I averted my eyes, heat rising to my cheeks, and tried to push myself up. The pain jolted through me, sharp and I wobbled. My breath hitched as a large hand gripped the knot of my towel, yanking me upright. Before I could react, I was pulled against his firm chest knocking the wind out of me.
Instantly, the scent I had desperately tried to wash off flooded my senses-danger, power, and something unmistakably his. My stomach churned with a sickening vortex of fear and fury. It was like trying to outrun a shadow; no matter how fast I fled, he was always there.
His hand tightened on the towel and I was afraid if he could feel my heart pounding in my chest. The closer I was to him, the harder it became to breathe.
"There we go," he murmured tilting his head at that infuriating angel that was judging me. "Can't have you falling again, now can we?"
I hated how he always looked at me like I was a toy. The mocking in his voice and the amusement in his eyes.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms as I forced myself to stay still. Every instinct screamed to pull away, to fight, but I knew it was useless. Like a moth to a flame, I was trapped, drawn into his orbit no matter how hard I tried to escape.
He who sups with the devil should have a long spoon. But I had no spoon, no shield, nothing to protect myself from him.
"Kyle will bring you some clothes," he leaned down and I felt his warm breath against my neck, "As much tempted I am, I have an important business to attend to." His fingers traced the edge of my towel and I sucked in a shaky breath. "I'll be back in a few hours, till then, be a good girl for me."
I bit my lip, trying to hold back the anger, the helplessness. But it was like trying to hold back the tide-impossible. His words seeped into my skin. He was going somewhere? Did that mean I could… leave this place?
"But first, let's eat," lips brushed against my ear.
I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.
Nodding, I refrained from saying anything, desperate for him to let me go. His lips brushed my neck in a fleeting peck before his teeth nipped at the shell of my ear and my body froze. When he finally released me, his intense gaze bore into me, searching for something I wasn't willing to give. Unable to meet his eyes any longer, I turned and walked or almost stumbled to the dining area, the pain still sharp in my ankle. I sprained it.
But I stilled as soon as I saw the table. It was loaded with dishes and Russian cuisine that filled the air with rich, mouth-watering aromas. There was borscht, the deep red soup made from beets, its earthy scent mingling with the tang of sour cream. Next to it, a plate of blini, thin pancakes with hints of butter and sweetness, lay stacked high. The smell of pelmeni-dumplings filled with meat-wafted up, the savoury scent making my stomach clench in sudden hunger. And there was shashlik, skewered and grilled meat, smoky and succulent, its aroma so strong it almost made my mouth water.
My body reacted on its own, my stomach growling at the sight. Hunger gnawed at me, but so did a deep, unsettling unease. I glanced at the table, picking the seat farthest from where he was headed. My pulse quickened, half-expecting him to drag me to his side, to control even where I sat. But he let me be, and that, somehow, made me even more nervous.
Ignoring him, I grabbed a plate and began piling it with food. The hunger was overwhelming, and I couldn't resist the urge to dig in. I focused on the meal, refusing to acknowledge the eyes I knew were watching me. He was always watching, always waiting, like a predator circling its prey.
Let sleeping dogs lie, I told myself. I could look for my phone after he was gone. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I heard a light thud, something placed on the table with deliberate care. My body reacted before my mind did, my hand freezing with the spoon just inches from my mouth. I looked in his direction, almost unconsciously, and my blood ran cold.
There it was.
My phone.
Sitting on the table like a trap waiting to snap shut. My head snapped up to him, heart pounding in my chest. He continued cutting his steak, sliding a piece into his mouth with a smirk that hadn't wavered.
My phone. He had my phone. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Why did he have it?
Out of the frying pan, into the fire. That's what it felt like-trading one danger for another, with no escape in sight.
He knew what he was doing. Making me feel how pathetic I was and he could easily take away my freedom. That was his way of controlling me, though I still couldn't wrap my head around the fact why did he even had to go to such extreme lengths.
Taking a deep breath I desperately needed, I put down the spoon and gathered the remaining of my courage. But the words remained lodged into my throat.
A tremor ran through me as I stared at him, a wolf in sheep's clothing.
He cut another piece of steak slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. The smirk on his lips remained intact. He wasn't just playing with me; he was toying with my very sanity.
Pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain.
"What's the matter, ptichka?" he titled his head chewing softly, voice that scrapped against my head. "You've gone pale. Lost your appetite?"
I wanted to scream, to shout at him, to demand why he had my phone, what he'd done. But the words caught in my throat, tangled with the fear that he'd already seen something-anything-that he could use against me. I could practically hear the gears turning in his head, already plotting, already knowing how to twist the knife deeper.
"Why… do you have my phone?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin and manspreading his legs. "You left it lying around," he shrugged, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I thought I'd keep it safe for you."
Safe. The word tasted bitter, like a lie wrapped in sweet honey. I didn't trust him-couldn't trust him. Once bitten, twice shy. I knew better than to believe in his empty reassurances. The hu get eyes never left mine. Eyes that travelled down my neck and drank in the sight of me.
"Don't worry," when I kept shut, he continued. "I didn't go through it… much." The smirk returned, sharper, more dangerous. "But if you've got something to hide, now's the time to confess."
A guilty conscience needs no accuser. I had nothing to confess, nothing I should feel guilty about, but his words twisted everything inside me, making me doubt, making me second-guess every choice, every action.
I swallowed hard, pushing the plate away. The food felt like lead in my stomach, heavy and unwelcoming. My hands trembled as I reached for the phone, fingers brushing against it cautiously, as if it might burn me. His gaze followed the movement, dark amusement dancing in his eyes, feeding off my unease.
As I was to grab it, his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist, shackling it to the table. Heart pounding loudly and I trembled at his touch.
His grip tightened around my wrist, forcing my hand to still. I could feel his gaze, like ice, seeping into my skin, making my pulse race even faster. My breath was caught somewhere between my throat and lungs, trapped, just like I was.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulled out his own phone and placed it in my trembling palm. The weight of it felt wrong-like holding something tainted. My fingers curled around it instinctively, though I knew there was no comfort to be found there.
"I don't think you need this," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr. The sound of it sent shivers crawling up my spine. He leaned in closer, so close that I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. Then, with a cruel smirk, he waved my own phone in front of my face, dangling it just out of reach like a cruel taunt.
The shattered remains of my hopes lay before me, and now, this-his words, his actions-were the final nail in the coffin.
"You don't have anyone to call," He was so sure, so convinced of his control over me, over every aspect of my life.
My throat tightened as the last flicker of resistance I'd been holding onto began to wither. I was alone, truly and utterly alone, with no one to turn to, no one who could save me from this nightmare.
I stared down at the phone he'd placed in my hand, my vision blurring as tears welled up, but I refused to let them fall.
Rough fingers brushed against my jaw, tilting my face up so that I had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were pale yet dark, filled with a twisted satisfaction, as if he was savoring every moment of my breaking down.
"I-I need to call my mother."
I stammered hoping he'd let me talk to her.
"Use mine."
"I-I have my phone- "
I watched as he grabbed the small device from the table and I jumped startled as he violently slammed it against the wall until it smashed into pieces and the screen went black. "Now you don't."
My mouth parted in shock as I stared at the broken pieces and everything in me broke. I shouldn't cry over a phone, but I couldn't help it. I knew my mother's number, and I could call her using his phone also but why did he have to break it?
But the realisation that he was stripping me of everything, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of who I once was, was haunting.