Promised to a Petrov

Prologue

TW: Mention of rape

Have you ever known the feeling of being uncomfortable in your own skin, like a gnawing, as if you have a physical need to just peel your skin off.  The touch of fingers burned into my legs and wrists, it haunts me at this hour, the ripping... of my clothes, of my dignity, of my pride.

In this moment, as Arsen lightly holds my waist, his wrist flicking as he wipes the surface of my skin, i'm embarrassed. Humiliation and pure shame invades me, the little hairs on my body couldn't help but stand, and my skin prickles with goosebumps along every part of my body as I try not to tremble. I feel shame and I'm not even in the wrong, I feel disgusted and the worst part is that I don't blame him.

My skin turns bright red as the black ink is wiped from my ribs, the color smudging with each stroke of Arsen's napkin.

I hadn't fought back, and that is my biggest regret, here I am getting the tattoo of Medusa but was is really rape if I could have stopped it. I used my words but I could have raised my knife at that man but yet I screamed while still because my greatest fear sat and looked me in the eyes.

Today is my last straw, the feather that broke the camels back. I give up, not on life, but on the aspect of family.

All people can reproduce... or well, correction, if you're lucky enough, you can reproduce. It however does not mean every person is worthy of having children. My father sure as hell isn't.

There isn't a pen with enough ink for me to list his faults, not a paper long enough to match. Not a computer with enough battery for me to type out all the horrid things I have been subjected to endure at the hands of that man.

Imagine being stuck in a room of cement, not a door, or a window. Not a single tool or grain to help you escape. That was my life, im trapped because I am obedient, and I ignore that stubborn voices in me.

I wish life would be easier, if it was a fantasy. A place where romanticism ruled, and conflict was just an idea. Where if there is trouble in my path, I have a Prince Charming ready to save me, Reality must be separated from dreams though, and I find myself to be on the more logical side of life. I'm this instant, I must rescue myself, because soon I will be my own demise.

I stare ahead at the wall of basic templates and yet I can't figure out what anything is, my tears have blurred out the pictures and, the sound of buzzing is all around me, louder then ever when I wished it would be muffled down.

I try to think of a time where I would not flinch at a persons simple movement, how I long to be naive once again.

Thinking of it now though, it is stupid of me to want to be naive again, when I had never truly had the chance of innocence.

I would like to say, not since my mothers death but, and even as an infant I was not given the luxury of knowing anything outside of abuse when forced away from my mothers hands.

I feel the needles dig into the bit of my bone areas, my body slender, and frail, and thin.

A single tear runs down my cheek, but I lay on my side so it rolls over my nose and across my other cheek before finally falling on the leather chair I lay at.

I can feel Arsen's gaze, hell, he's been looking at me with nothing but worry ever since I got here, my fingers gliding over the designs in his book before falling of Medusa. During that time, he pushed and tried prod at me as my bruises were still fresh, the marks at my neck and arms were the most prominent, but the one thing he had not missed was the blood coating my blonde strands, the small bald spot I had recently 'earned' according to my father.

"You gonna talk to me Katiya?" Arsen tries not to touch me too much, based on the piece I had chose, I know he knows. Even then he tries to keep his touch light and I am eternally grateful for this guy, it's beyond a shame that I would leave him within the next few hours.

"There's nothing to talk about" The words barely come out as a whisper, the tremble in my voice so very clear, the rasp exposing me of my current state, damn near ready to break down.

One thing is clear to him though, to the people who have took my memories and made art of them on my very skin. He and his crew have painted my story in my flesh, telling the wars I have endured, and I wear my scars with pride.

All but one. I am done, I cannot not take it anymore, I will not.

"I'm always in your corner Katiya" He whispers with swipes against my side, taking the excess ink on his napkin and giving my shoulder a small squeeze.

I hear his chair roll one way, and then another back to me as he holds the mirror out for me to grab.

I try my best to suck in those tears, to put on my brave face and suck it up. However, just like the rest of the night, I fail myself again and the tears continue to build, sheathed my eye in a wall of water.

I stare at it... and I let go, I let myself mourn. For the lost of my life.

I am alive but I have never known anything outside of sadness, grief, and betrayal. Such little moments of happiness taken from me and tainted.

I let my fingers trail around the piece. Arsen has always been one for detail and I see how he has incorporated it.

There, in my flesh, a long rectangle framing my eyes, showing me myself. From the thickness of my eyelashes to the little scar running through my eyebrow and down the side of my face. The rest of my face is blocked though, snakes emerge all around the shape, like a shield, a wall of protection just for me, forcing others to stay at a distance.

You have to live under a rock to know it's meaning, but Arsen knows me and knows I like to use tattoo's to paint my story. He knows I like to put my own touches into things. He knows everything without having to ask.

"She never lost her beauty" I blink away the tears before sitting up, the blood rushes to my head and my temple throbs at the quick movement.

I slide off the bed and unfold the wad of cash but he's Infront of me, lightly taking my hand In his and closing my fist around my money.

He saw it my face the second I walked in, and again I say, no one knows me like Arsen. He knows everything there is to know about me.

I look into his eyes, as if communications through our bond, it is his goodbye. He had seen me grow from sixteen to twenty-three, just three years older then me. Very much in the line of work my father is in though, which is why he will not say anything out loud.

They say the eyes are window to the soul, and I believe that saying to be true. His eyes convey his wishes for me, of happiness, and safety... of the simple hope that I find what I'm looking for.

I respond back with another whisper of words "Thank you" I look down to his hands sliding into his pocket. I had been the one who needed to pay him but here he was slipping more money into my hands. A sad smile plastered across his face.

I look back up at him, mustering up all that I could and returning his smile 'Till next time'.