Page 5

stassi

“Open your eyes,” he screamed at me.

I didn’t want to open anything. I didn’t want to look at him. Fuck, I didn’t even want to be here.

“Now,” he bellowed as he rammed so hard inside me, pain shot through my body.

Slowly, I shifted, trying to open my eyes, if only to appease him, hoping that when I did, this would be over faster. Welts formed on my body as he continued to slap me around as if I was another pillow on the bed.

“Now,” he repeated, and this time, his tone told me that if I didn’t look at him soon enough, there’d be consequences for my actions.

Thankfully, they barely opened, enough that I could see him. Sweat beaded on his brow as his hair fell haphazardly in his face, and his striking blue eyes looked terrifying as his naked form loomed over me.

“I need you to at least look like you’re enjoying this for it to work.”

I coughed a few times. “I think I’m coming down with something.”

He shook his head. “I saw the way you were looking at him tonight.” Slam.

Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. “W-who?”

“The goalie,” Dimitri groaned as he brought his hands to my nipples, grabbing and twisting with brute force.

I needed to search on the internet later if it was physically possible for a human being to rip off a nipple.

“The-The goalie?” I repeated, trying to remember what the heck happened tonight.

My mind raced with all the things that would upset him.

I’d done everything he asked. I stopped skating at night so he had dinner to come home to.

I didn’t wear anything tight or revealing because he was the only one who was allowed to see that side of me.

I stopped wearing makeup because he said I’d draw unwarranted attention from men.

What did I do wrong tonight? Was this what my life was going to be like until death? Because I wasn’t too sure this was a life I’d want to live if it was.

“Yes,” he growled. “You were looking at him.”

I longed to shut my eyes once more, seeking refuge from the overwhelming surge of adrenaline pulsing through Dimitri’s veins. His grip on my hips was so tight that I feared they might fracture under the strain.

“I was looking at everyone, trying to be friendly.” I paused as he relentlessly pounded into me. “I was looking at the other friend, too?” The end of my words trailed up into a question unintentionally.

Another slam.

“He’s Russian.”

My eyes darted around the room as I tried to understand what he was talking about. At least this conversation was distracting him from impaling me.

“So?”

“He understands. He would never touch you, but that doesn’t mean the others know the same standards.”

I wanted to scream at him and tell him that was the stupidest stereotype I’d ever heard.

I knew plenty of cheaters in Russia, not like I was going to step out of this marriage, though.

It would upset my family, and Dimitri would ruin everything for me.

I needed to earn my place and show him I could be enough for him and a successful ice-skater.

“Okay,” I whispered, not wanting to argue with him, needing this moment to pass.

His entire body pulled away from me, his penis no longer inside me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing he hadn’t finished inside me.

“I can’t do this with you tonight,” he shrieked and then ran into our adjoining bathroom.

My legs dangled off the bed, and I wasn’t sure I was able to walk with all the pain from my hips, but quietly, I was grateful he was done.

I managed to get up and walk toward the mirror in the corner of the room, a room that looked nothing like what I’d want to live forever in. I wanted a house to feel warm, and this room was simply a bed with a large mirror in the corner and a few scattered windows that always had the shades drawn.

My nipples were cracked, bleeding, and raw, and indentations marred my hips.

This was going to take a few weeks to heal.

I was looking at the damage when I heard the bathroom door slam open.

I grabbed the white blanket that was draped on the bed behind me, wrapping myself up.

I didn’t want to upset him further and show him what he’d done.

Whenever this would happen, he’d let me escape to the rink, where I could rehearse and stay as long as I wanted. It was his way of making up for the night before, as if a few hours on the ice could erase the pain.

Yesterday, he even transferred money into my account so I could buy a new pair of leggings for practice since mine were worn out and full of holes. It was a reminder of how dependent I was on him for everything.

“Dirks told me he was going out tonight at dinner. I’m going to join him.”

I looked down as he grabbed a crisp, white linen shirt from the closet.

“I can get dressed,” I said softly.

I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to socialize again. I wanted to be... alone.

“No,” he said, and my eyes darted up toward him.

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way my wish for some peace and quiet was actually being granted. We had only been married for a week, and during that time, I hadn’t even had the chance to use the bathroom alone.

“No?”

“I’m going out. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”

He put on his watch and then looked down at me, covered in the white blanket. “Go to bed.” He dropped a kiss to my forehead, and I flinched, hoping it was nothing more than that.

“Okay,” I whispered as he turned to leave without looking back.

It wasn’t until I heard the front door shut that I was finally able to let out a breath.

I was lying in bed earlier, utterly convinced that the clock was playing a cruel joke on me. It was ten o’clock, and sleep eluded me, so I found myself engaging in the only logical activity for the middle of the night—baking chocolate chip cookies.

Baking cookies was easy. I measured everything exactly, following the recipe to the letter. The process was predictable, the outcome certain. Cookies were safe—they didn’t yell, demand, or disappoint. They were the one thing I could always control.

“Ow,” I murmured as I reached down to retrieve the piping-hot cookies from the oven.

Following my husband’s rough sexual activities, bending down had become increasingly difficult.

Without meaning to, I’d doubled the recipe and ended up with two dozen cookies. As I divided them into containers, I paused, wondering if my new neighbors might appreciate some.

“Shit,” I muttered, remembering that Dirks was out with my... husband.

This was ridiculous. I wasn’t a baker. Why was I bothering with the other guys in the apartment building anyway?

“But you already made them,” I said to myself.

I grabbed three Tupperware from the top drawer.

If I kept all these cookies here, I wasn’t sure Dimitri would appreciate all the sweets.

Deciding to leave the cookies at Dirks’s front door for when they returned, I imagined they would make a nice late-night snack after a few drinks.

The second container was for my husband, and the last one was for.

.. Alexsey. It was, of course, only fair to include him since he invited us into his home.

“He’s probably out with them.” I reasoned aloud.

I packaged up the two boxes, leaving the third one on the counter for Dimitri, and then headed out the door.

Despite their apparent gratitude for the meal I had prepared earlier, a sense of melancholy swept over me as I looked at the cookies. Delivering these cookies seemed childish, but I was lonely, and baking provided a small comfort in an otherwise miserable life.

Logically, I knew my mother was responsible for this situation.

She had sent me here and insisted that getting married was for the best. I understood she only wanted better for me than what she had growing up.

Her parents struggled to put food on the table, and it wasn’t until she married my father that she saw real financial opportunities.

They both worked hard, bought an apartment together, and moved me to the city so I could pursue a future in skating.

As the elevator doors slid open, announcing my arrival on Alexsey and Dirks’s floor, I released a wary sigh.

Since I’d already gone to the trouble of baking the cookies, I might as well deliver them, even if they found the gesture peculiar.

Without labeling the containers with my name, I hoped they might be perceived as a gift from an anonymous well-wisher.

The hallway stretched out before me, its walls adorned with tasteful artwork and mirrors reflecting the soft glow of the sconces. Plush carpeting dampened the sound of my footsteps as I made my way down the hall.

I left the container at Dirks’s door, the very one he had pointed out to me when we had left after dinner earlier in the evening, suggesting I invite him over if I were cooking dinner again.

Moving to the adjacent door, I heard faint sounds emanating from his apartment, likely what sounded like a television.

Drawing nearer to the door, I strained to discern any indication of movement, listening intently for the telltale sound of footsteps. I heard something, so I put my ear closer to the door.

Suddenly, the front door swung open, and I let out a startled shriek as my body pitched forward.

In the split second before I hit the ground, a strong pair of arms enveloped me, preventing a painful collision with the floor.

Yet, despite the rescue, the container of cookies slipped from my grasp, its contents scattering across the hallway in a chaotic display of chocolate chips and dough.

I glanced up, still reeling from the sudden turn of events, and found myself face-to-face with the man who had caught me.

His thick build and powerful arms exuded strength, each muscle defined beneath the fabric of his shirt.

But it was the warmth in his gaze that captivated me the most, a gentle concern mingled with a hint of amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes.