The words hurt, just as I’m sure that she meant for them to. "I'm nothing like them." My voice, once again, is sharper than I mean it to be. "I saved you. I got you out of that compound. I've been protecting you?—"
"Protecting me?" she laughs bitterly. "Apparently, you've been stalking me. Watching me. And now you've kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s the same thing."
"I've been keeping you safe! Making sure you have food, that you're not in danger?—"
"You needed to control me. That's what this is about. Control." She looks away from me again, and my jaw tightens.
I don't have an answer for that, because maybe she's right. Maybe this is about control. About needing to know where sheis, what she's doing, that she's safe. That feels like protection to me, but to her…
I let out a sharp breath, then finally speak again after a few moments. "I know you're scared," I say quietly. "I know you don't trust me. But I'm asking you to give me a chance. Let me prove that I can take care of you. That you're safe with me."
"I'll never be safe with you." Her voice is harsh and cold. "Because you're not doing this for me. You're doing it for yourself."
It’s clear we’re not making any progress, and I need to get her inside. I get out of the car and open her door. She doesn't move, just sits there staring straight ahead. I let out another sharp breath. “Come on.”
Svetlana glares at me. "And if I refuse?"
I shrug. "Then I'll carry you."
For a moment, I think she's going to make me do it. But then she slowly climbs out of the car with her arms still wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold herself together, seeming to realize that she’s not going to get away from me right now. I can see that she’s shutting down, dissociating, and I hate that I’m doing this to her. But I couldn’t just leave things as they were.
I guide her toward my building with my hand on her back. She flinches at the touch but doesn't pull away, as if she doesn't have the energy to fight anymore.
We walk into the lobby of my building, and I guide her toward the elevator. When the doors open, I gesture for her to go inside. She hesitates, and for a moment I think she's going to bolt. But where would she go? Back to the motel? I think she knows I’d catch her before she made it to the doors.
My chest tightens. I feel like her jailer now. Like I’m no better than the men who kept her in the cells. But I’m doing this for areason. The ends justify the means… or at least, that’s what I’m going to have to keep telling myself.
She steps into the elevator, and I follow, pressing the button for my floor. The doors close, and we're alone in the small space. She presses herself into the corner, as far from me as possible.
The elevator starts to rise, and she stares at the floor numbers as they climb. I clear my throat. "Svetlana?—"
"Don't." Her voice cracks. "Don't say my name like this is normal."
"I'm trying to help you."
"You're trying to own me." She finally looks at me, and her eyes are filled with tears again. "That's all this is. You want to own me, just like they did. Just like everyone does."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Her head snaps toward me, and there’s such blatant hatred in her eyes that it makes me flinch back. "You saw me at that party two years ago, and you wanted me. You saw me in that cell, and you wanted me out. You fucked me in that safe house, and you wanted me to be yours. And now I'm pregnant, and you want me even more. But it's not about me, Kazimir. It's about what you think you can have if you just keep me locked up somewhere."
The elevator dings, and the doors open before I have to think of a response.
Jaw tight, I lead her down the hallway to my door. I unlock it, push it open, and gesture for her to go inside. She steps over the threshold, and I follow, closing the door behind us and firmly locking it. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place seems to echo in the silence.
I see her glancing around my apartment. It’s simple, decorated like I imagine a lot of bachelor pads are: nice enough furniture, some decorations I’ve picked up on my travels, cleanand organized thanks to the housecleaner who comes once every two weeks while I keep it maintained in the meantime.
She stands in the middle of the living room, looking around like she's trying to find an escape route. But there isn't one. We’re high up enough that most of the windows aren’t a way out, and the one that leads to the fire escape is locked, as is the door. I have the keys.
She's trapped. Just like she was in that compound.
The thought makes guilt twist in my stomach, but I push it away. This is different. I'm not hurting her. I'm protecting her. I'm keeping her safe.
"There's a guest bedroom," I say, breaking the silence. "You can stay there. It has its own bathroom. I'll get you whatever you need."
“What I need is to not be trapped with a man who thinks it’s fine to keep me against my will.”
“That’s not what this is. You’re wrong about?—”
