Avos'

𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐞

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐚 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐨𝐡/𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧/𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

-𝐅𝐀𝐎𝐔𝐙𝐈𝐀

(If you like listening to music that hits hard with the stories you read, I'd recommend this one. Bad Dreams by the queen, Faouzia. Total inspiration for this chapter)

THE NIGHT IS COLD, SO VERY COLD.

Oksana rolls over in her bed, clutching the blankets tightly up to her chin, but it does her no good. She could get a dozen blankets but this brutal rawness of her skin, of her very nerves, will never go away. She groans as she sits up, dropping her face into her hands as she tries to breathe through the tightening of her chest.

It isn't like it was earlier tonight when all she could feel was pure unadulterated panic seizing her rational thoughts and controlling her body's reaction. This is different. If panic and chaos are the storms then what she feels right now is the chilling calm after. The aftershocks jolt her awake and make her hands tremble. The biological response to come down from that unwilling high lingers on for hours and days.

Tommy had held her for a while after finding her. He hadn't said anything else about the fact that she almost slit his throat, or about the fact that she ruined his perfectly good pair of new shoes. All he did was keep her on his lap, rock her back and forth, and whisper reassurances in her ear. They stayed like that for...she doesn't know. All she knows is that after some time, he excused himself to return to the party, and she swears she felt his lips press against the crown of her head before leaving and assuring her that she didn't need to come back down.

But the look he gave her before he left had told her that he wanted to know more, to know all of it.

That's something she's not willing to give.

She still doesn't know what a Russian what doing at his party or if there were any more of them. She doesn't know if he invited them or if they crashed. She doesn't know if it has anything to do with her or if it was just some awful coincidence.

Either way, he doesn't get to know. Not yet.

It's hard to fall asleep. She wants to, but she can't. She's afraid that her nightmares will be even worse tonight. She's terrified that one of those unnamed, unseen Russians will creep into her room and take her. But she needs to sleep. She can't think straight right now and she needs to recharge to think of her next move. She could leave right now, but it wouldn't be smart. She'll wait for daylight and then...

She doesn't know.

All she knows is that, in the morning, answers will come. She lays back down on her side, one of her hands under the pillow and holding the knife that has seen too much blood for its own good. Her lids feel heavy and she's near blissful darkness, but then she hears it.

Oksana...

She bolts up and juts her knife in the air in front of her, the other hand clutching the sheets beneath her as her head whips wildly from side to side. There's no one in here, no one that she can see at least, and the door she jammed under the knob is still firmly in place.

What was-

Oksana...

It's in her head. The voices are always in her head. Normally, when she has a close call or when she's feeling trapped like tonight, the voices come out to play. She's read enough books on the matter-however limited they are- to learn that they're manifestations of her trauma. They're her subconscious warning her, threatening her, kicking in her primal instincts.