Cecilia
Ican’t sleep, and Mikhail won’t give me any more pills. Developing a dependency is the least of my problems. I just want these thoughts to go away, for my heart to stop hurting.
The crack in the open door fills with a dark silhouette before my husband comes in to check on me again. He’s wearing a dark grey t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair in slight disarray. There’s barely any shine in those green eyes. Last I saw him being his usual self was the day before he left for Los Angeles, when he took me on my piano and I told him I loved him.
The fact that he’s being forced to go through this mess with me fills me with more guilt. I hate that there’s no way I can shield him from who I am, that he insists he won’t be going anywhere.
If I hurt him too…
“Hungry?” he asks, approaching my bedside.
I shake my head, the disappointment in his gaze too difficult to handle. I can’t fathom the thought of ingesting any food. Nausea keeps whirling inside me whenever I even smell it. Water and lemon is all I’ve been able to consume.
This time, however, Mikhail doesn’t push me again. The buttered toast from this morning is still on my nightstand.
“Come on,” he says, scooping me up gently. “Let’s get you up for a few minutes. We can take a warm shower, and maybe it will help you sleep. Hmm?”
I don’t answer, but I don’t protest either. I let him carry me into the bathroom, basking in the scent emanating from the crook of his neck—still the only place where I can find a little reprieve.
He puts me down on the marble counter before leaving to turn on the shower, my body aching to be held by him again. Water starts pouring down, filling the room with steam. I watch him take off his shirt, and then his pants, socks, and briefs, my heart fluttering just a touch at the sight. When he comes back to me, his dexterous fingers undo the buttons of my flannel, his warm skin brushing mine in the process.
I let him push the blouse off my shoulders, leaving me bare for him. My breasts hang heavy between us, and he swallows, focused on undressing the rest of me. When he scoops me up and puts me down on my own two feet, I hold his arm, for a second forgetting how to work with gravity. I haven’t gotten out of bed in days, other than to pee.
He takes my hand, and I trudge with him under the hot stream, my entire body trembling from the change in temperature. My lungs contract and expand forcefully for a few seconds before I begin to relax, closing my eyes and facing the pouring water. It doesn’t erase anything, but it brings attention to my flesh instead of my thoughts. I welcome the distraction.
My husband wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I turn my head to the side, pressing it to his muscles, knowing he’s got me.
“There you are. That’s my good girl,” he murmurs above me. “Does this feel good?”
“A little. Thank you...”
He hums with satisfaction, tightening his hold. His cock sits hard in between us, resting on my belly, but we just stand here, the water pouring down on us, indulging in each other’s presence. He’s so good to me, so patient and understanding, completely different than when I first met him. I bring my arms up, circling his naked waist, realizing how much I love him—even now, when my entire world is collapsing. It’s the only thing that continues to stay with me.
“How will I ever live with myself again?” I murmur.
A hand caresses my hair. “I will fix this, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about that.”
“How? You can’t change what I am.”
“I can love what you are.”
I shake my head against his chest.
“Yes,” he protests. “Every dark part of you—every mistake, every lie, every regret you have, I can look these things in the eye and love them. I’m not afraid of your darkness,Lastochka. Never will be.”
I listen, but I don’t respond. The more he talks about loving me, the more I begin to cry.
From here, I don’t know how much time passes. He holds me, containing me, kissing the top of my head and murmuring soft words of affirmation. If he weren’t here…if I hadn’t married this man…how the hell would I have gone through this all by myself?
When my tears stop and my body grows exhausted, I peel my face off his chest and look up.
“Thank you for choosing me. Even now, when I don’t deserve it.”
That tilt of his lips I remember too well draws more tears from my eyes, but this time, they’re filled with gratitude. He deserves to smile like this again, even if I never recover from my trauma.
“It’s only ever going to be you, Cecilia. My only choice. Even at your worst, you’re still the most incredible thing in my life.” His hand tangles in my hair, pulling softly, a soft kiss landing on my lips. When he disconnects, I’m left missing him, even if he’s right here next to me. “Turn around. Let me wash your hair.”
I’m back in bed,watching Mikhail leave to get me a smoothie. I still don’t have an appetite, but for him, I’ll try a small sip. I know how worried he has been.
