Chapter 20
Abbie
Alek arranged with the doctor to start me on antibiotics in case I got a disease from the rapist’s infested dick. At least I have a contraceptive implant, so I know I won’t get pregnant.
I heard Alek threatening the doctor with his life if he told anyone I was raped.
Who would’ve thought the crazy guy I saw as a creep would become my protector?
It’s the only thing I’m thankful for right now.
Standing in the shower, the hot water pelts my skin. The wounds on my face burn, and my body’s scrubbed raw from my attempts to rid my skin of the feel of the rapist.
But no amount of scrubbing can remove the feel of him inside me.
I stare at the tiled wall, my breaths shallow and my heart only a whisper.
Did it really happen to me?
Suddenly, I’m bombarded with vile memories – I hear the bastard’s grunts, and wrapping my arms around myself, I shut my eyes tightly as a whimper shudders from me.
I can’t…
Using every ounce of strength God has given me, I force the memories back until a deadly silence settles within me.
Pretend it never happened.
Don’t think about it. Don’t give it power in your life. It was just a nightmare.
You’re stronger than the bastard. Don’t let him break you. He’s dead. Alek killed him.
I open my eyes and suck in a quivering breath.
No one can know. You have to pretend nothing happened so they won’t ask questions.
I lift my chin and turn off the faucets. Stepping out of the shower, I dry my body and put on the clean clothes Nikolai brought.
There’s a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. I hate that the clothes fit tight on my body.
Lifting my head, I look at my reflection in the mirror. My face looks like someone took a hammer to it, but I couldn’t care less. It’s nothing compared to the wounds inflicted on my soul.
I open the door and wrap my arms around me before I walk back into the room where Nikolai and Alek are standing.
I don’t look at the men as I walk to the other door.
“Where are you going?” Nikolai asks, his tone so gentle it makes tears jump to my eyes.
“To my suite,” I whisper as I let myself out of the private room in the infirmary.
I hear Nikolai and Alek behind me as I walk down the hallway, and at the foot of the stairs, I stop to glance at them. “I’ll be okay. I’m going to get some sleep.”
Alek nods. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
I lock eyes with him. “Thank you, Alek.” My chin trembles with the gratitude I feel toward him.
I have to force myself to look at Nikolai because whenever I lock eyes with him, I want to cry myself to death. “I’ll see you later.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Unable to find the strength to argue with him, I climb the stairs.
When we reach my suite, I’m surprised when he swipes a keycard through the lock. My eyes jump to his face, which has him explaining, “It’s a universal card for all the rooms.”
I step inside, my arms tightening around me. With my eyes lowered, I whisper, “I’ll be okay. You can go.”
Nikolai comes in and shuts the door behind him. I can feel his eyes on my face.
There’s a dangerous vibe coming from him, but deep down, I know he won’t hurt me. I think he’s just upset by what happened today.
Still, his presence is an immense force in comparison to the shell that’s left of me.
Reaching for my chin, he murmurs, “Look at me.” I pull away from him, shaking my head.
“Moya dusha.” The whisper is soft and intimate, but I don’t know what the words mean. They sound loving, though, making my chin tremble.
I try to hold back the tears, wanting to appear as the old Abbie – the one who was sassy and strong.
But that Abbie died on a filthy floor, and all that’s left is a broken woman.
I press my lips together, the cut stinging from my effort to fight the tears from overwhelming me.
“Christ, baby,” Nikolai groans.
His arms wrap around me, his hand covering the back of my head as he gently presses me to his chest.
The trauma builds and builds like a volcano until the pressure becomes unbearable. It explodes from me with absolute devastation, a heartbreaking cry ripping straight from my brutalized soul.
Nikolai holds me tighter as if he’s trying to engulf me with his body. “I’m so fucking sorry you got hurt.” He presses a kiss to my damp hair. “It will never happen again. I promise you.”
I pull my arms free from between us and wrap them tightly around his waist, my fingers clinging to his shirt.
As I weep for what was done to me – what was taken from me – Nikolai holds me as though he would die if he let go.
He’s the last man I was intimate with, and there will never be another. The mere thought of sex repulses me to the point where I feel physically sick.
But having Nikolai’s arms around me offers me some comfort.
I mourn the loss of what could’ve been between us and feel feverish from all the crying when I finally manage to calm down.
Pulling away from Nikolai, I put a safe distance between us. I feel uncomfortable as I look at him. “Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I want to be alone.”
He tilts his head, a frown line forming between his eyes. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think.” My words sound too cold, but knowing I must stop whatever was building between us, I push through. “We both know things were never going to be serious between us. It was fun, but it’s over. Please leave.”
When he stares at me as if he’s trying to look into my soul, I turn my head away.
“Now is not the time to talk about us.” He takes a step closer, and I quickly move farther away.
If he touches me, I might weep myself to death.
“Please leave, Nikolai.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “Today was traumatic enough. I have no energy to deal with you.”
Silence follows my words, and when it feels as if his soul is reaching out to mine, I spin around and rush to the safety of my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and turn the lock to make sure he can’t come in.
Please leave.
There’s a lot I can endure and overcome, but the trauma and Nikolai Vetrov are two things I can’t handle.
The whiplash our weird and short relationship gave me will break me now. I can’t fight for him anymore, not when the battle for my sanity hangs in the balance.
Stepping away from the door, I walk to my closet and grab a baggy t- shirt and sweatpants. I quickly change into the clothes and feel a little better when my curves are hidden by all the fabric.
Moving to the bed, I climb beneath the covers and pull them over my head while I curl into a small ball.
Refusing to think of Nikolai or the rape, I imagine I’m painting, forcing myself to focus on the brush sweeping over a canvas.
“Palette,” I whisper, listing all the supplies. “Canvas. Easel. Brush.” I keep repeating the words until, finally, sleep takes me from this violent world.