Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Submit, you mean?
After a few moments, I left the room and made my way
upstairs, shutting myself in my bedroom for the rest of the
night with Mikhail. I fed him but forwent dinner myself, not
hungry anyway, and I only left briefly to shower.
I couldn’t make my mother’s decisions for her, but she also
couldn’t make my choices for me, and there was no way I’d do
whatever it took to survive. I had my limits, and I wasn’t
going back to that place with him.
If it even came to that.
But hopefully I’d find a way out of here before it did.
I blinked my eyes open in my bedroom hours later, my lids
still way too heavy, but the air was chillier than usual.
Was it six yet? My alarm hadn’t gone off.
I reached over and hit the button on my bedside table, the
male voice in the machine saying loud and clear, “Twothirteen
a.m.”
“Two-thirteen?” I breathed out, painfully awake now.
I closed my eyes again, hoping to fall back asleep, but my
brain was already working and assessing. The night was silent
outside. No rain or wind, but we would probably get snow in
the next month. I allowed myself a moment to feel wistful for
it, but the weight of all our troubles descended again, and I
wanted time to slow down, not speed up.
I loved wintertime, though. And not because of my name.
It was just a festive period, and happy things made me happy. I
always decorated my room, because I could still feel the lights
and the garland, hear the music from the snow globes, and
smell the scent of pine. But I wasn’t sure I wanted to decorate
this year. My pride was planted firmly, and I refused to make
the best of this. Hopefully I wouldn’t be around for it anyway.