Page 46 of Break Me
“Breathe,” I tell my sub, glancing up from the wound to grab her attention, but her eyes are glazed and unfocused. She’s not getting enough air. “Get her some oxygen,” I demand.
Mikhail is already on it, setting the oxygen concentrator beside the table.
“Keep breathing,” I tell her as Mikhail pulls the elastic band of the mask over her head. “I’ve got you.” Turning my attention to the gauze, I repeat the words on a whisper, hoping to God I’ll be able to fulfill that promise. “I’ve got you.”
Carefully lifting the gauze, I find that it’s a long but not very deep cut. It hasn’t hit anything vital, and the bleeding has already receded somewhat. But she’ll need quite a few stitches, and I’ll need to monitor her to make sure the wound doesn’t get infected.
“How bad is it?” Mikhail asks.
My shoulders drop with relief as I look up and say, “She’ll be okay.”
Pressing the gauze back to the wound, I get Mikhail to hold it while I go to place a hand on my sub’s forehead. “You’ll be all right,” I tell her, stroking her damp forehead. She has barely uttered a sound since I found her bleeding, but the escalating trembling in her body and her dilated pupils tell me she’s in a lot of pain.
“I’ll take away the pain,” I promise as I lean down to press a kiss to her forehead. Then I go to retrieve a syringe and a sedative. She barely even flinches as I inject it into the crook of her arm. She just keeps staring at me with those round, vulnerable eyes as if I’m her only anchor at a stormy sea. And I guess I am. And somehow, those eyes are mine. As they go distant and she blinks her heavy lids, my chest tightens and the room seems to grow smaller. Along with it comes the guilt. And murderous fury.
I don’t know what I would have done if something even worse had happened to her. That fear when I didn’t know how bad it was—the idea that I might lose her—made me realize how important this girl is to me. And just how badly I want to hurt anyone who hurts her.
The need for revenge keeps growing with each second I watch the angry wound as I administer local anesthesia and stitch it up.
That blonde girl with the voice is going to pay for what she did.
25
EMMA
I wake in my cell feeling unusually drowsy and confused. A sharp ache in my side has me groaning as I try to turn on my side. I carefully press a hand to the place to discover a thick bandage.
The cut,I remember. Lavinia accidentally cut me when she grabbed the knife from her buyer. She tried to cut herself—to take her own life—and when I tried to stop her, her arm flew out and the blade slashed at my stomach.
The next thing I notice are the covers. It’s no longer the usual tattered blankets but a thick, fluffy comforter with soft sheets, and there’s a pillow under my head. Peeling my eyes open, I stare at the pristine white fabric covering the comforter. It looks completely off in the barren cell. Mockingly so.
A sudden pang I haven’t felt in a long while rises to the surface as I remember the soft sheets of hotel rooms or my own bed at home. Thick, comfy mattresses, the scent of rose shampoo in my hair, and the sun filtering through windows to warm my skin. Small things I once took for granted but haven’t felt for months.
The taste of fresh croissants in the morning, the sound of soft music, and my cozy pink pajamas.
Taste, sound, and color.
A hot shower, the lock on the bathroom door, and soft towels to wrap around my body.
Warmth, safety, and privacy.
Tears spring to my eyes as I turn my back to the room, groaning as the movement stretches my wound. Closing my eyes, I try to recall all those things: how a croissant would flake in my mouth, the notes of my favorite song, and the fluffy feeling of flannel against my skin.
But the sensations are too far gone. All I can imagine is the idea of them. Like seeing something on the television but not ever being able to get close to it.
A TV. Being entertained and having mental stimulation.
Suddenly, the ache in my stomach isn’t the worst. It’s the hollow ache in my chest. It keeps growing and growing as I lie there, overcome by a sudden flood of memories. I think of all the things I had—the things I’ve lost—and where I am now. In a barren gray cell with a wound in my stomach. And soft white sheets as a poor consolation.
Bitterness tightens my throat, and I shove the comforter aside. The pillow too. I can’t stand them. They make the desolation of the place even starker. They’re a cruel reminder of what I once had and how little I now have. I don’t even have the hope Lavinia’s voice brought me anymore—or her friendship. She’s gone now. Or will be soon.
The door opening makes me turn my head and groan again as the movement radiates down my side and into the wound.
“What’s the matter? Has the wound opened up?” Dax rushes to my side, gently turns me to my back, and checks the wound. The relief is palpable in his voice as he says, “No bleeding. That’s a good sign.” He places a hand on my forehead. “How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
Bitterness churns in my stomach, and I want to pull away from Dax—the man who keeps me trapped in this gray nothingness. The man who keeps me captive in this dark world where you get stabbed by your only friend because desperation is the only thing this place fosters. But I don’t have it in me to pull away. I feel hollow and empty. Meaningless. So I just shrug, staring off at the far wall.
“What’s the matter, my sweet sub?” He pulls the comforter back over me and lifts my head to push the pillow back in place. “Talk to me.”