26. Ana

TWENTY-SIX

Ana

M y cheek hurts as Yulia snatches my hair, the strands breaking and snapping as they're caught in her ringed fingers. I've been fighting like Marlo said so I know how to push my body backwards now and she can't drag me. Theo is only a baby, I won't hurt him when he always smiles and he has cute cheeks. He said a word the other day, he's too little. The smallest out of all the children that have ever lived with us.

She can't make me do it anymore, I know how to fight now.

My body changes and I grow taller until I'm the same height as her. The cattle prod crackles and I know it's not real. It's a dream. But I can't wake up — if I wake up it follows me.

No, I can't, I can't see him again, he'll cry and I can't help him.

My hands don't move as my head is pulled to the side and the smell of burning hair hits me before the pain. I scream out as the brand sears my flesh and pain radiates through my skull, she grabs my jaw, refusing to let me scream.

Move your fucking hands. It's fake. It's not fucking real. I can fight now. I'm not the same child.

It doesn't hurt when she pulls my head back, or when she kicks my knee, because the pain in my skull is worse as she holds me closer to the flame and that searing heat intensifies.

"I told that bastard to leave you, all you are is a problem for me."

I don't know if this is a memory that the pain blocked out or if my mind is making it up in the dream, but I focus on her words having never heard them before.

"If that father of hers ever finds out, he'll kill us all."

It's a new voice, male. One I don't recognize. It's made up, the story about B having a nice dad who protected her.

Something touches my cheek outside of my dream and I flinch away from it.

"I've got you, lisichka. No one's going to hurt you. I promise."

Dima's voice.

I know his voice and he remains in the background as a boot hits my stomach.

"Wake up, it's not real."

It is, he's wrong, he doesn't know anything, and he keeps calling me forward as Yulia drags me through the house. The voice distorts around the crackles of electricity and then it's just crying.

Theo.

No.

I can't.

He keeps crying but I'm back in the 104 days and the voice comes through the door.

"Would you like to leave, princess?"

I do know the voice, it's him, the guard who would stand there eating and drinking, taunting me, but I can't talk or move as Theo slowly stops crying.

The guard's voice gets louder, drowning Dima out.

"All you have to do is open your mouth, and you can leave."

The door is still closed, and I hug Theo closer. He's cold and my body morphs again, back to the weak one where he doesn't fit in both of my arms. I flinch as something touches my forehead outside of my dream and Dima's voice is panicked.

"Open your eyes, lisichka, come back to me."

He keeps saying it and I follow his voice until a blurry image of his face is in front of me. Blinking until it clears, there's relief on his face and he pulls me into his chest. I hate that dream more than the others. I always see it, see Theo's face every day and he always asks me why I didn't help him when I don't see pictures outside of the dreams, but Dima stopped it, and the filing cabinet hasn't opened to spit out all the details of the 104 days, or the smells as my body shakes. I cling to him, so I know it's real, as he keeps repeating himself with a lie on his tongue.

"It was just a dream, you're safe."

My chest stutters and my words follow as I struggle to breathe.

"It was re-real, I kil-killed him. He was only, only a baby."

I hate the 104 days, it's what made me Ana, my mind fractured and I can't go back to who the other person was, maybe she could have been something better.

Less angry.

Less weird.

Less evil.

He squeezes my nape until I look at him, but there's no fear in his eyes as he looks at me. He's not telling me I'm bad and he wipes my face with the sheets before holding my jaw.

"You don't hurt innocent people. You did nothing wrong, lisichka."

He says it with so much conviction, so much belief in his eyes, that I can almost convince myself of the same. I go through the day and what happened to find the information to have me see what he does.

"I woke up in my room, the door was locked, Theo kept crying. Sun rise, sun set. Four times. No guards came. He stopped crying and then it started to smell."

I can still remember the smell, 10 days until the guards came in and the smell was still there for the remaining 94 days when they wouldn't let me out.

Dima tightens his arms around me and holds the back of my head. I can hear his heart pounding against his ribs, and it nearly drowns out his question. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," I mouth, trying to push away the memories.

They weren't allowed to sell me, the other children couldn't have any marks unless someone paid but I wasn't part of their product, so it was free. I don't want to tell him that, or how I forgot how to speak, or how the guards stopped giving me food and shut the water off, so I had to drink out of the toilet like I was a dog. Instead, I say the real answer. "Nothing happened to me, I was the one who hurt people."

It's my fault, I didn't help them, and they all got hurt because of me. If I stopped it or killed myself then it wouldn't have happened, but I didn't know what death was. I didn't know I could stop it – even if the only way would be by dying.

He kisses the top of my head again and his skin is colder as he tightens his arms around me. He presses his lips hard enough that his nose pushes in against my scalp and it muffles his lie.

"You didn't do anything, it was all them."

I can't agree and I don't like lying to him so I give him a different truth, hoping he'll still help me.

"Nina isn't my sister, I only spoke to her once and I slapped her."

He sits me over his thighs and holds my face as I stare at the kot on his chest. I can hear his questions going around his head before he asks, "Why?"

He doesn't say more but I know what he's asking. Why am I doing this when I didn't speak to her, when I hurt her, why did I hurt her?

My voice comes out small and weak as I trace his rankings with the tip of my finger.

"Because she's the only person who didn't hate me straight away."

I'm stopped from hiding mentally as he tilts my face up and continues his lies. "I don't hate you."

Anymore .

I laugh, remembering all the things we've said to each other and point them out. "You said I need an exorcism and that Satan will run away when I get to hell."

His face falls, remorse clouding his features when I'm not angry, I like it when people are scared of me, it means they won't hurt me and they'll leave me alone.

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I kiss his cheek so he knows I'm not angry. It's still dark outside and I try to move to let him sleep but he doesn't allow me to and lays back, taking me with him. He knows all the worst parts and still smiles at me as he gently lifts my hair away from my face, then rests his forehead on mine while hesitating to say his thoughts. He should know I'm invincible, no one can ever hurt me or do anything to me, but he hesitates.

"I was a dumb fuck. You still scare the shit out of me," he sighs, "but the thought of you not being here, with me, is more terrifying than any torture you're capable of."

I wouldn't torture him, I like Dima. I focus on him admitting his fear, he's a man, they usually want everyone to be afraid of them, Marlo did. He wouldn't admit to be scared of anything despite the way he'd get a lump in his throat when I wanted to know about my dad. Or was it emotion? He felt bad because I'm his daughter. All my life I thought my dad was powerful, he'd look for me and save me, but the monster of my childhood wasn't afraid of him, it was him.

That's why he'd get angry when I was too dumb to know any different than trusting him and Yulia to give me the truth and I'd ask them if they're my parents. That day he gave me the worst punishment, worse than the brands, and I couldn't walk for days when he left. Why did they hate me for being born?

Soft lips press into my forehead as Dima gently offers, "Do you need to kill someone?"

No. I don't feel angry or confused. I just feel blank, a good blank where the reel of memories aren't being narrated anymore. He might scare other people, but he gently pushes all the shit in my head away. The demons in my mind are stubborn and they don't leave with threats, only with his calm are they silent.

There are no ants as I press my lips to his in answer. He relaxes instantly as though he knows it too. Ever since I stopped skipping my meals and my period has come back, so has desire. I never had the energy before, my mind and body were too focused on survival, maybe it's because he knows me, and I know he won't hurt me? Whatever it is makes me move and I moan into his mouth as I grind down. Goosebumps trail across my skin in the wake of his fingertips ghosting over the back of my thighs. Chasing his fingers for more, I push my hips down, but he smirks and doesn't fully touch me.

Asshole. I can just do it myself. When I try to sit up he grabs my nape and says, "Bring those sweet lips back to me."

There's a noise low in my throat that's half a moan and half a whimper as I do what he said. He massages the back of my thigh, going under the t-shirt and doing the same to my ass.

"Oomnyashka." 1

The praise on his tongue is soft, matching the hand kneading my muscles and my legs drop open, silently begging him to move between my thighs. Anticipation has me coiled tightly as he trails his fingertips over the curve of my ass to my inner thighs, but it's not in the right place. My teeth come out and I bite his lip, hard. It's not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to tell him to stop playing with me. His fingers flex around my nape and I let his lip go.

"I know, moya krasota, but I need your words." His coo is like a balm and an irritant to my heightened nerves. 2

He thinks I'm beautiful?

All the words I have are pre-rehearsed, I don't want to use those ones so I settle on a new one.

"Please?"

Not please stop, not please don't do this like I've said in my head so many times. Just please. He smiles and kisses the tip of my nose. Letting go of my nape, he stretches and grabs a pillow before gently tapping my hip. "Sit up for me."

Doing as instructed, I sit up on my knees and shuffle back expecting his dick to touch me, but he brings his knees up and fluffs the cushion up as he places it behind my shoulders and leans me back to rest against his thighs with my feet planted either side of his body.

A concentrated shot of his cologne hits the air as he uncaps a tube and squirts lotion into his palm. Is he moisturizing his hands instead of touching me? That's weird and I've seen some weird shit. He ignores his dick fighting to escape as he warms it between his hands, and my need turns to angry frustration. I'm not the one who came into his bedroom or touched him first. I was happy with me, the grinder, and my book-inspired imagination.

I not so gently tap the edge of my foot off his hip and ask, "Give me my phone, aliens are fake and they're better than you."

He doesn't react how I want, he's too calm and in control as he stares at me with his eyes darkening.

"You are mine and I look after everything that belongs to me with the privilege it deserves."

His hands land on my knees, he doesn't move past the hem of the t-shirt and remains fixed on my eyes rather than between my legs.

"Take it off for me, lisichka, I want to see you."

There's only patience staring back at me, he's testing me to see if I'm comfortable. Nerves flood my stomach with little flutters but no hesitation as I pull the t-shirt over my head. He continues moisturizing me as he massages down my calves.

Does he think I have dry skin?

I look down at my body to check and he moves forward into my line of vision and speaks around a smug smile.

"I want everyone to know you're mine."

I think I mumble squeak ‘okay', and he kisses my cheek before warming lotion between his hands again to cover every inch of my skin in his scent. Reaching my wrists, he takes my hand in each of his and massages it before he goes back up my arm and massages my shoulders.It's nice now that I'm not checking the dryness of my skin and my eyes close as he introduces every part of me to his hands, and he cups my tits, forcing a soft moan out of me.

"That's it, malyshka, just relax."

His stubble graces my collar bone before his lips touch below my ear, he doesn't go to the unscarred side; he keeps them there right below the brand and softly sucks the sensitive skin between his lips as he massages across my ribs.

It's comforting to smell like him and he massages across my lower back as his other hand goes to my arm that he hasn't touched yet. He doesn't do the same to my hand and instructs, "Make yourself feel good, show me what you thought I'd do."

I can't use my hand, it always brings the memories back, and my panic must be written on my face because he holds my jaw and speaks softly, mistakenly thinking I'm embarrassed.

"It's okay, lisichka, remember it's just me and you."

The truth is worse, and I look over his shoulder at the headboard, hating that I'm fucked up as I mutter, "I don't like the feeling on my hand."

His jaw clenches and his muscles tense as soon as the words have left me. Maybe I'm broken, this is all annoying to me when it's my life, Dima will find it worse having to put up with me. He doesn't voice that and he once again stops the memories and fills my vision with the twin moons.

"I heard your pretty little moans, what were you using, lisichka?"

All his tension leaves with my answer. "A grinder, I don't have to feel anything then."

He lays me flat on the bed before telling me not to move. I know he won't hurt me and sit up as he walks out of the room. There are scars going over the tattoos on his back, breaking up the line work in thin lines. Crossing my legs, my arms go limp, not liking the thought of him being hurt when he's always so strong, not in a kill-everyone way, his strength is different, it's quieter and controlled, yet no less capable of murder.

1 ? Good girl

2 ? My beauty