Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I look back at Cora, give her a reassuring smile, and pat her boney shoulder. “I love you. I truly do. And I don’t want you to worry about me. I can assure you that I won’t lose my head.”
Chapter Five
Lyriope
“Lyriope,” a deep voice calls from the doorway, breaking a bout of giggles Sasha and I are engaged in. Sasha freezes in place just as I do. Even she seems afraid of Bryant.
I turn to see Bryant holding a tiny red dress on a hanger.
“Yes, sir?” I hate saying the word “sir.” It feels foreign but I learned very quickly when we first arrived that it’s an expectation of his.
“I want you to wear this tonight.”
It is not a request, and I know as much.
“Yes, sir.” Again, I feel silly speaking. Those two little words have become the majority of my vocabulary it seems.
My father tosses the dress on a chair by the doorway. “Get ready now.” He turns without saying another word and leaves the room.
Embarrassed, I turn and look at Sasha who is shaking her head. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just the way he is.”
Her words actually soothe the mixture of fear, anger, disappointment and near panic over the mess that I’m in. I consider telling her that he almost hit me and if that is normal too, but it seems wrong to do so. Like I keep telling myself that maybe Bryant didn’t mean it. Maybe I read it wrong. Or maybe he was just super cranky. Regardless, it felt like a betrayal of a man I barely knew if I revealed this secret to another. I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.
“It’s been a long day,” I mumble as I glance down at the dress. “I wish I didn’t have to go to dinner with them. I wish I didn’t have to see a Sidorov ever again.”
Sasha crosses her arms against her chest. “It’s icky. No doubt. But try your best to go down there and make them drool over you. Remember that you have the power. Keep it.”
I wonder what Sasha would say if I told her that she sounds like Nick. That in many ways the two of them are alike. Different… but they both hold a piece of me the same way. They both see me in a way that I hope to someday see myself. I wonder if I’d had them both early on in my life—rather than my mother—cheering me on, if I would be in the same mess that I’m in now. Would I be getting ready to have dinner with the Sidorovs? Would I be putting on the color of blood to face an evening of dread?
I snap myself out of my thoughts and memories of dining with the devil. I have to focus. Stay focused. One day at a time. One awful night full of nightmares at a time. I have no choice. I have this path to stumble on, and as much as I want to at times, there is no way to get off it. I am alone. Alone with my internal demons, as well as with the hell I have put myself into.
“I’m going to go and let you get ready,” Sasha says. “But I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I give her a hug, so grateful to have her in my life. Especially now. “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t do this without you.”
“Pay me back by going to Wonderland with me this weekend,” she says, though I get the feeling she isn’t asking, and I really don’t have a choice in the matter.
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll go.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up and you wear the black dress. I’ll text you tomorrow with all the details. But we are going to have a blast. It’s long overdue to have some fun.”
After Sasha leaves, I decide to put on the dress—if you could even call it one. It barely has any fabric, and what material there is, is practically see-through. Though I am not surprised. If I’m being sold like a whore, I might as well look like it. But at least I’ll look like a high-class whore. I’m just a possession. A very expensive possession that Bryant has the power to decide how and when to give to another.
Stripping off my clothes, I try not to stare at the cuts on my chest left by the Sidorovs. The wounds are superficial and won’t scar me… at least on my skin. But they are a reminder of what happened in Italy. They are a reminder of all I lost the minute Cora betrayed us. The thin lines will fade… but will my memories?
I jump when someone knocks on the door.
“Give me a minute,” I say as I try to get dressed as quickly as I can, not wanting anyone else to see the marks.