Chapter Seventeen
Going For Broke
If I lost all, at least I would have played for it. It had always been my philosophy that one must play, or be a loser two-fold.” ― Anna Freeman
ELENA
I wake up to what I thought would be a morning sun. Instead of light, a sheer blackness greets me as I stir, the intensity and depth of the black somehow even deeper than my closed eyelids.
I turn over, and where I expect to find polished wood, I find cotton and silk, down-filled cushions that sink around my tired limbs.
I’m in a bed now—no longer splayed out on the piano surface. And the windows that surround me in this room are blackened out, blinded on every inch. The bed is gigantic with sheets as black as the windows. The goose-down pillows are stark white and softer than an angel’s ass.
I start
