There are moments in the midst of the cyclical pattern of eating, sleeping, and crying when it feels like I might just be going insane.
What was I doing at fourteen? Freaking out about freshman year homecoming. Learning to walk in heels with Ziva in the attic. Sneaking out to Elle’s place, even though our parents would have been perfectly fine with us going there if we’d only asked permission. We had to create drama because our lives were so normal.
We talked about clothes and music. We laughed a lot about stupid shit. We made plans for the future and we giggled about boys we thought were cute and gossiped about girls we thought were bitchy.
That was normal for a fourteen-year-old. That was right.
I can’t stop thinking about Polly and what she must be going through now. She’s fourteen years old—and facing sex slavery. Fourteen years old—and staring down the gun of horrible, endless abuse. Fourteen and alone. Fourteen and afraid.
And it’s all my fucking fault.
Why did I think bringing her along was a good idea? I lost Lev to the enemy and somehow, I thought that bringing Polly along would be different? I’m baffled by my own stupidity, my own short-sightedness.
Sure, Polly isn’t the same fourteen-year-old I was. She knows this world and the stakes involved. She lost her parents so young that she had to grow up twice as fast.
But that’s no excuse.
I have no excuses and no plans to fix things, which means I’m left here lying in a bed of my own making with no choice but to try desperately bargaining with any higher power who might be willing to turn a listening ear in my direction.
Please protect her. Keep her safe. Help us find her. I’ll do anything.
I’ll do anything.
It’s been a while since my last meal. Not because Svetlana hasn’t brought them down, but because I lost my appetite right around the time Uri kissed me, told me to fuck off, and then left.
I know I need to think of my baby, but I can’t muster up the strength or the will to force food down my throat. I’m not hungry. My stomach feels comfortably hollow. Empty—like the rest of me.
It feels like it’s been weeks since Dr. Popov came to see me but I know it’s only been a handful of days. I have to get my shit together before her next visit or I’m risking her telling Uri about my pregnancy. If he finds out through anyone else but me, he’ll…
Well, I have no idea what he’ll do.
But it’s not like he can look at me any worse than he already does, right?
I flinch when the door unlocks and swings open. I don’t bother turning to check who it is. Probably just Svetlana with another tray I’m gonna ignore. I hug my pillow a little tighter and wait for the door to shut again.
Soon. Any time now. Why isn’t she—
“Alyssa.”
I open my eyes and see Uri’s blurry face hanging over mine. I blink a couple of times until he starts to focus. His face is all wrong, though. The jaw is too square and soft. His eyes are too dark.
Oh. Not Uri. Nikolai.
“Alyssa, can you sit up for me?”
“No,” I retort childishly, burying my face underneath my pillow. I have no desire to speak to anyone, much less Uri’s dispassionate brother. “Go away.”
He doesn’t listen. Despite how tightly I’m holding the pillow over my head, his voice still comes through clear. “You haven’t eaten anything in over twenty-four hours.”
“Why do you care?”
There’s a pause. “I just do.”
Frowning, I poke half of my face out so I can see him from the corner of my eye. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t?”
“That you care.”
He frowns. “Because you see me as some sort of unfeeling monster?”
“Obviously.” It comes out before I can stop it. I’m past the point of thinking about my responses before I say them. That requires energy that I just don’t have at the moment.
He sighs and sits down on the floor beside my bed so we can see eye to eye.
“You’ll have to pardon me for not being friendlier,” he says in a tired voice. “I was busy taking care of my brother and worrying about my sister.”
Way to give me the middle finger without actually having to give it. I push myself up on my elbows and lift my head from the mattress. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not here to make you feel bad, Alyssa. I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve been through a significant trauma. You need to speak to someone about it. Suppressing it never works. Not for long, anyway.”