I start typing a few words then delete them.
I can’t.
The thought of her hating me for what I did is too terrifying. So, I swallow back my pain, sliding the phone back on the nightstand, and close my eyes. The scent of my mother’s perfume hits my memory—a bittersweet reminder that lulls me back to sleep as the medicine spreads through my system.
42
Mikhail
My wife sits on the bed with a small plate in her lap, struggling to chew on a piece of buttered toast with jam. It’s been a few days since I came back, and her mood hasn’t wavered. Not that I’m expecting her to suddenly feel better. I just fucking hate that there’s nothing I can do to ease her pain. And that she’s not eating properly—she can’t.
The soft sound of bread against porcelain spears the silence.
“Please take this back?” she whispers, avoiding my gaze.
Before I get to say anything, she’s already taking the plate off her lap and moving to curl back into herself. I don’t know how much weight she’s lost, but it’s enough to have me worried.
“Lastochka…you need to eat.”
No answer.
I refrain from demanding anything of her, but I don’t know what else to do either. This fucking helpless feeling…
Her gaze slips over to me. “Don’t look at me like that.”
I frown, discarding the plate on the nearby nightstand—she might still eat it later. Then, I move closer, crouching by her side of the bed. “Look at you how?”
“Like you meant it. What you said to me that night…”
I shake my head slowly. “You can’t ask me not to love you. I wouldn’t know how to do that.”
Regret softens the pain on her face just a touch. “You need to stay away from me, Mikhail. You can’t sleep in here anymore, and you can’t keep circling me. What if…what if I snap? What if I do to you what I did to?—”
I hold her face with both palms. “You don’t scare me, sweetheart. Dying at your hand would be a fucking privilege.” If only she knew how many lives I took and how creatively I took them, she’d realize her killing me would be a far superior death than any other I deserve. “But that’s not going to happen.”
She shrinks back, as if she doesn’t believe me. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Because I know you.”
I refrain from saying more, even though there’s a lot more I could tell her. But right now, I don’t have anything but more questions, and I can’t risk disorienting her with an alternate story that may not even exist.
“What will it take to finish one piece of toast?” I ask.
Again, she doesn’t answer. And when she turns to her other side, I close my eyes, releasing a slow breath.
One more day. I’ll give her one more day to start eating, and if she doesn’t, I’ll have to find some other way to keep her alive.
“How is she?”Victoria asks, nervously fidgeting with her wedding ring.
I briefly told them what happened the other day, but other than that, I’ve pretty much stayed in my wing, preoccupied with thoughts and questions that go unanswered. This morning, however, I went looking for Wolfgang for some reason. Now, we’re all here in the living room.
“Not well. She won’t eat,” I say.
I’m sitting on the couch, knees wide and forearms braced on my thighs. Opposite me, Victoria stands by the window, and Wolf mimics my stance on an armchair. They both look genuinely concerned. For once, we’re no longer fighting each other, our past tucked away neatly in some mental drawer we’ve closed for now.
“Keep giving her different options. Maybe a smoothie, something she doesn’t have to chew on at all,” Victoria suggests.
I simply nod, head down, taking it into account.
