Some part of me even wanted him.
I could barely see in the low light of Denis and Polina’s bedchamber, just Art’s silhouette and the glint of the blade as he slashed it across Denis’s throat.
So fast that he didn’t wake, that he didn’t have time to scream.
I wrap my arms around myself tighter. This is not normal.
Now I sleep in a murderer’s bed. My child sleeps under the same roof.
I can’t feel safe here, not anymore. Not if this is all human life is worth to these people.
I could try to explain this all to Art, but I don’t know if he’d understand.
Like that poor girl that I had to care for in their hospital. They’re forcing her into a wedding this weekend, even though she’s still in the middle of recovering from a life-threatening bout of hypothermia.
Even if, like Art says, I can withstand this kind of life.
I shouldn’t have to.
I wake in a cold sweat. Every night, the nightmares are getting worse.
I used to have stress dreams before exams at med school, but these are deeper and more intense. My subconscious throws me a different kind of torture each night, but there’s always blood — so much blood — and a sense of inevitability. I can’t change what happens or look away from the bloodshed, no matter how much I want to. It’s like watching a horror movie with my eyes forced wide open the whole time.
One night, I’m an executioner, about to bring down the axe. Ihave no say in the matter, I don’t even feel myself moving, but I slice off the man’s head whether I want to or not, only waking up when I’ve seen the light fade from his eyes.
In another, I’m performing keyhole surgery, alone, trying to do five jobs at once. Everything goes wrong, until the cardiac monitor flat lines and alarms start to sound.
Tonight was different. Tonight I stood on the shore of a stormy lake and watched as Ava was swept out by a current. I couldn’t move, couldn’t throw a life ring, could only stand with my feet buried in the sand, unable to protect my daughter as she slipped under the surface of the water.
Art wraps his arms around me, stroking my back, and that’s when I realize I’m sobbing.
I shrug myself away from him, and immediately regret it.
Somehow, he’s both the problem and its only solution.I’m drawn back to him again and again, even when I know I should be pushed away. He’s the only anchor that keeps me steady in these rough waters.
His mouth skates over my shoulder and I shiver. The worst mix of craving and regret rushes through me when he touches me right now.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is a sleepy murmur.
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“Try me, Nenoka. We need to get this out.”
I can’t see how it will help, but I can’t stop myself from saying it.
“Maybe I’m glad you never found out about Ava.”
Art doesn’t say anything but his breathing quickens behind me.
“This is not the life I want for her, Art. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You want to leave again.”
It’s not a question. I don’t respond.
“Just because your childhood wasn't perfect, doesn't mean hers can't be.”
Each words hits me like a physical blow. Right through my chest.
