The laughter fades. Reality crashes back in. My father is in critical condition. Maksim is being treated for God knows how many injuries. And I'm standing in a hospital bathroom covered in the evidence of tonight's violence.
"Come on." Anya grabs my hand. "Food. You need to eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
"You're pregnant. With twins. You need to eat whether you feel like it or not.”
I let her pull me down the hallway toward the cafeteria. The hospital at this hour is quieter than before, though still busy. We pass doctors and nurses rushing down the hall with various supplies. I wonder if any of them are working on Maksim right now.
The cafeteria is nearly empty. A few exhausted-looking doctors and visitors sit hunched over coffee cups in one corner.
"Sit," Anya commands, steering me toward a table. "I'll get food."
"I can—"
"Sit."
I sit. My legs are shaking anyway, the adrenaline finally wearing off completely. The plastic chair is uncomfortable, but I'm too tired to care.
Anya returns with two trays loaded with toast, fruit, and bottles of water. She sets one in front of me.
"Eat," she says.
I stare at the food. My stomach churns at the thought of eating, but I know she's right. I need to eat. The babies need me to eat.
I still can't quite wrap my head around it. Two lives growing inside me.
I pick up a piece of toast and force myself to take a bite. It tastes like cardboard, but I chew and swallow mechanically.
"Good," Anya says, watching me like a hawk. "Keep going."
We eat in silence. I manage to get through one slice of toast and some fruit before my stomach rebels. I push the tray away.
"That's all I can do," I say.
"It's enough for now." She drinks her water, studying me over the rim of the bottle. "So. Twins."
"Twins," I confirm.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Terrified." The word comes out before I can stop it. "I can barely handle the idea of one baby. Two? Anya, how am I supposed to protect two babies in this world?"
"The same way you've protected me all these years. You're going to be an amazing mother, Kira."
We make our way back to the waiting room. I check in with a nurse and am told there’s no news yet.
Semyon finds us eventually. He's been treated—stitches above his eye, his arm in a sling. "Any word?"
"Not yet." I don't look away from the doors. "He passed out. They took him in."
"Damn it." Semyon sits heavily on my other side. "Stubborn bastard should have been treated hours ago."
"He was worried about me." My voice cracks. "About the babies."
"Babies?" Semyon's head snaps toward me. "Plural?"
"Twins." I show him the images.
