Everything short-circuits and turns black.
The hammeringin my head won’t stop. It makes my stomach turn and heave so much that I want to curl into a ball and throw up. But I can’t. I can’t move, and the waves of pain that rock me are so bad that I wish for oblivion.
Somehow, I make myself crack open my eyes. The world swims brightly into existence, and everything blurs and shifts into two.
Taking a slow, careful breath, I pull at my hands.
Something tethers my wrists. I try my feet. Same there.
I’m tied to a chair. Slowly, it comes into focus.
It takes me long seconds to sort the chaos in my brain, and every time I do, it slips away again.
“Where am I?” My voice sounds thick and slurred, and I think I’ve got a concussion.
Why am I tied to a chair? Where’s Ilya?
That’s wrong. Why am I thinking of Ilya? I’m engaged. Where’s Max?
Cold creeps in.
No. Max is dead.
Where’s Ilya?
Ilya… I cling to Ilya, and things slowly drift through the violent pounding in my head.
I’m married to Ilya. Fake. Real. I love him. I have a dog, Albert.
I pull at my wrists and cry out in pain as the tight ropes cinch even tighter. My arms are bound at an odd angle.
I sit there breathing and close my eyes, letting my limbs stay loose, but my hands now throb.
The ropes are too tight.
Why am I tied to a chair?
Where’s Ilya?
I want Ilya.
Slowly, the clanging in my head recedes to a manageable level. The pain’s still intense, but I think I can open my eyes again.
I do so slowly.
My vision blurs a little but comes into focus.
Why am I tied to a chair?
Where’s Ilya?
And why the fuck am I in some rustic bedroom now, with what looks like a yellow-colored bed, wooden walls, and a shut door?
I look to the right. My heart thumps. A window.
My heart sinks down low.
It’s a barred window, but the curtains are open, giving me a view of trees for miles.
