4. Nightmare, or a memory?

NINA

THE darkness suffocated me. My chest felt tight, my breath came in shallow gasps as I slid down the door, the cold floor grounding me. But nothing numbed the sting of humiliation, the burn of my father’s slap in front of his men. It wasn’t like it had happened the first time but it was more to the fact that now it was normal, like no one reacts or interrupts. No one questions why a father was so loose with his hands when it comes to his eldest daughter.

It hurt. God, it hurt so bad.

Not the physical pain—I was used to that. It was the knowing that destroyed me. To know that this was my life. The helplessness of being trapped in this life with no way out. Unless I took my own. But I can’t, can I?

A shift in the air made my skin prickle. My breath caught as I felt another presence in the room beside mine. And, I knew I wasn’t alone.

I felt him.

I had only met him once, caught glimpses of him lingering in the shadows with my father’s men. I doubted they even knew an imposter walked among them. They were all foolish, not even an ounce of idea that a wild beast roamed amidst their group in sheep’s clothing. But calling him a beast would be an insult, he was more agile, and much more beautiful like an exotic animal that are rarely sighted.

And as much as his beauty was fascinating and alluring, I sensed the danger that lies with him and around him.

No one feels it.

No one sees him.

But I did. I do.

And I didn’t care.

For all I cared, this Russian—the man who stole a kiss from me as a payment for his protection—could burn this house down with me in it.

But first, I had something to say.

Swallowing hard, I wiped my face and stood up. Even though I couldn’t see him in the dark, I knew he was there. Watching. Waiting.

“Are all Russians like you?” My voice was steady, but my pulse pounded. “Not able to keep their word?”

I waited for his response.

And when seconds turned into a whole minute and I thought he wasn’t going to reply, strong fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck, firm and unyielding.

I froze.

My pulse quickening.

His breath ghosted over my cheek, slow and deliberate, making me shiver. “You don’t have much patience, lisichka. Do you?”

___

The walls seemed to close in. My chest tightened.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

A scream clawed its way up my throat, but no sound came out. My body refused to obey, trapped in the nightmare.

Trapped in the past.

I jerked awake, my lungs seizing as if they had forgotten how to work. My fingers dug into the sheets, my body locked in place, heavy, paralyzed.

The weight on my chest was unbearable, my limbs numb. I tried to move. Nothing happened.

Not again.

Not again.

A shadow lingered at the edge of my vision. My heart pounded.

I fought to breathe, to shake off the invisible chains holding me down.

It’s not real.

The grip on my neck. The darkness pressing in. Him.

Not real. Not real.

My lips parted, but no sound came out.

And then, as suddenly as it came, the paralysis snapped. I gasped, dragging in air, my body breaking free.

Shoving the covers aside, I swung my legs over the bed, pressing my palms into my face. My hands trembled and my body shook with the remnants of the nightmare, or more likely a memory.

Twelve years. I had survived twelve years without remembering anything, pushing back every tidbit that tried to come to the surface, blocking every memory to not be tortured. It was necessary step after what had happened when I’d deliberately tried to remember and had ended up in a hospital room. I had been on the verge of slipping into another coma after suffering from a seizure that had let to several warnings from the doctors.

The fall into the river not only had left a big ugly scar on my head but also had fucked up with my brain and it’s functions. I wasn’t normal, far from it. Just toeing the edge of living and dead. But I had to live then, and I have to live now, because it wasn’t just my heart that needs to continue beating. And so I had put my memories up on the shelf where nothing and no one could reach it. For my sake. For ‘his’ sake.

But now it seemed I no longer had control over my mind, my dreams and my nightmares. They seemed to be unraveling something I had no idea of.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost one in the afternoon.

I exhaled shakily. I had taken the day off from Antonio’s hotel, needing a break, and to spend sometime with Riley before she decided to come and visit me in this dump.

And what better way to escape a nightmare that was my life than having shots of vodka for lunch? With that thought fresh in my mind, I grabbed my phone and typed out a message.

Me: On my way. You better not stop me from consuming my weight in vodka.

I rarely indulged in drinking but since last few days I have been hyper alert and my nightmares had increased in their intensity. And not to forget the chill and phantom presence I had been feeling that was making me more paranoid than usual. I needed to relax before I ended up having another episode.

Riley: Sure. If you promise to let me drop you home?

I stared at the screen for a second before typing back.

Nina: Yeah. Sure.

Lies.

Because I couldn’t let her see where I was living or else she’ll take it on herself to find me a better place, and I already owed too much to too many people at this point.

I exited our chat and was about to put my phone down when my gaze landed on the second chat with Mr Wong. And my fingers tightened around the phone as I remembered his last text.

What the fûck?

What in the actual fuck?

Was his text the reason my nightmare was triggered?

I knew my past was violent, I was told that much by my mother: the only link I had to my past when I’d woken up after three months in a coma. It was a miracle, the doctors said. But what followed afterwards was nothing short of a nightmare. The only happiness I got was in short spans when everything was perfect in my little bubble, but that bubble popped up and led me to this never-ending road of debts and merciless world that won’t hesitate to chew me up if given the chance.

I looked at his chat, not able to bring myself to open that image again. But just as I was looking at my phone screen, a new message popped up and I read it from the notification bar.

Mr Wrong: What will you do if the person you trust the most start to hide things from you?

Nina: Are you okay?

I didn’t know why I sent that instead of answering his question like I always do. If I was a sane woman, I’d have already blocked his number and forgotten about him after his gruesome text from last night. But here I was, at the height of my insanity, and asking him if he was okay after he had ruthless torn off someone’s arm.

Not wanting to analyse my own mental health issues, I didn’t wait for his text as I put my phone face down on the nightstand and climbed out of the bed to get ready for the lunch with Riley.

I brushed my hair back into a ponytail, gazing at myself in the mirror and then, undecided, I let them fall back over my shoulders. Dark circles clung under my eyes, the result of years of sleepless nights. Even though I had woken up in a daze from a nightmare, I was quite looking forward to having lunch with Riley and spending an afternoon drinking. But now, staring at my own reflection in the mirror it was souring my mood, reminding me of how fucked up my existence was.

As I stared at my vacant eyes, my phone pinged, pulling me out of my pathetic trance. I unlocked my phone screen and found a text from Mr Wrong.

Mr Wrong: I’ll tell you if I am okay or not if you send me a pic of yours.

I stared at the phone. My heart doing a strange flip. All this time we have been texting each other but haven’t ever called or even asked where we lived. I had once told him my name but he hadn’t reciprocated, but now he wanted my picture and I bet he wouldn’t send me one of his in return.

Nina: Will you send me your pic in return?

Mr Wrong: I will tell you exactly how I am feeling.

Somehow I ended up taking two selfies. One with a pony and another with my hair down. The need to know what a man like him was feeling, especially after last night when he had apparently been too violent, bloodthirsty, was too much to ignore. And I have already accepted that my life was too monotonous, too boring to stop talking to him. He was the only person whose text I looked forward to, no matter how much those texts makes me feel uncomfortable.

Nina: Can’t decide. What do you think?

A minute passed.

Another.

An insecure part of me, filled with self pity wondered if I’d somehow managed to run him away. My finger hovered over the unsend option. But then his text came.

Mr Wrong: When you’re on your knees, I’d wrap those hair around my fist and make you choke on my cock.

I read and reread the text. He had captioned it on the pic where my hair were up in a ponytail.

I licked my lips, feeling a strange sensation in my belly and instead of responding to his dirty text, I replied with, ‘Your turn’.

Mr Wrong: I feel like I have been burning in hell for all these years, my scars itch and pain consumes me whole. The only thing that I feel can calm me down is the touch of the woman who had betrayed me and I’m afraid I’ll kill her before she could cure me.

I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. And I was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Somehow it felt like it was the rarest of occasion that he was being this vulnerable and I didn’t know how to respond when I myself could never be this vulnerable with anyone.

As if reading my mind, his next text came through.

Mr Wrong: Don’t mind me, little kitten. It seems you’re getting ready to go out. Enjoy your day.

The sudden change in tone had me frowning down at my phone.

But then another text came, it was from Riley. I pushed the thoughts of Mr Wrong at the back of my mind and picked up my purse as I made my way out, ready to drown everything in vodka, a sip at a time.

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A. Gupta

Do any of you unsend your texts after a few minutes when you don't get a reply, or are you guys normal??

Once again, Who do you think Mr Wrong is??

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Thankyou!!!