Page 26

stassi

The pain radiating in my legs was the first thing I felt as I emerged from the dark, black hole where I had been trapped. The next was the pounding in my brain. It was like I had been shoved deep into a pit of despair after that night with my husband.

I had told him, gently, that I was going to leave him.

In response, he revealed that he had planned this all along.

He was going to leave me with nothing. At first, he pinned me to the bed, pinching every part of me.

His hand covered my mouth as he left marks all over my skin.

I tried to call out for help, but his hand muffled my screams.

Then he tied me up to the bed and went to the bathroom, returning with a hockey stick. He hit me over and over again as I fought desperately to escape.

“Please help me,” the voice inside my head cried.

Whose voice was that? I think it was my own, but the pain inside my head was killing me. I couldn’t be quite sure what was happening.

“Please. Please.”

The stick whaled down against my legs, and I heard it crunch a million times over.

“That’s what you get, bitch. You want to leave me? I was going to leave you anyway, but you’ll be left with nothing. You’ll never skate again. You’ll be a nobody—a lesson for your future self.”

“Please,” I begged. Don’t let me die. I just wanted to be able to see my baby.

It all happened in so much of a blur afterward. He rolled me from the bed to the floor before he scrambled to jump out of our window, but because we were in such a dingy hotel, the windows were sealed shut.

“Shit,” Dimitri cried. “Shit.”

There was nowhere for him to hide. Moments later, the door was pushed open and I was saved.

“My baby,” I said, but no one had heard me because the darkness was already pulling me under and I was falling.

I was falling so far down that even the soothing, familiar touch couldn’t pull me back up.

“Save me.”

My head pounded relentlessly as the darkness grew more suffocating.

I thought I had fallen so deep that I was lost, but the pain in my body surged back, sharp and excruciating.

I cried out as a hand reached down into the darkness.

It was within sight—if only I’d muster the strength to reach for it.

But the weight of the heavy, black abyss kept me pinned down, unable to escape.

I sank.

“You should’ve been a better wife.”

The pain in my head and legs was unbearable, each throb and ache reminding me of my helplessness. Yet, through the haze of agony, that hand kept reaching down, unwavering and insistent.

The arm looked so familiar, almost like a lifeline in this endless void.

As it reached my fingertips, I let it brush over them.

The touch was gentle, yet firm, a spark of warmth in the cold darkness.

I tried to grasp it, summoning every ounce of strength I had left.

The pain intensified, radiating through my body like fire, but I focused on that hand, on that fleeting touch.

It was as if that hand was the only thing anchoring me to reality, the only thing preventing me from completely succumbing to the abyss. Just a little closer, I thought. If I held on, maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to pull myself out of this darkness.

But the weight was overwhelming, pressing down on me with relentless force. The darkness tightened its grip, pulling me back into its depths. The hand seemed to slip away, the connection weakening.

“No,” I whispered, my voice a faint echo in the void. “Please don’t leave me.”

With a final, desperate effort, I reached out, my fingers straining toward the familiar hand. It clasped mine, warm and reassuring. For a moment, the pain and darkness seemed to recede, replaced by a sense of hope. The hand began to pull, gently but firmly, guiding me upward.

Slowly, painfully, I rose from the abyss, the crushing weight easing ever so slightly. The hand never wavered, its grip steady and strong. I held on, my heart clinging to the promise of light, of escape, of life beyond the darkness.

“Open your eyes,” a voice kept urging, gentle yet persistent. “Come on, Anastasia, open your eyes.”

The voice was familiar, soothing. It echoed in my mind, cutting through the haze of pain and fear. I tried to obey, to force my heavy eyelids to move. The darkness fought back, pulling me down, but the voice and the hand were relentless.

“Open your eyes,” it repeated, a lifeline in the chaos. “You can do this.”

I focused on the voice, letting it guide me. My eyelids fluttered, a sliver of light breaking through the darkness. It was blinding at first, but I clung to it, using it to pull myself further from the abyss.

“That’s it,” the voice encouraged. “Keep going. You’re almost there.”

With a monumental effort, I forced my eyes open. The light flooded in, and the darkness began to retreat. I blinked, my vision slowly adjusting. The pain was still there, throbbing and insistent, but it was no longer consuming me.

The face above me came into focus. It was Alex, his eyes filled with worry and relief. His hand still held mine, warm and reassuring.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, tears glistening in his eyes. “You’re going to be okay.”

I squeezed his hand weakly, the connection anchoring me to reality. The darkness was still there, lurking at the edges, but it no longer had me in its grip.

“Nurse,” he shouted, and then I closed my eyes.

“Ouch,” I whispered and realized that my words were actually coming out of my mouth instead of staying inside.

“Anastasia.” Alex’s familiar voice softened. “What hurts?”

“The lights,” I croaked, and his hand left mine before the lights turned off.

I managed to open my eyes the moment the light went out in the room. Seconds after he left, his hand was back on mine.

“Everything hurts,” I whispered, my throat hoarse.

“Hey sweetie,” an unfamiliar voice came closer, and I tried to focus on who it was, but everything was hard to bring my attention to. “What hurts the most?” the soothing feminine voice crooned.

“Head,” I croaked. It hurt to talk. “Water.”

“We’re going to get you all squared away soon. I’m going to pump some meds into your IV to help with that headache.”

All of a sudden, the familiar weight of Alex’s hand left once again, but I darted my head, too quickly, toward where he was moving away from me. “No.” I cried. That’s when water welled in my eyes.

“Need. Him.” I tried to focus on the nurse, catching her saying something inaudible, and then he was beside me again, returning his hand to mine.

“I wanted to call your mom and see if she could bring Damien. Do you want to see him?”

Damien. My son. I nodded.

“Let’s give her a couple of hours to really wake up so she can be at her best when she sees him again. Maybe your hunky boyfriend can give you a good old-fashioned sponge bath, too. What do you say?” the nurse asked with a smile.

I nodded in agreement.

But . . . boyfriend?

“Just a friend,” Alex said, squeezing my hand as if he could somehow read my thoughts.

The nurse leaned in and whispered softly, “Your friend has been waiting for you to wake up for a few weeks now.”

I blinked, trying to process her words as my vision cleared. The nurse had kind eyes framed by soft wrinkles that hinted at years of caring for others. Her short, curly hair was pulled into a bun on top of her head, and she wore a gentle smile that exuded reassurance.

As the nurse stepped back, I took in more of my surroundings.

The sterile smell of the hospital room mingled with a faint floral scent, possibly from a nearby bouquet.

The beeping of medical monitors was rhythmic, almost calming now that I was more aware.

It felt like someone had pressed a fast-forward button, bringing everything into sharp focus after what seemed like an eternity in slow motion.

“You feeling better?” She asked, and I nodded.

“So much better,” I replied hastily.

“Good. Even your speech is better,” she noted with satisfaction. She then rattled off a few instructions to Alex, who listened attentively, his eyes flicking to me every few seconds as if to reassure himself I was truly awake and okay.

As she spoke, I took the opportunity to study him more closely. His concern was palpable, but there was also a tenderness in the way he looked at me, a depth of emotion that spoke volumes.

Alex’s defined jawline gave his face a strong, chiseled appearance. He was dressed in black sweats and a gray hoodie, the casual attire contrasting with the tension etched across his features. His eyes, usually so vibrant, were dull with fatigue, and his brow was deeply furrowed with worry.

The nurse finally moved away, giving us some space, and told us she’d be back in a bit to check on the pain.

“I’m leaving it up to you to tell her,” she whispered, and Alex nodded.

“Tell me wha . . . ?” My speech slurred.

“Can I get a chair so I can sit next to you?”

“Is it bad?”

He nodded . . . slowly.