Page 32 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

My head swarms with images of young women being forced to sell their bodies. Black swans with blood dripping off the tops of their heads. The handsome stranger who has imprisoned me in a gilded cage.

I want to speak to my parents, to ask what they knew and what they know, but they’d only rebuff me. They made that much clear earlier.

Tears leak from my eyes. I just lie there and let them come. I’m powerless to stop them.

“Charity,” I whisper. “If only you were here…”

If Charity had been alive, she would never have let me go back to the commune. She would have insisted on going somewhere far away. Leaving all this chaos behind.

If only I could channel even an ounce of her strength, maybe I’d be able to stand up to Phoenix. Maybe I’d be able to confront my parents. Maybe I’d be able to recall the memories I’m too traumatized to remember.

I soak until my skin has turned pruny and the water’s turned cold before I get out of the tub. I wipe myself dry and slip on the silky silver robe hanging from a hook next to the sink.

I shudder as I loop the cord loosely around my waist. Not because it feels bad—but because the material is too soft, too comfortable. It’s like everything else happening around me: a lie that would be so easy to nestle myself inside of.

I stare at the luxury that I’m surrounded by and I resent all of it.

Am I supposed to be grateful?

Am I supposed to be happy?

A part of me actually wishes I were in one of those bunkers with the rest of the villagers. At least that wouldn’t feel like a lie.

My head jerks to the side when I think I hear a cry in the far distance. “Theo?” I whisper.

Of course, no one hears me. No one answers.

I meander aimlessly around the room. Through the windows, I can see the gardens, illuminated by floodlights now that the sun has set. Shadows move in pairs around the perimeter—Phoenix’s guards keeping watch, I’m sure. The moonlight occasionally reflects off of the heavy weaponry in their hands.

I hate that my eyes search for Phoenix. That I long to see his form amongst the patrols.

I wish I can say that what he’s done—what I’ve watched him to both to me and others with my own two eyes—extinguished my feelings entirely.

But I’m done lying to myself.

I do have feelings for Phoenix. They’re complicated and acute and there’s no denying them anymore. That doesn’t mean I have to be a slave to them, though. I don’t have to be a doormat or a dutiful wife or an obedient daughter.

I don’t have to beanything. Not unless I want to be.

My eyes fall to the beautiful crystal ornament sitting by the table in front of the window. I pick it up and toss it from one hand to the other.

What are you feeling, Elyssa?Charity asks.

I don’t look up. I know Charity’s not really there, but I hear her voice in my head all the same. It’s comforting. Like she’s still with me.

“I’m feeling… helpless,” I admit out loud.

And?

“And angry. Really angry.”

What have I always told you?

“Whatever I’m feeling, it’s okay to let it out.”

Bingo. And what do you want to do right now?

I look down at the object in my hand. The answer rises to my lips like I’ve known it all along. “I want to destroy this beautiful crystal ornament. I want to wreck this perfect room. I want to ruin this glamorous lie.”

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