Shades of Sins (New York Sinner Series Book 2)

33| Breathless

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Breathless

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TW: Abuse/violence/torture themes

Chapter 33: Breathless (Anastasia's POV)

A cold dampness lingered in the air, the chill in the room sending shivers down my spine before I was even completely conscious. 

Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake played in the distance as dull noise, the music slowly rising in volume as the haunting melody echoed ominously in the empty space that seemed to surround me. The piece crumbled to its end before Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns took its place. 

This piece was just as familiar to me as the last one from all the ballet classes I'd attended and observed over the years. As the song started to slow down to its gentle ending, my mind and body started to awaken. 

Squinting at first, my eyes opened, and the first thing I saw was the dark ceiling towering over me in the dimly lit room. The first thing I felt was the harsh and rigid mattress below me, completely different from the one I'd wake up on in my own bedroom each morning. The shackles around my ankles hit me next, the metal cold and icy as it bit my skin. 

A dull throb began aching against my skull as I grew fully conscious, slowly sitting up. Pain tore through my head and spine, and fear began pooling in the pits of my stomach. 

As I sat up and scanned the place, I first noticed the twin-sized bed I was on. A thin white sheet with pink flowers painted across it covered the mattress with a matching and clean duvet covering me up to my waist.

At the opposite end of the room was an identical bed with Francesca sitting awake, curled up into a corner, clutching her knees against her chest. Her eyes met mine sharply just as I opened my mouth to call out to her, and her finger shot up to her mouth, silencing me sternly. 

My eyes traveled from one corner of the room to another before stopping in the middle. The music played incessantly, and it only made my head pound more. 

A canvas on a wooden stand blocked my view, and the stranger behind it remained hidden. I only caught glimpses of him as he swayed and danced with the paintbrush nestled between his fingers. 

My breaths grew shallow as the realization of what had happened crashed over me, and fragments from last night played in my mind. 

Francesca and I had run off into the yard during the party we were attending with our parents. It wasn't unusual for us to run off with some of the other kids and play around in ballrooms and gardens. That night, it was just the two of us. Just us until that man showed up. 

Everything happened so quickly that we hardly had time to call for help, and our screams, although we yelled at the top of our lungs, were too soft to reach the crowd inside. 

Another classical melody echoing in the room ended, and with it, his paintbrush finally came down. "Ah," he sighed loudly, reaching for the rag dangling on the back of his discarded chair.