Chapter Twenty Eight
Catalina
I have a bookcase in the library to myself, now, one Alexei had cleared out just for my own books.
It used to be filled with the rare volumes he’s collected.
Now the ones I haven’t already ruined are in storage, in case I get spicy again.
And as I slide my books—arranged first by genre, and then in alphabetical order by author—onto the shelves that belong to me, I realize… I’ve read the last of them.
A strange and almost ominous feeling settles unpleasantly in my stomach.
Since Anatoli has been in Moscow these last two weeks, Alexei has less time for me.
The things he usually lets Anatoli handle on his behalf now fall on his shoulders, and so I have more time to myself.
But even though I’ve split my copious free time between reading and swimming and binge-watching shows on Alexei’s numerous streaming subscription services, I’ve still finished every last book.
At this rate, I’ll finish filling up this whole bookshelf in a couple of months.
Six at the most. Will Alexei clear another bookcase for me—and another after that?
How long will it take me to fill up the library entirely?
How long until I need another room just to hold the books I’ve acquired?
In this moment, they’re not just books. They’re tick marks.
Just because I haven’t carved the lines into the stone walls of a cell doesn’t mean they don’t represent the very same thing.
The straight lines of the spines set neatly upon the shelves function in the same manner, marking off hours, days, weeks of my time.
I’ve borne my captivity more willingly than most lately.
My cell is luxurious and comfortable, spacious enough that once I settled in, I hardly noticed the bars.
It’s filled with creature comforts and a few pleasant distractions to keep me occupied, keep me from throwing myself against its constraints.
But a cell is a cell. How did I let myself forget that?
I think…there’s something wrong with me.
Some injured part of me that is so weak, so wounded, so fucking desperate to belong somewhere that I’ll suffer all manner of things if they just come with a side dish of affection.
I’ve convinced myself that the attention I receive is close enough to love.
That the gifts and the trinkets constitute caring instead of consolation prizes, material things to fill my time when Alexei has other things, better things, to do.
And still I want to stay.
It’s stupid. It’s so stupid. I’m stupid, to have let myself be pacified with something so simple as an armful of books.
To let myself forget that I had plans for my future.
Dreams. Goals I’ve worked hard for. Years of college courses I took, exams I aced—and for what?
To give up when I was so close? To let someone else tell me what I’m allowed to do, where I’m allowed to go?
All my life, I wanted to be like my mom. Strong; a fighter. Paving her own path in life, even when Papa made it difficult, even when life made it difficult.
She never let Papa keep her like this; never would have accepted less than she deserved. A fighter, right up until the bitter end. She went out still fighting the cancer that killed her, and I—
I walked right into the cage Alexei built for me. Settled down inside it. And pretended I couldn’t see the bars.
∞∞∞
Alexei’s in a bad mood. I can sense it even before I see him, hear it in the clipped Russian syllables audible even from behind the closed door of his office.
It shouldn’t bother me. It is his native language, after all.
But he uses it like a shield sometimes. When he speaks to his men in front of me—even to the ones who speak English proficiently—he always does it in Russian.
So that I don’t know what’s being discussed, what’s being ordered.
When I rap on the door, everything goes quiet within for a long moment. And then I hear Alexei say gruffly, “What, Katya?”
Probably I’m the only one that would dare to knock on his door while he’s plainly otherwise engaged.
When I crack open the door, I’m startled to find that it’s Piotr in there with him.
And relieved. He’s been absent so long that I’d begun to worry that maybe Alexei changed his mind.
Maybe he wasn’t one of the people Alexei sent to the pit for punishment…
but to be forgotten. Maybe I would be expected to forget, too, what had happened to him.
It’s one of the numerous things we don’t talk about. Things that Alexei says aren’t my concern, but which concern me anyway. I’ve just learned not to ask the questions I don’t want answered.
Piotr…doesn’t look healthy. His skin is sallow, his eyes sunken.
Rising just above the collar of his shirt, I can see an ugly purple bruise that is fading to a sickly yellow-green around the edges.
It’s a week old at least. He’s thinner than he was, I think.
Whatever happened to him in the pit—it was bad.
“What, Katya?” Alexei asks again. He gives a sharp jerk of his head and utters a sharper word to Piotr, and without argument, Piotr turns to leave.
Piotr doesn’t hesitate even an instant as he makes for the door. But his dark eyes land briefly upon me as he leaves, and there is such a wealth of animosity in them that I feel myself take a reflexive step back, away from that burning hatred.
It was Alexei’s decision to put him in the pit. But Piotr blames me for it absolutely. Whatever happened to him there, he holds me entirely responsible. Even though I begged Alexei not to kill him, he holds me responsible.
“Is—is Piotr okay?” I ask as I close the door behind me.
Alexei shrugs. “This should not concern you,” he says. “If he is not, this is only his fault.”
I really don’t think Piotr agrees with that assessment. I think I’ve made an enemy of him, and it’s an uncomfortable feeling. Maybe he’s not foolish enough say as much to Alexei, but he doesn’t care if I know how he feels. Maybe he wants me to know.
The bars of my cage squeeze a little tighter. Who am I, really? To Piotr, I think I might just be…Alexei’s pet. A temporary amusement. He’s never said otherwise. So maybe Piotr is only biding his time in hateful silence until I cease to amuse. Until Alexei is done with me.
I don’t know what happens to me then. It’s just another in the long list of questions I don’t ask.
“Katya,” Alexei prompts again, and he thumps his fist against his chest to summon me closer.
And suddenly my heart is hammering against my ribs.
I wonder if I’ve made a monumental mistake, coming here to bargain with a man who doesn’t need to bargain with me.
Who could, at any moment, decide I’m not worth the trouble I cause.
I don’t want him to be done with me. I want to stay. But I need the terms to change.
As I approach, Alexei reaches out and pulls me down onto his lap and wraps one arm around my waist. He buries his face in my hair, drawing in a deep breath. Like he’s pulling the scent of me deep into his lungs. Like it comforts him to hold me like this.
I feel the tension in him dissolve slowly. Whatever they were discussing, he and Piotr, it wasn’t pleasant. He murmurs against my neck, “What brings you here? Usually you are reading this time of day.”
I fight a wince. “I finished all my books,” I tell him.
“All of them?”
“I’m a fast reader.” It sounds sulky. Petulant. Resentful, because I am. But I don’t want to be. It would take so little, and I could be happy.
Alexei gives a little huff of a laugh. “Okay, Katya. Tomorrow, we buy you more.”
I draw in a short breath. “I want more than books,” I tell him. “I want a computer. A phone.”
His hand clasps my hip. His smile is so patronizing it stings. “Who will you call, Katya?” he asks. “Your Papa? Your boss at that coffee shop?”
Maybe no one. But I want the option. I just need my cage to have a door. I just need the choice to be mine.
I’d choose him. I’d choose him. I only want him to let me do it.
My hands knot in my lap. “I can’t sit around every day doing nothing,” I tell him.
“You don’t do nothing,” he says, and his voice has a bit of an edge to it. “You swim. You read. This is like—vacation, yes? Many people would wish they were so lucky.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right—for so many people, a luxurious life is the dream. A life with no bills and no responsibilities and no stress.
But it isn’t my dream. It’s not the one I’ve worked for. The one my mom gave to me.
“I want to teach,” I tell him. “It’s almost the end of summer.
School will be back in session soon.” I was going to teach third grade.
I had a job lined up. Now, I don’t even know if it’s still waiting for me.
If I’ve been out of contact for so long that I’ve missed critical teacher preparation days.
If they’ve hired someone else to fill the spot I abandoned.
It shouldn’t be such a big deal, should it? Those hours I’m on my own, when he has mobstering to do...I’d just be spending them in a classroom instead of lounging by the pool or reading in bed or binge-watching TV. Probably he wouldn’t even notice most of the time.
“I told you,” Alexei says tersely, a muscle flexing in his jaw, “we discuss this later.”
“It is later.” And soon it might be too late entirely. “Alyosha—”
“For fuck’s sake, Katya,” he says irritably. “I do not have time for this today.”
My heart sinks. “Will you ever?”
Alexei hisses out a curse in Russian, and then he’s nudging me off of his lap.
It’s a dismissal. Perhaps it’s not as sharp or short as the way he dismissed Piotr, but it’s still a dismissal.
Like I’ve overstayed my welcome. Ceased, already, to entertain.
“Go,” he says shortly, his jaw tight and tense.
I have no choice. He’s made it for me already.
I go, but only so far. My cage guarantees it.