Being dressed up with nowhere to go is better than not being ready. Maxim wouldn't like that. And being beaten here isn't something I want. It's too hard to hide fresh black eyes or cut lips around lots of people.
Still, I make my small, safe stance and refuse to put the evening gown on yet.
Sitting in my own clothes until the absolute last possible second is the only tiny sliver of control I have left in my life.
So I'll take it and sit here and wait.
My eyelids feel heavy, as do my limbs, too.
I turn my head slowly, my gaze drifting toward the large glass window that leads to the balcony.
The thought surfaces again, quick and quiet.
Jump.
It would be so easy.
Just stand up, walk to the window, and open it. All I'd have to do then is step out onto the balcony, climb over the railing.
And then I blink again and the window is still there. The balcony is still there. But the thought is gone, buried beneath the chemical fog.
I exhale slowly and lean my head back against the wall.
My eyes close.
I don't know how long I sleep, but I know that I do.
When I open my eyes, the light in the room has shifted. The sun is lower now.
I stand and pour myself some water, my mouth feeling dry.
As I drink, I notice a painting on the wall across from me of a field.
Rolling green hills and wildflowers scatter across the grass. A clear blue sky stretching endlessly overhead.
It reminds me of home. My real home.
Romania.
The fields behind our apartment building. A pleasant break from the concrete walls.
My sister and I used to run through them, laughing and shrieking as our dad chased us, pretending to be a monster.
He'd roar and stomp his feet, his hands reaching out to grab us, and we'd scream and run faster, our legs pumping, our lungs burning, our hearts racing.
And when he finally caught us, he'd scoop us up in his arms and spin us around until we were dizzy and gasping for breath, and then he'd kiss our foreheads.
I sigh. God, I wish monsters were only ever make-believe.
I set the glass down and walk away, the image of my father bright in my mind.
Suddenly, the heavy brass door handle jiggles.
I flinch and my elbow knocks into a heavy book resting on the edge of a table.
It crashes to the floor with a loud thud.
My heart slams into my ribs and I hold my breath, staring at the brass handle.