, murmuring in Russian. Annika went to her and held her. "Sasha's not back. She should be back by now."

"How old are you?" Pim asked, not wanting to know the answer.

"Me, eleven. Ivanna fourteen. Sasha twelve."

Pim pushed the tears down. Eleven. Eleven years old. Annika reminded Pim of herself. She was strong. She had to be to survive this hell. When Pim was sent away to school, she remembered the sound of the girls in the dormitory crying themselves to sleep each night. She never let herself shed a tear, afraid that one of her ballet teachers would be listening and think her weak. Annika was the same, being strong for the other girls so they wouldn't have to be.

Evening turned into night before the man returned. He came straight over to Pim, throwing the discarded negligee at her. "Odevat'sya," he yelled, his acne-scarred face turning red. "Odevat'sya."

Pim stood up. "No." His nose had the flattened appearance of having been broken one too many times, the cartilage damaged beyond repair, squished and soft. He grabbed her by the hair, ripping it out by the roots, and punched her in the stomach. She fell to the ground, unable to catch her breath. Spots formed before her eyes. She struggled to get breath, writhing on the ground until she lost consciousness. When she finally came to her senses, Annika hovered over her, the pain in her stomach sharp.

"Odevat'sya bitch," the man said.

She changed into the slip.

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