After Dr. Petrov leaves, Dimitri lingers. He stands there, not quite looking at me, and I can feel the weight of whatever he wants to say.
“What?” I finally ask, too irritated to be polite. He doesn’t deserve my politeness, anyway.
“You need to eat more.”
Is he serious right now? “I’m trying?—”
“Try harder.” He starts to leave, then pauses at the door. “The baby needs you to be healthy.”
“The baby. Right. Always the baby.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “What about whatIneed? What about me?”
He turns back, and there’s something in his expression I can’t read. “You think I don’t care about—” He stops himself, pressing his lips so firmly together, they’re white. “Just eat. Please.”
The please surprises me. It’s the first time he’s asked instead of commanded.
Then he’s gone, and I’m alone again with the weight of his expectations pressing down on me. They’re stifling.
The days blur together in a monotonous routine that drive me crazy. Eat the food, Vera. Subject to daily examinations, Vera. Be okay with being under my thumb, Vera.
Sometimes when Dr Petrov is there, I fantasize about stuffing his stethoscope down Dimitri’s throat.
But there are moments that confuse me.
Like yesterday afternoon. I’d found myself in the library, too nauseous to move, shivering despite the warm summer air. I must have dozed off because I woke up to find a dark green blanket draped over me. I fingered the material in confusion. It’s not one of the decorative ones from the chair, but it’s from somewhere else. It was soft. Warm. Smelling faintly of cedar and smoke.
Smelling like…Dimitri.
I sit up, looking around, but the room is empty. The door is closed. There’s no sign of anyone.
Did he... did he bring me a blanket?
I pull it closer, and despite the anger and fear and resentment, it makes me feel... something. Less angry and irritated.
Or last night. I woke up at 4 am to use the bathroom. When I finished, I noticed shadows by my door. When I peeked out, I could have sworn I saw a figure at the end of the hallway. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Standing there in the darkness like a sentinel.
Watchingoverme? Or watching me?
I have no idea. But when I looked again, he was gone.
These moments unnerve me more than the control, in some ways. Because I don’t know how to process them or know what they mean.
Is he protecting me? Or just protecting what he really wants—the baby?
Tonight’s dinner is the breaking point.
I manage half the meal of grilled chicken and vegetables that smell fine but taste like ass. My stomach churns with every bite, but I force it down because I’m tired of the arguments.
I’m really tired of all of it.
But half isn’t enough. It’s never enough.
“You’re not eating,” Dimitri observes from his end of the table, looking at me with a scowl.
I roll my eyes. Here we go again. “I ate half.”
His scowl deepens. “Half isn’t sufficient.”
“Half is what I can manage without vomiting.” I snap, putting my fork down and shoving my plate away. “I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you, but I’m doing the best I can.”
