No one cares if I eat, but skipping my "medicine" isn't allowed.
I slowly look down at the silver tray where it rests.
"If Mr. Volkov finds out you haven't taken it..."
"He'll what?" I ask, my voice hoarse from disuse.
Anya's breath hitches and she shifts at my question, the sound of her shoes squeaking against the marble floor.
"He'll be very disappointed," she says carefully. "Please, ma'am. Don't make this difficult. Not today. Not with your trip."
I almost laugh.
Me making all this difficult? Unbelievable.
Even if I were, it's not as if Maxim Volkov is capable of something as human as disappointment. As if he doesn't have a dozen other ways to express his displeasure that don't involve words at all.
That thought makes my jaw ache again.
The phantom pain shoots through the bone and radiates into my skull.
I remember the first week here. The first time they brought me the pill.
I refused and even spat it back in Maxim's face.
The guard grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back so hard I thought my neck would snap. Maxim's fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing my jaw open. Someone else pinched my nose shut.
I couldn't breathe.
I thrashed and kicked and tried to bite, but they held me down. The pill scraped against my tongue, so bitter and chalky. Water came next and I choked on it, gasping and sputtering.
They didn't let go until I swallowed.
Then they did it again the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
Until I stopped fighting.
My fingers unclench in my lap, and I reach for the pill.
Anya exhales, relief washing over her face like she's the one avoiding punishment.
I pick it up between my thumb and forefinger. I used to wonder what it was, what chemical cocktail they designed to keep me docile and compliant, but I don't wonder anymore.
I just know what happens when I don't take it.
The memories come back too strong. Not the soft, golden ones of my family or of Adrian spinning me in the courtyard or kissing me by the fountain. No, those memories of him are locked away where I pretend I can't reach them.
The ones that come back are darker.
The ones that whisper in my ear late at night when the house is silent and I'm alone.
You could open the window.
You could climb onto the ledge.