44
Sara
That night, I toss and turn, tortured by worry about Peter’s upcoming operation and the realization that, despite my little victory this evening, the pill will at most delay the inevitable. Every time I sink into light sleep, I wake up with my heart racing, as if from a panic attack. It reminds me of the first couple of months after Peter’s assault in my kitchen, when nightmares about waterboarding and ruthless gray-eyed men were my nightly reality.
Finally, I give up on sleep and get up to use the bathroom. It makes no sense whatsoever, but what I want most right now is Peter. I want his warmth in the darkness and his strong arms around me, holding me tight. I want his deep voice calling me “ptichka” and telling me how much he loves me.
I miss my tormentor, ache for him with e
