Page 5

5

LAVINIA

I spend most of the first two days here sleeping.

I’m bone-tired, and this place has given me the peace I need to get some rest in my weary bones.

Here, there’s no stress of how to afford next week’s rent, my next meal, or how to escape the men lurking in back alleys after a gig.

I don’t even have to fear Zoltan here.

At least, so I think.

Being shut in and isolated also means that everyone else is shut out.

The fact that I’m locked up doesn’t even bother me.

Freedom was always overrated.

Nothing good ever came of it.

Nothing but danger, loss, and uncertainty.

The same goes for people.

The isolation is blissful.

I’ve always enjoyed being alone, and the world and all the people and noise in it have always seemed oppressive.

The first few times someone who’s not Dorin comes in here, I’m on edge and nervous.

They’re all men, and none of them seem particularly friendly—which is to put it mildly.

But none of them try to touch me or take advantage of my vulnerable state.

They don’t even speak to me, so I don’t speak to them.

They just bring me food, take me to the bathroom, or to a shower room where they hose me down with tepid water in the evenings.

It’s not particularly comfortable.

I’m always shivering after the showers, and the halls are barren, resembling an old dungeon more than a psychiatric facility.

Once or twice, I even see an orderly drag a girl screaming down the hall.

But then again, Romanian mental hospitals never did have a great reputation, and mental illness comes in many degrees and forms.

All things considered, I guess this is better than what I could have feared.

At least, I’m not in a crowded room with twenty others, the blankets in my cell keep me warm, and I get more food than I ever did beyond these walls.

As the shock and exhaustion wanes a bit on the second day, worry creeps in as I realize being locked up might not keep Zoltan out.

He has more than enough money to bribe his way in, and this padded cell might be temporary.

Once they deem me non-suicidal, they might move me to one of those crowded halls full of people, where it will be even easier for Zoltan to get to me.

I voice my concerns when Dorin brings me dinner.

He’s the only one who talks to me and the only one I feel comfortable talking to.

And the only one who insists on feeding me.

It’s a bit unnerving, but I also feel oddly cared for when he brings the spoon to my mouth, providing me with the nourishment I always struggled to provide for myself.

“Can anyone get in here?” I ask a bit awkwardly halfway through the meal, fumbling with the blankets, unsure how to ask if my ex and stalker who caused all the ugly scars on my body can get to me here.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… can anyone from the outside access me here?”

“No, this place is a fortress,” he says, but I’m not sure he understands.

I usually don’t tell anyone about Zoltan, afraid they’ll want a ransom and take advantage of the situation, but there’s nothing usual about this situation.

And I feel a certain level of trust in this man.

I’m not sure if it’s a savior complex or if it’s rational, and I’m not sure it matters.

It’s not like I have much of a choice, so I say, “Someone very rich is looking for me. I’m afraid he’ll find me. I mean, now that I’m in the system.”

“No one finds you here,” he states, shoving another spoonful of beef stew toward my mouth.

I lean away from the spoon.

“You don’t know this man. He’s dangerous. And rich. As in crazy amounts of money. If he bribes someone—”

Grabbing my jaw, he leans in close, watching me with a directness that has my breath stuttering.

“No. One. Gets in here. I promise that.”

I stare at him, baffled and unable to find any words.

What he’s saying isn’t much of an assurance, but the way he says it…

“Do you understand?” he urges.

I nod in his hand.

“Now eat.” He shoves the spoon back to my lips, forcing me to open promptly to avoid getting sauce down my chin.

“You’re too thin.” A furrow forms between his brows as he throws a glance down my body, and I hug the blanket tighter.

“Can I get some clothes?” I ask him, just like I’ve asked several of the other orderlies—or nurses, or whatever they are—without getting an answer.

“No clothes here.”

“Why?”

He glances down my body again.

“They get in the way.”

I frown at this and bite my lips together.

I don’t like going naked.

If all the orderlies had been women, I would’ve been okay, but they’re all men.

But then again, no one has tried anything—they barely even look at me—so I decide to let it go and inquire about something else instead.

“Are you gonna throw me into some crowded room once…” I shut my eyes and swallow hard.

“Once what?”

“Once I’m not suicidal anymore.”

He swipes a gentle hand that seems too intimate to be professional over my cheek, and I open my eyes to stare into his deep brown ones as he says, “No. You’ll stay here.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

His head tilts slightly as if I’ve just said something weird, and he curves his palm around my cheek softly as he holds my gaze.

“Tomorrow, you start therapy.”

I nod.

I don’t know if it’s supposed to be a reassurance or if it’s just information.

It doesn’t matter.

Right now, all I see is him and the comfort I find in the depths of his steady gaze.

***

Sometime after lunch the next day, Dorin comes to get me.

I’m fidgeting and nervous as he walks me down the long, barren halls.

I’ve never been in therapy, and the idea of dredging up all the hurt and grief that caused me to drag a knife across my wrists—and let it all out to a stranger—has my stomach churning.

“Can I at least get some clothes for this?” I can’t open up like that when naked and vulnerable.

There’s no way.

“They’ll get in the way,” he says, repeating his vague answer from yesterday.

“What do you mean?” My voice goes up a pitch as he opens a door and herds me inside.

What meets me in the room does nothing to alleviate the anxiety.

Rather, it drives it through the roof.

“What is this?” I squeal, backing up at the sight of a sort of exam table with restraints attached everywhere and stirrups where the lower half of the table is supposed to be.

“Get in,” he says, pointing to the scary-looking chair.

“No.” Hugging my arms around me, I back up another step.

“You said therapy.”

“Yes, therapy.”

I shake my head, and my breaths go ragged as my back hits the wall.

“Electrotherapy,” he clarifies.

“No!” How could I have thought I was safe here?

I’m so desperate for safety that I’ll take any resemblance of it I can get.

But nothing in this world is safe.

Yet, I keep grappling for it, because maybe—just maybe—this one time, I’ve gotten it all wrong.

“Are you at least gonna sedate me first?” I don’t know much about electrotherapy, but I do know that it has become a lot safer and more humane, and hope grows in me as I say the words.

Dorin smashes my hope as quickly as it came.

“No.”

“What? No?” I push at him as he tries to grab my arm.

“You can’t do this without sedation. It’s illegal. And you need a doctor for it. Will a doctor come?”

He grabs me under the arms, carries me flailing to the chair, and plops me into it.

With a massive hand against my chest, he presses me down to half lie against the partially reclined seat.

Wasting no time trying to calm me, he goes at the straps, pulling one over my chest and buckling it before moving on to draw one over my stomach.

I throw my hands at the first one, fumbling at the buckle.

With Dorin swatting my hands away, it takes a few tries, but I manage to open it and burst up to sit, grabbing the next strap.

With a grunt, Dorin snatches my wrist.

“Ah,” I cry at his terrifying grip that drains the strength from my arm, making my hand go slack.

“You can’t do this,” I protest, shoving at his very big paws as he straps my hand to the side of the table.

“Why not?” he asks in an almost bored tone that scares me as much as his devastating strength.

The moment he releases my hand, I claw at the buckle to get it open, but before I can grab the strap, he has my other hand in an iron grip.

I know I’ve lost as he leans over the table and forces my wrist into another strap, making me wince and whimper from the painful force.

“You can’t do this,” I repeat, defeat low lacing my voice.

“It’s not legal.” At least, I don’t think it is.

But psychiatric facilities are so underfunded and stigmatized in this country that I’m sure no one keeps track of what is going on in them.

Especially not one as far away from civilization as this one must be.

I have no idea where we are, but the village I was living in was as isolated as anything comes, and I have a hunch that Dorin hasn’t taken me far.

At least not far enough to reach any place meaningful.

Defeat becomes a heavy burden on my chest, pressing down and squeezing my lungs as I tug at my restrained hands without achieving anything.

Pressing my head back into the chair, I stare at the ceiling, wishing I had been a little stronger.

Wishing I could have found the strength to cut deep enough.

Dorin is quiet and methodical as he straps me down.

“Please,” I implore in a weak voice as he lifts my feet into the stirrups.

I have no idea why he needs my legs spread.

All I can think is that this facility is far more corrupt than I could imagine.

“Please don’t do this. I’m not schizophrenic. Or depressed. This won’t work on me.”

He ignores my begging as he straps my legs in tight and proceeds to do the same with my hips, effectively displaying my private parts.

It’s not until he comes to stand by my head that I gain eye contact.

“You don’t need to do this,” I implore.

“I’m already better. Just being here has helped. I’m not gonna take my own life.”

Stroking his calloused palm over my head, he says, as if it’s supposed to soothe me, “You don’t have a choice.”

Parting my lips, I shake my head as I try to find a response.

But his words are so far out that there’s nothing I can say.

This place clearly works outside the bounds of reason, and nothing I say will change that.

“Now open your mouth.” He picks something up from a side table, then smooths his hand over my forehead.

Defeat is a sharp cut to my pride as I obey.

It’s the only thing I can do.

Disobeying and having him force my mouth open would only cut even deeper.

He pushes a bite block between my teeth.

A big one that fills out my mouth and forces it open.

Then he uses roller gauze around my head and under my jaw to secure it in place.

There’s nothing professional about this, is all I can think as he winds the white material around my head.

It’s haphazard and makeshift.

And it scares me to the bone.

Once he’s done, he pulls a final strap over my forehead and steps to the other end of the table to take it all in.

With my mouth sealed shut, breathing through my nose becomes laborious as fear pulses faster through me.

I struggle to look away as his eyes roam over me—my head and sealed mouth, my breasts and stomach, and my fully displayed pussy.

I want to cry as his eyes go between my legs and pause there.

But I refuse to give him my tears.

I jerk against the straps instead, but all I manage is to flap my hands on the table and tap my heels against the stirrups.

Pulling up a rolling stool, Dorin takes a seat between my legs.

My head is too far down to see what he’s doing, but seeing his face is more than enough.

A dark hue seems to settle over his expression as he drags a finger over my slit.

But he doesn’t stop there.

He keeps going.

Down to my ass, where he pauses right at my tight hole.

As he turns his eyes to me, he reads all the fear and building panic in my wide eyes and shallow breaths.

And he seems to feed on it.

Tilting his head slightly, he watches me as if mesmerized as he presses.

Just slightly.

But enough to crank up my pulse further.

I whimper as he stretches my dry tissues.

Little by little.

Horror swirls in my brain as it dawns on me just where he’s going to perform the electrotherapy, and panic closes in as I writhe against the straps, realizing just how little I can do about it.

Closing my eyes, I draw in on myself.

No one has ever touched me there.

Not even Zoltan.

That’s about the only pain he spared me.

He wouldn’t go anywhere near that filthy hole.

But now here I am, at a mental institution, having a stranger violating me down there .

I want to scream and beg and fight, but there’s nothing I can do.

Nothing but getting caught in the riptide of my own panic.

A feral growl escapes him as he pushes in to the first knuckle.

Forcing my eyes open, I stare at him, trying to plead with him through my gaze.

If he goes any further without lubrication, he’ll tear my skin.

He doesn’t even look at me.

All his attention is focused between my legs.

All traces of care and gentleness have vanished in the blink of an eye.

Something menacing has settled over his features, and it’s only now that I notice how scary he actually is.

I’ve been so caught up in the savior part of everything that I barely saw the scar, his gruff features, or his imposing build.

But now, all I see is a sadistic beast.

His jaw tics and his finger jerks inside me.

As he lets out another deep rumbling sound, I just know he’s going to shove all the way in.

I scream against the bite block to make him stop, but it’s not my screams that have him pausing.

It’s the door opening and a bulky, long-haired man who comes in.

He’s not half as menacing as Dorin despite his muscular build and biker-like appearance, but more terrifying than most of the cruel men I’ve encountered, even so.

The new man pauses to watch the scene before him.

The impassive, or maybe curious, expression on his face tells me he won’t intervene even before he speaks.

“Electro play,” he says, seeing the items on the rolling table.

“Nice. Haven’t done that in a while. Mind if I stay and watch?”