Page 36 of Pas de Trois
Oh, God. I’m pregnant.
I have to think about the baby. I don’t even know how it survived everything I’ve been through—perhaps it won’t survive much longer. It’s a real-life miracle, though it’s also a real-life nightmare. But its very existence offers me protection and want it or not, I have to take care of it, which also means taking care of myself.
It physically hurts me to consider having the child of a Vittori or Mikhailov. There’s a small chance that it could be Ezra’s because we’d had sex the same night Nikolai took me as punishment for trying to kill myself. But the most likely outcome is that it belongs to Vigo. He raped me more times than I care to count over the past six months.
Renata has already typed in the code on the keypad lock and the door clicks open. She sniffles, then clears her throat. “The code is 7-4-2-5. Both to get in and out.” She pushes the door open and I follow her inside. “I’ll send someone tomorrow morning to…to clear things out while our family doctor evaluates you.”
A quick glance toward the bathroom shows that nothing has been touched since we escaped. The tiled floor is glossy with the water that spilled from the tub. The oversized mirror that trapped me inside still rests cockeyed on the tub. My heart pounds furiously and I take a step backward.
“Could you…could you close t-the bathroom door?” I stammer, nerves clawing at my confidence.
My eyes are fixed on the cold tiled floor as my panic is triggered. I think Renata’s watching me discerningly, but I don’t know for sure. All I can see is water—above me, around me, encapsulating me.
The noise she makes sounds pleased. “I’m not your servant, Anya. You may have risen in status on a technicality, but you’re no better than I am. You and I, my dear, are on equal footing. Close the door yourself.”
I only realize she’s left when I hear the door click shut behind her. My head turns and I look at the doorknob with the keypad above it.
“Shit…shit.”
Did it lock automatically?
What did she say the code was?
7-4-4-5…No.
7-4-5-…Shit, shit, shit.
I reach for the handle and pull down. It opens. The weight of my relief-filled sigh threatens to drag me down to my knees. My pulse sounds like an internal thunderstorm as it thrums behind my ears.
I should’ve known the door would open. Vigo always entered his code on the keypad once we were inside the room to lock me in.
I need to know that code.
I peek my head out into the hallway to see Renata walking away. I open my mouth to ask her, but I never even get a chance to. She must’ve heard the door click open. She halts, turns her head back toward me, and even from this far away, I think I can see a tear rolling slowly down her cheek.
“7-4-2-5,” she says before I even ask.
Then, she disappears around the corner.
I can’t bring myself to lie on the bed.
I won’t sit on the small stool in front of the vanity.
I’ve been brutalized in every part of this room and I’m haunted by my memories. They cling to me like a virus for which there is no cure. But I’m exhausted—physically and emotionally—and I can hardly stand on my own two feet anymore. Without conscious thought, my body slumps and I sit on the carpet, right here where I’m standing in the middle of the room.
The sound of a running faucet ghosts across my mind and the phantom noise grips me, the sound gradually increasing until I find myself covering my ears to block it out.
It’s not real.
The faucet is off.
Vigo is dead.
I’m safe for the moment.
Vigo is dead.
I close my eyes and all I can see is his face rippling above me as I look up at him from beneath water. My eyes snap open again immediately and I half expect to see him standing in front of me. I breathe in and out, in and out, willing my hammering heartbeat to settle, but it only beats faster. My lungs strain as my breaths quicken and shorten until I’m panting, desperate for a decent breath…as if I’m under water again.
