MOSCOW : FIVE MONTHS AGO

Ryan was shaking as Chrissie unlocked the handcuffs. His body ached from the torture she'd inflicted, claiming she was teaching him to be a better husband. He rolled onto his side as soon as he was free, pulling into a ball. He stared into the bathroom, at the broken pieces of mirror that lay on the floor.

It started with a letter a servant had found with the rest of the mail. She caught him in the bathroom and had been gone after him with scissor. When she couldn't beat on him anymore, a guard finished the job by slamming him into the bathroom mirror and then dragging him to the bed. Then came violent rape.

Chrissie leaned over him, wrapping an arm around him. She kissed his shoulder over a fresh cut.

"I love you. I wish you would stop this. It's been almost two years. Why can't you just be happy with me?"

Ryan didn't answer, despite the snarling answers going through his mind: you kidnapped me, you beat me whenever you feel like it, you rape me, you're crazy, you're a drug dealer, you must be Satan's child because there's no other excuse for being as demented and violent as you are, I want to scratch your eyes out, rip out your arms, beat you to death.

"You'll learn. It might take years, but you'll learn." She kissed his neck and moved away.

Ryan closed his eyes, pressing out silent tears. Years. He had to endure this for years? He heard Chrissie leave the room, telling the guard something. He looked into the bathroom, at the broken mirror. No. He wouldn't endure this for years.

Ryan climbed onto his feet. His legs felt like rubber and he had a hard time keeping his balance. Stiff-legged he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Ryan slipped the lock into place, and then looked down at the broken mirror pieces. He found the one with the sharpest edge and laid down on the floor, pressing his body against the door. Ryan held up his wrists, staring at them. He started crying. He didn't really want to do this, but it was the only way to escape her. There was no other way.

Carefully he lined up the glass on his wrist and then jabbed it in, crying out in pain as he drug it down, severing the vein under the skin. Trying to do the same to his other wrist hurt worse, making him cry out louder. Someone tried to open the door, when it wouldn't open, the person started pounding and hitting it.

"Open door, Ryan. Open door now!" the guard demanded in his broken English.

Ryan dropped the piece of mirror and laid his wrists on the floor. He watched his blood pool around them until it ran down the floor toward the tub.

"Ryan, open the door," Chrissie said, twisting the door handle.

"Fuck you," Ryan muttered. "Fucking bitch. I hate you."

He felt fuzzy, strangely warm. He heard a key hit the lock overhead. Then the door was being pushed against him, but his dead weight was keeping it closed.

"Ryan, move," Chrissie demanded.

He closed his eyes. He couldn't concentrate any more. The thoughts going through his mind were disjointed and didn't make any sense.

"RYAN! MOVE!" Chrissie ordered.

Ryan opened his eyes. The world was starting to fade into blackness. He welcomed it, embracing his new found freedom.

Chrissie begging, "Ryan, please move. Please," was the last thing he heard.

#

Ryan woke up to find himself in a hospital bed. For a few seconds he thought he'd just been having a nightmare, and he was actually safe in Miami. But it shattered when he turned his head and saw Chrissie standing in the hall with a doctor. Ryan lifted his wrists, staring at the clean white bandages. There were spots of blood showing through them. He'd failed. How the hell did he fail?

"Hey, honey," Chrissie said.

Warily he watched her walk in with the doctor. Ryan pulled his wrists back when she reached for one. He glared at her, hating her even more for saving his life. She grabbed a hand anyway.

"We'll go home in a few days. Don't worry. I had them clean up the mirror. I guess we'll have to start cutting up your food too. We don't want you to try this again."

Ryan yanked his hand away.

"Stop it!" she snapped.

The doctor said something and she came back with a spitting response. He didn't seem to notice or care, because he said something back, and then left the room. Chrissie smiled down at Ryan, running her fingers along his face.

"I hate this beard. We should shave it off."

Ryan rolled over, putting his back to her. It depressed him more that he'd failed. He would have to figure out a better way for next time.

"You like Anja, don't you? The new maid that replaced Alted."

Ryan didn't answer.

"I hope you do. She's going to be watching out for you when you're at home now. She'll sit with you when me or the guards can't. We don't want you hurt, do we?"

Ryan shrugged her hand off when she laid it on his shoulder. He heard her angry sigh, but here she couldn't beat him for pushing her away. For a little while he was safe.