I’m not innocent. I’m complicit.
I nod anyway.
“I think I’d like that nap now,” I tell him. Mostly, I want to lie down on my stomach and alleviate some of the pain in my backside. “I know you have a lot to do, so I’ll cook for us when I get up. Okay?”
“No,” Ilya answers sternly. “I’ll cook. You rest.” He answers my pout with a pointed glare. “You’re injured, Mishka. I won’t make you serve me when you’re hurt.”
“I’m not that injured,” I grumble as I slide off of his lap, but I wince as I shift. “But okay, okay.” I lean in to kiss him, slow and sweet, then I step back. I gingerly make my way to his bedroom, wanting to be surrounded by the scent of him, and pull my pants off with a hiss of pain. I set them aside then lie down, sighing in relief as some of the discomfort recedes.
I close my eyes and press my cheek to the pillow.
I’m safe.
Adam is gone.
I sleep better than I have in a long time.
I wake slowly from a deep,dreamless sleep.
It takes me a moment to recognize where I am, and I inhale deeply when I smell Ilya’s familiar cologne on the pillow. In the background, I smell food, too, and my stomach rumbles in protest when I realize it’s been too long since I’d last eaten.
I should get out of bed and go to Ilya right away. If he’s put together any sort of food for me, it would be ungrateful not to get up immediately. But I like this, too, getting to luxuriate in this sense of safety.
When I finally move to get out of bed, my entire backside screams in pain, and I wince. I must’ve been too high on adrenaline to feel the pain of the belting earlier, but that’s faded. I still get up, and wearing only a shirt and my boxer briefs, I wander into the kitchen to find Ilya.
He’s sitting at the kitchen table. It’s already set for two people, but it doesn’t look like he’s eaten yet. All he’s doing is browsing on his tablet.
He smiles when he sees me approach. “Mishka!”
Even though he sounds happy to see me, I look at him in dismay. “You didn’t eat?” I ask, my voice small. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep that long. Here, let me serve you.” I hurry over to the stove.
“No,” Ilya says sternly. The tone of voice makes me shudder and stop in my tracks. “You’re injured. Sit down. I’ll take care of you.”
I’ve done more than this while injured before, but I don’t think telling him that will make it any better. I turn to face him, and while his voice had been firm, he doesn’t seem upset.
At least, I don’t think he is.
“Are you sure?” I ask, hovering near the kitchen counter instead of going to the table to join him. “I don’t mind, Ilya. It’s… the least I can do after everything.”
Ilya’s eyebrows shoot up. “Least you can do? Mishka, the least you can do is sit down and recover. Which is what I want you to do.”
He seems serious, like he wants this and isn’t going to hold it against me later. “Okay,” I tell him, and I cross over to sit down in the chair. I bite back a sound of discomfort, wishing I’d brought a pillow or something to sit down on. “Thank you,” I tell him.
Ilya frowns slightly. “Are you in pain?” He gets up and squeezes my shoulder lightly. “Hold on. I have painkillers.” He walks over to a nearby cabinet and pulls out a bottle of pills. “Later, I’ll tend to your wounds properly. Or now? But you must be hungry, too.”
“I’m really okay,” I try to reassure him. “Food sounds great. Thank you for cooking for me. I’ll cook for you next time.”
“If you like cooking.” Ilya sets the painkillers and a glass of water down in front of me, and I take them. “I made potato soup. Very filling.” He goes to fill up two bowls for us before returning and setting them down on the table.
It’s still warm, and I hope that means he hasn’t been waiting too long.
“Thank you,” I say. I wait until he’s sitting and has a spoon in hand before I dig in.
It tastes so good. I never thought potato soup could have this much flavor. I’m used to a much waterier soup, but this one is creamy and almost stew-like in its consistency. There’s sausage in there too, which I didn’t expect at all.
We eat in silence for a few moments. My heart starts to beat faster. I wrack my brain trying to figure out what to say, wondering if he’s gearing up to let me down gently and kick me out.
That’s a dumb thought. Ilya has been nothing but kind so far.
