Page 29 of Deception

Grasping the edge of the sink, I pull myself harder against the cold stone. The ache bubbles up my body, simmering at the back of my eyes.

“Sweet tea,” Elif coos lightly, putting a teacup down in front of me. “Makes everything better.”

She means well, I’m sure of it from the way she softly strokes down my spine. The scent of sugar, cinnamon, and cloves warms through me, reminding me of Christmas and all the candles my mother lights in every room of our home. It makes me wonder what she’s doing right now. How she’s doing. I imagine she would be devastated.

“It will be better,” she breathes, looking down at the vanity before she adds, “Things can get better.”

There’s a lilt to her voice and her tone that makes my heart stick for a second. It’s almost as if Elif genuinely cares. Like my mother cared and my grandmother used to care too. It doesn’t take much more for my thoughts to wander, and before I can stop myself from going there again, I wonder if anyone else misses me. My father…but really Freddie.

We weren’t an official thing, but we were as official as anyone could ever get with him. He had all my heart on a platter. I loved him enough that I would do anything for him. I would do whatever it took to show him I was it for him.

Still, it’s not his voice that whispers to me at night or his touch that lingers on my skin. It’s not him that makes my heart beat to within an inch of its life. It used to be. Loving him was suffocating. It hurt and scarred beyond reason.

Wiping the tears that threaten to escape me, I pick up the tea and take a sip. It tastes even better than it smells. The sweetness has a tang to it. The flavour of lemon and pineapple lingers on my tongue along with the bitterness of the black tea and the heat of the spices.

I’m about to put the cup down and gather myself so that we can continue with the morning ritual when she holds out a blister packet. The one pill looks small and harmless. As I take it from her, I recognise the name of the active ingredient beneath the Russian script.

My eyes flit to hers, and she smiles with an encouraging nod for me to take the morning-after pill. “It’s going to be okay.”

Is it?

Glancing between her and the packet in my hand, I try to calm my thoughts. It’s impossible when they’re already in overdrive. I keep thinking back to how everything played out with Tomasz. I pushed, and he pulled. He warned me, and I baited. I knew it would happen eventually, and maybe a part of me wanted it to be over and done with. To rip the plaster off and let him do his worst so that I could find something more to hate him with because the longer I’m here, the fuzzier all the reasons to loathe him become.

The more he hurts me, the more I think about him. Of how he also takes care of me afterwards. Sometimes when we’re amid our wrangles, he looks at me, and I feel his gaze course through me as though it is a physical thing.

“Take it…” Elif murmurs while nodding at my hand encouragingly.

“Did he give it to you?” Not that it makes a difference.

Or maybe it does because the question leaves a soured note in my mouth. If he’s going to kill me in the end, does it really matter if he takes precautions?

This is probably just another of his games. Pretending he cares enough to take care of me after he mangles my spirit a bit more. He thrives on mind games. Tomasz pushes me to the very edge of my limits and then pulls me back closer to him and further from my sanity. Consequently, the closer we get, the harder it is to resist this inexplicable tug between us.

It’s a vicious circle, and slowly but surely, it’s grinding me down. Even if I am disintegrating his control, along with my resilience, Tomasz has an escape. The safety net of freedom and distance while I’m here, stuck inside these walls.

“Did he give it to you?”

“This will fix any trouble,” she tells me, peering down her nose at my belly.

“This?” A laugh bursts from me as I hold up the blister packet between us. “This fixes nothing,” I snap at her, using my thumb to one-handedly push the pill out of the packet before I throw the orange-foiled plastic at her.

“It doesn’t fix shit! And this? This…” I hold up the china cup by the delicate handle. “It doesn’t make any of it okay.”

The teacup falls to the floor with an ear-splintering crack when I release it from my grasp. The longer I look down at the broken pieces, the cloudier my vision becomes. My anger roils inside me in a way that feels as though I might physically explode if I don’t scream. There’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening. The air in my lungs is so hot that as I shriek, it burns up my airway, scorching my mouth and lips as she tries to silence me.

“Quiet. Please…the guards…Please…shhh…shhh…”

“It’s not okay,” I finally murmur. “He… Tomasz…he…”

I know what I want to say. What I should be saying. It’s what I need to so that I can make myself feel better about the constant longing of my body for his. Even now that he’s sent his minion to take care of the lesser of his problems. The urge to maim him is as powerful as my need to feel him.

“Your master…he?—”

A part of me hopes that if I can say it, it’ll somehow erase my guilt for not fighting him. The truth doesn’t allow it though. The words that I keep trying to force out congeal in my throat because they’re a fucking lie. One that I hate myself for.

My grandmother once told me that I was too honest for my own good. That I had to learn to lie through all my fucking teeth if I was going to survive this world. She was right, and I failed at that too.

Turning back to the mirror, I find the bruises Tomasz’s fingers left on my side. As I touch my fingertips to them and press, I can still hear him telling me,I will be your last.

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