Perhaps the Chro’s weren’t involved, but if they were? Well, shit, I’d not rest on this earth until I got some answers.
Chapter Eight
Ella.
The thing about living with a monster as volatile as Vladimir Chrobak was never knowing when it was going to strike.
The photograph left for me had incited a new kind of rage within the man who called himself my husband. Creeping out the bed, away from his snoring, sleeping body, I tiptoed across the floor, standing inches from the mirror and inspected the mess he’d created.
It was Monday morning, and my face wasn’t looking any better. My stomach was covered in different shades of blacks and blues, finished off with an outline of the bottom of one expensive Italian shoe.
My finger brushed along my swollen lips, the puffy skin underneath my eyes, and each movement sent shockwaves of fresh pain through me. Blinking, I tried to rid my eyes from the blur that was still present; I wondered if going blind would make this hell easier to live in, for the first time since the attack, I would be allowed to roam The Mansion once more.
Today was the day, after all. The Murdoch would be arriving, and it seemed Vladimir’s lust for my agony and suffering had finally come to an end.
Once I’d soaked my weary bones, tender muscles, and aching soul in the bath for an hour, I got out and had to do a double take of my naked body. My hip bones stuck out in a manner I’d never seen before, my ribs prominent below my breasts, the hot water had seemed to highlight each flaw I possessed.
Never before had my reflection sickened me.
Vladimir was stirring as I entered the bedroom.
Locating a fake, insincere smile, I reserved for him, and I greeted him. “Good morning, husband,” I said, picking up my dressing gown from the floor.
Vladimir sat up and stretched his arms above his head, not returning my good morning. “What time is it?” he asked.
I glanced towards the clock. “Just coming up to seven.”
He jumped from the bed as though it were on fire, grabbing his clothes from the floor. “Fuck! The fucking Murdoch will be here shortly,” he yelled, shoving his stumpy legs into his boxers.
“Woman, I’ll have Marnie bring you some make-up. I want you looking your fucking best, so cover those bruises and wear something nice. I’ll expect you downstairs while we initiate this fucker.”
I nodded, sagging with relief as Vlad stormed from the room in a flurry of clothes and limbs.
Men’s voices from outside the open window caught my attention, and I walked over to my window, tying the rope of my bathrobe tight around my waist.
My bedroom overlooked the main doors to The Mansion; from up here, I could see several of Vlad’s associates beginning to arrive. The hiring of a new man took up most of the day, lots of meetings, showing the newbie around and how things worked.
After I’d arrived at Vlad’s, a couple of weeks or so after meeting Jozef for the first time, I had been on the cusp of puberty, boobs sprouting from no-where, and he had hired a woman who would soon become a weird type of mother figure.
At the time, Edith had only been in her late forties, and she helped show me how sanitary products worked, what the blood meant, measured me for my first bra, and often cleaned my wounds inflicted by the men.
I didn’t know much about her, even now, I still couldn’t tell you a personal thing about her. She was a shadow, always there when the sun was out, and disappeared into the darkness when it went down, only appearing again when I needed some light.
If I wanted to find her, she’d be in the kitchen, gray hair pinned into a neat bun, apron tied around her waist. She’d be kneading dough, scrubbing the floors, folding sheets. I reckoned she’d talk to me and comfort me with words if I ever had asked. But I never did, never daring to speak of the horrors out loud, cementing them farther into my reality. For thirteen years, I had kept my feelings buried as far down in my soul as I could manage.
I watched the activity unfold below me, noticing a man I didn’t recognize. He was huge, in both width and height, and his short, clipped blond hair screamed military. Vlad was donning his gray suit, and he shook the man’s hand, patting him on the back. Was that the Murdoch?
The opening door behind me made me turn my back on the outside world, and I smiled, wincing as the cuts across my face groaned.
“Good morning-” Marnie had started to say, coming to a halt in her tracks, seeing my beaten, bloodied face. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She threw the bag of cosmetics she was carrying on top of the dresser, and rushed me, grabbing my hands. “Are you okay? What the fuck happened?”
I shrugged her off. “Don’t worry about that, just worry about whether you can help hide this or not. Vladimir will be angry if I go down there looking like this.”
Chewing on her lip, that told me that mission make-Ella-presentable was going to be a challenge. “I’ll do my best, babe, of course, but he’s done a number on ya.” She released my hands to tip my chin back and forth, green eyes weighing up the situation that was my stupid face. “I could fucking kill him,” she muttered, pulling me over to the dressing table, shoving my shoulders to make me sit.
Marnie pulled tubes of creams, pallets of what I imagined were blusher, concealers of different shades from her little bag of magic, and got to quick work on my face.
But no amount of concealer would hide the truth. No amount of concealer would hide what went on behind closed doors at night.
It was nearly eight in the morning by the time Marnie had finished her work with me, and she’d done her best, my face smothered in products I didn’t know the names of, but there was no hiding the bruises underneath my blue eyes.
My red hair tumbled in shocking waves down my spine, the ends reaching my butt, the smokey eye distracted you from the marks, and the dress Vladimir had left for me had given me back the curves I usually had.
Leaving the bedroom, the many voices from downstairs infiltrated my ears, and my heart thumped against my ribcage. God, I felt sick. I didn’t understand why Vlad needed me for this; I found myself wishing to be locked up once more. Away from judgmental eyes and wandering hands of old men.
Marnie would be fine, though.
She always was.
She may have arrived a year after I had, but she’d settled into this new, scary world far easier than I had. Perhaps her home life had been so bad it made this new one seem okay, and I had no clue, either way, I prayed for her strength to get through the day without upsetting Vlad, or falling on my face.
As I walked down the spiraling staircase, the breeze from the open door blew inward, and I was shocked at just how many were arriving. Some I knew, some I didn’t.
They all glanced towards me, giving me a polite nod, but it was Mr. Bartos who approached me, pulling me into his embrace.
His sweaty, musky smell enveloped, my eyes widening at his over-friendly gesture.
“Mrs. Chrobak,” he gushed. “My, you look a vision.”
Pulling back, he held me at arms’ length, and my skin bristled at his touch. “Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you to say.”
He grinned, his fat face and white hair made him look older than he was. “Will you be joining us today?”
“I’m not sure. I was just on my way to find Vladimir.”
Grinning again, he linked my arm through his, resting his hand on mine. “Wonderful, I am too. Let’s find him together.” With that, he yanked me through the bustling hallways of The Mansion, in search of my husband.