Chapter 2
Chapter Two
It was finally here—the University of Illinois course guide.
Viktoria pushed the steaming bowl of borscht aside and flipped to the psychology section, circling the half dozen or so courses she planned on taking in the upcoming semester. She’d always wanted to help people and was naturally good at it.
Yuri ripped the course guide out of her hands and threw it into the kitchen garbage can.
“Hey!” She widened her eyes and stood to retrieve the precious booklet. It was the golden gateway to her professional future. “Why did you do that?”
“Sit.” He gripped her shoulder and shoved her back into the chair.
Those pills he’d been taking lately—anabolic steroids—were not only making him stronger but more aggressive.
His upper lip curled into a nasty sneer.
The leaping stag tattoo covering most of his forearm rippled and flexed, as if it wanted to jump right off his skin and attack her.
“All summer you’ve done nothing but babble like an idiot about going back to school.
” He poked his finger at her chest. “You neglect me. You need to concentrate on being my wife.”
“I haven’t neglected you.” How could he even think that?
Never once had she complained when he dragged her to parties she hadn’t wanted to attend.
Not once had she failed to prepare one of his favorite Russian home cooked-meals on those rare evenings when they stayed in.
“I’m excited about going to grad school.
You know how much I want to get my doctorate.
” He’d known since before they were married.
“That will take fucking years,” he yelled at the top of his lungs, his accent thickening. He heaved his coffee cup across the small apartment kitchen, shattering it against the wall behind her.
Pieces of the mug flew everywhere, and she winced when one of them hit the back of her head.
If she hadn’t been so frightened by his violent outburst, she would have commented that the coffee splatter reminded her of a Rorschach inkblot, or that people in some cities paid laughably hefty prices for coffee art.
Instead, she could only keep wondering where this unpleasant aspect of Yuri’s personality had been hiding when they’d been dating.
The outbursts were becoming more frequent. At least he hadn’t hit her this time.
His nostrils flared, and a tic jumped in his cheek.
Brown eyes she’d once thought beautiful were now hard and cold.
Yuri frowned so fiercely his dark eyebrows nearly touched over his nose.
He tugged out a Java cigarette from a pack on the table and lit up.
After taking a long drag and holding it in his lungs for a few seconds, he blew out the smoke.
He knew how much she hated him smoking inside.
Over the last month, he’d been doing it anyway.
A moment later, his features softened. “I’m sorry, my love.
My beautiful Vika.” Lately, she’d also begun to detest when he used the nickname her mother called her by.
It was part of the special bond between them, and Yuri knew it.
He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “You look like a peasant. Get dressed. We’re going out. ”
Wrinkling her nose at the pungent smell of the Java’s smoke, she went into the bedroom and opened her closet. Dressed? She was dressed but understood what he meant.
While she’d been born in the United States to native Russians, Yuri and his friend Nikolai—Nikki—had emigrated here twenty years ago with nothing but four thousand rubles between them, the equivalent of fifty U.S. dollars.
After pulling a dress from a hangar, she grabbed shoes from a box.
Dressing up, even to go to the grocery store, was an important facet of Russian life.
Yuri put a high value on his and her outward appearance.
To him, it was a sign that he’d come up in the world and would garner respect.
To her, it just seemed like one big competition with everyone trying to outdo one another.
Though even her mother was somewhat judgmental if Viktoria went out in public without wearing lipstick.
Her mother would “make the face,” and say, “Put on lipstick, you feel better. Is good life advice.”
Two hours later, and wearing more makeup than she would have liked and an expensive Hermès emerald-green silk sheath and matching heels, they’d driven well into farm country south of Chicago.
Viktoria glanced at Yuri’s strong, chiseled profile, relieved that his momentary annoyance with her had passed.
She chocked it up to job stress, some new business he’d been putting together with Nikki for their boss, Semyon Novikov.
The hand-tailored dark gray suit he wore hugged his muscular, six-foot frame beautifully.
He really was such a handsome man, and she was lucky to have him. Outbursts aside, that was.
After passing a large equestrian center and two pet resorts, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“I have a surprise for you, but first, I want to check on property Nikki and I bought for a new investment deal.” At an opening in the tall grass lining both sides of the two-lane highway, he slowed and turned onto a rutted dirt road.
“What kind of investment deal?” She looked out the window as he continued on until they came to the edge of a tiny lake that was more like a big pond.
“Houses.” Yuri stopped the car. “It’s perfect, yes?”
If you say so.
The nearest town was over an hour away, and there was nothing as far as the eye could see except three-foot-high weeds and the lake. A small fish leaped from the water, splashing down and sending gentle ripples toward the shoreline.
“Wait here.” He got out and started walking around the lake.
Occasionally, he turned to look over his shoulder, as if he was searching for something. Only there wasn’t anything out here, except farmland and the smell of cow manure.
Since when had Yuri and Nikki gotten into the housing market? Neither of them was a building contractor.
“How much property did you buy?” she asked when he sat behind the wheel again.
“Three acres.”
“How many houses can you build on three acres?”
“Who cares?” He shrugged. “I like the lake. It’s waterfront property.”
Two hours later, in a suburb just outside the Chicago city limits, they stood before a titanic-sized stucco house.
“All I’m saying is you should drop out of school,” Yuri said, taking another drag on the cigarette he’d lit up. “Temporarily,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth to object. “That way you’ll have time to decorate this house I bought for you.”
Viktoria’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Yuri! Are you serious?” She and her mother had only lived in small, ratty apartments.
Even the one she and Yuri rented was tiny.
Living in her own house was a dream-come-true.
What could she say to such a loving husband?
“Now we can get a dog!” Those two pet resorts they’d passed had instilled the idea in her head, and now she couldn’t let it go.
“Nothing is too good for my beautiful wife. First, we start a family in this house. You’ll be so busy taking care of our children that you won’t have time for school or a dog.”
She couldn’t suppress a frown. “I do want children, lots of them. It’s just that…
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I thought we agreed to put off having children for a few years, at least until I finished my master’s degree.
” A dog would have been nice to keep her company for those nights Yuri worked late, often not returning home until the next morning.
A flare of anger sizzled in his darkening eyes, but the look on his face quickly morphed to one of contrition.
“Dorogaya. Sweetheart, I love you and only want what’s best for us.
For you,” he emphasized. “The owner of this house passed away recently under unfortunate circumstances. I got a great deal on it. You told me how much you want children, and this is a perfect opportunity.”
Dropping out of school hadn’t been part of the plans, but the idea of raising a family in her own house took root and was too dreamy to ignore.
The next day, she officially dropped out of school, promising her professors she would re-matriculate.
But in the back of her mind, Viktoria worried she never would.
“Ashamed?” Yuri slapped her hand away. “I’ve been trying to get you pregnant for six months! I gave you a house, a car, jewelry, furs, and you can’t even give me a son.” He shoved her away roughly, his face reddening, his eyes angry and glaring with contempt.
“Yuri, wait––” Viktoria crawled to his side of the bed and reached out for him. She couldn’t take it when he was this angry, never knowing what he would do next. She had to do something to calm the brewing storm. He shrugged her off and swung around.
The last thing she remembered was the sight of his fist aimed at her head.
Viktoria awoke in the morning and staggered to the bathroom, her face and head aching fiercely with every step.
She turned on the light and winced. Another shiner blossomed over the puffy skin around her eye.
She stared back at the bruised face in the mirror and automatically began dabbing concealer on the reddish-purple marks. This was the second time he’d hit her.
“How did my life come to this?” she asked the pathetic creature looking back at her.
This woman wasn’t her anymore. This woman was unsure of herself and completely unable to stand on her own two feet.
Even her personality was different now. The real Viktoria was gone, buried somewhere, and she didn’t know where to find her or how to get her back.
She used to be bubbly, vibrant, full of humor and had a life brimming with good friends. Now, being herself and telling a joke would only get her an angry glare from Yuri. As the months had flown by, her friends had simply stopped calling.
“Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way,” she sniffled. What had happened to the independent college girl with big plans for a career? What about love, a happy marriage, and children?
She’d gotten the marriage, all right, but the love and happiness hadn’t lasted, and having children now seemed like a faraway dream. As was becoming a psychologist. She watched as fresh tears streamed unchecked, washing away the makeup she’d just painstakingly applied.
Dear Lord! Maybe everything wrong in my marriage really is my fault. Including the inability to have children.
Was this all life had to offer? In the depths of her heart, she feared it was so and also feared never having the guts to forge a new path to happiness.
Her mother didn’t know what she was going through, and Viktoria refused to burden her. She already had her undergrad Bachelor of Science in Psychology. She could fix this. She could repair whatever was wrong with her marriage.
A noise came from the doorway. She gasped at Yuri’s reflection in the mirror.
“Forgive me,” he said, rather than asked, as he shoved an enormous bouquet of pink and red roses into her arms. Flowers had become an all-too-common gift.
Sometimes, the living room reminded her of a funeral parlor.
“I promise it will never happen again.” He kissed her neck and stroked her shoulders.
She feared his promise was empty, but his apologies always seemed so sincere, and she desperately needed for things to be peaceful again. Peace with Yuri had become the most important thing in her life these days. That, and not getting hit.
She blinked back more tears and forced a smile to her lips. When Yuri presented her with his cheek, she kissed him the way he expected her to.
“I’ve made an appointment for you at ten o’clock.” He handed her a business card for Doctor Lawrence A. Forster, OB-GYN. “He’ll find out why you’re not getting pregnant and take care of it.”
“Thank you.” The problem had to be hers. All the problems in her marriage were her fault, just as Yuri had said. But maybe the right doctor could help nature along a little bit. Surely a baby would bring her husband back to her.
As she watched Yuri leave the house, she sighed heavily. What if she couldn’t get pregnant? What if the problem wasn’t fixable?
Family was important to Yuri. He’d grown up without one, essentially abandoned by his own parents.
The streets became his home, foraging behind restaurants in dumpsters for food.
His story was so sad, she’d felt sorry for him.
When she’d discovered both their parents had grown up in the gated Pokrovsky Hills section of Moscow, she’d felt a kinship with him.
None of that seemed important to him now.
If she couldn’t give him the son he so desperately wanted, needed, would he have a use for her anymore? What would happen to her?
The business card he’d given her was now crumpled in her fist. There had to be something the doctor could do. All she needed was a little faith.
A week later, Viktoria stood beneath the shower’s hot spray, enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet before Yuri came home.
Over the pounding water, she heard the house phone ringing in the bedroom.
Whoever it was could wait. When it stopped after only two rings, she snapped open her eyes. Either the caller had hung up or…
Yuri had come home early.
Quietly, she nudged open the shower door, listening but hearing nothing over the pounding water. After a full minute, she let out the breath she’d been holding and closed the door. She sighed and tilted her head into the spray, allowing the soothing hot water to ease the tension in her muscles.
The shower door whipped open. She shrieked and stumbled backward, slipping and falling on her ass.
Yuri’s lip curled, his nostrils flaring. “That was Doctor Forster. You’re sterile and worthless.”
Huddled on the shower floor, she cringed, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for the blow that would surely come. The shower door slammed, followed by a loud crack.
Viktoria didn’t know how long she sat there, huddled with her arms wrapped around her shoulders. When she opened her eyes, the glass door was cracked, spiderwebbing from a focal point where Yuri had smashed his fist into it.
The fear slicing through her gradually ebbed, replaced by another frightening reality.
If she couldn’t give Yuri the child he wanted, what good was she to him?
She stared at the tile, watching the water spiral down the drain and with it, all her dreams and hopes for the future. Her emotions were completely beaten down, and the truth was the bitterest of pills. Somehow, she’d become what she’d never expected to be…
A victim of domestic violence.