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The memory of the night of my assault flashes in front of me every time I close my eyes, but when I open them, the pain seems even harder to bear.

I try everything.

I roll onto my side and bring my knees to my chest, a move that sometimes brings temporary comfort. It doesn’t.

I get on my hands and knees and rock back and forth—a move an OB in London once taught me—and it has worked before.

Not this time.

I stretch my arms and legs on the bed like a starfish, and it hurts so badly I immediately crawl back into a fetal position, grit my teeth, and bear it.

Just like I did that night. When fighting didn’t work, and I couldn’t escape, I bore it and reminded myself that I wasn’t going to die, that this wasn’t the end, and that, eventually, I would get my vengeance.

But there is no getting vengeance when my own body is assaulting me.

God.

I’ve ruined his sheets.

I bleed heavily because of scar tissue, and I’ve never found anything that helped with that either.

I need feminine supplies. Privacy. A shower.

But I can’t.

I’ll get new sheets. I just don’t want him near me right now.

There’s silence.

Just me.

And my pain.

My memories.

My shame.

And then I hear two voices. A female one and a male one, followed by another male one. But then one leaves, and it’s only Matvei and a woman.

And the voice, it… sounds just like my own.

No—

The door opens, and Polina comes in.

She’s wearing slouchy sweats, her hair in a haphazard bun, and thin little glasses on the tip of her nose as if she’s just woken from sleep and hasn’t put her contacts in yet.

"Anissa, tell me what’s going on."

She sits on the edge of the bed next to me and reaches for me, then stops herself midair and places her small hand on the bed beside me instead.

My cheeks flame with embarrassment.

I’ve only just met my sister.

I don’t know her at all.

And yet—here I am.