26. Maxim
TWENTY-SIX
MAXIM
T en minutes later, I walked into Sophia’s ER room. She’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, talking animatedly to an older man in green scrubs. He’s familiar, but his face is mostly hidden behind a mask, and I can’t place him.
I stop in the doorway, hesitant to intrude on their conversation. But the moment I step closer, something shifts in the air. She straightens, her back going stiff. Her head turns just slightly in my direction, but she stops herself from fully turning as if she doesn’t want to be rude to the man in front of her.
I let my gaze linger on her, searching for any signs of injury. There’s only one small bandage on her forehead, and I can’t help but feel a flood of relief wash over me. She’s okay. Nothing worse happened. But the relief is fleeting, gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a gnawing unease.
What’s the cost of my stay?
It’s always the ones you love the most who hurt the worst.
The words from the letter echo in my mind. They didn’t hurt her by accident. They didn’t nearly kill her because they weren’t trying to send a message. This wasn’t about her. It was never about her. It was about me.
It’s always been about me. And I’m the fool for thinking it was anything else.
The break-in at her house—undetected by the cameras—was message number two. The first was when they took her from my home. I thought she was safe with Lucas, but now, I can see the bigger picture. They didn’t question her. Why? Why didn’t they torture her for information? She wasn’t prepared for that kind of pain. She would’ve cracked. She would’ve given them everything—everything. But they didn’t.
And that tells me everything I need to know.
This goes deeper than I thought, and I’m so far behind, so blind, I can’t see the full picture. It’s like watching the shadows of my life stretch out of my reach, just out of my grasp. The rage bubbles up again, hot and sharp. I’m so close to losing control, throwing everything I’ve built into the fire because I need answers. I need to know what they want and who they are.
I walk closer, trying to keep the anger from spilling out. But before I can say anything, she holds up a hand, a clear ‘stop’ gesture, her face soft but firm.
“Before you say anything, Maxim—please understand, I’m fine.” She gestures to the two butterfly bandages on her forehead. “It’s nothing. Just a bump. No stitches. The doctor made it sound worse than it was. Please, don’t worry about me.”
I can feel her eyes on me, her concern shifting as she takes in my appearance. She doesn’t even try to hide the shock in her expression.
“I’m really alright, Maxim.”
The words sting. They should comfort me, but they don’t. I want to believe her, I do, but I can’t stop seeing what happened before—what could have happened. I can’t shake the feeling it’s not over. It’s just the beginning.
“I know.”
The words leave my mouth flat, devoid of emotion, but the truth is, I can feel the weight of them pressing against my chest like a suffocating force. I don’t want her to see how much this is killing me, so I bury it, tucking it away where she can’t reach it. Not now. Not when I need to keep a grip on my sanity.
Her brow furrows as she watches me—really watches me. She always does this, sees past the walls I’ve built. For a fleeting moment, I feel like I’m naked in front of her, exposed, as if she’s peeling me apart with just her eyes. I wish she didn’t have that power over me. Sometimes, it’s a gift; right now, it feels like a curse.
She looks away, and I almost feel the loss of her gaze as if it’s a physical thing, like she’s severing the thread connecting us. Her shoulders slump, the slight drop betraying her concern, her worry. She knows something’s wrong, even if she doesn’t know exactly what.
“Come inside.” Her tone is softer than before, no longer light and playful. It’s heavy now, tinged with something I can’t name. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I follow her into the room, stopping when I’m standing beside her. My smile feels like it’s stapled to my face, fake and brittle.
“This is the person who’s been taking care of the clinic while we’ve been away,” she says, her voice steady.
I nod, forcing the words out, “Hi, I’m Maxim. Nice to meet you.” My hand extends, but it feels like a hollow gesture, as if I’m reaching out for something I can’t quite grasp.
The man’s eyes crinkle with the ghost of a smile. “Ah, so you’re the lucky man who stole our little Sophia’s heart.”
The words hit like a blow, sharper than I expected, as if they’ve been lodged in my chest, ready to pierce me. This man—who has known her since she was a child—sees me, sees us, in a way I can’t bear. I swallow hard, fighting back the rush of emotions threatening to break free.
Without thinking, I lean down and kiss her forehead, pressing my lips to the soft skin. Her vanilla scent clings to me, and for a moment, I allow myself to breathe it in. I’m going to miss this scent. I’m going to miss her.
Do I really need to let her go? Maybe I don’t have to. Maybe I can lock her away—hide her from the world, from everything that could hurt her. Keep her with me forever.
No.
The thought hits me like a slap. I can’t do that to her. She would hate me for it. The weight of that truth settles in, heavy and cold. I push the thoughts back and shove them into the box marked “unhelpful emotions”—the ones I can’t afford to deal with right now. I turn my attention back to the man in front of me, forcing the smile to stay in place, even though it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you. Sophia’s said nothing but amazing things about you.”
His cheeks color slightly at the compliment, and I can see the affection he has for her. It’s palpable, like something I can touch, and for a moment, I’m consumed with jealousy—jealous of how easy it is for him to show her affection, to be the one who’s always there when she needs someone.
Before he can respond, his phone rings, and he answers it with a quick “Hello?”. He pauses, listening, then nods.
“Yes, this is he.” Another pause. “I’ll be right there.” He hangs up and looks at Sophia.
“Consult?” she asks, her voice light but tired.
“Story of our lives,” he says with a chuckle. They share a brief laugh, and I’m struck by the bond they have. It’s easy, comfortable, like they’ve known each other forever.
He pats her on the head in that fatherly way, his relief palpable. “You’re alright,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring.
I watch them, and the connection between them is so clear, it almost hurts. She looks up at him with the kind of trust that makes my chest tighten.
“Before I go, I’ll talk to the doctors and nurses to speed up the discharge papers.”
Sophia shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll talk to them myself.” She gestures to his phone. “Duty calls.”
He chuckles, pulling her into a quick hug. “Hopefully, the next time we meet, we will be under better circumstances,” he says, giving me a small nod before exiting the room.
The moment the door closes behind him, I move toward the corner, sitting down in the chair with forced calm. I make my face neutral, willing myself to appear composed, but inside, I’m a mess.
“Tell me what happened,” I ask, my voice low, but I can’t mask the urgency in it.
She shrugs, standing up from the bed. “There’s no crazy story, Maxim.” Her words are simple and dismissive, but I can see the unease in her body. “I was at a red light, a car didn’t stop, and they hit me from behind. When I got out to check the damage, they left.”
My heart thuds in my chest, panic flaring. I want to stand and throw the chair across the room. I want to scream. “What do you mean they left? Didn’t you—didn’t you get their license plate?”
She sighs a soft, weary sound. “It was probably a scared teenager, terrified of having to deal with their parents. It’s nothing, Maxim.”
I shake my head, standing up, my body rigid with tension. “This isn’t nothing, Sophia. People don’t just hit and run without a reason. I need to know who did this.” My voice cracks, betraying the raw edge of my fear.
She walks to the door, pausing at the threshold, her back to me. “Please don’t.” Her voice carries a mixture of sadness, pain, and disappointment. She doesn’t look back as she speaks, but I hear the weight of her words. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”
She walks out to talk to the doctors, leaving me standing there, my mind racing.
The pain she’s feeling now is momentary. I remind myself of that. She’ll be fine. Sophia is the strongest person I know. She’ll move on from this. She’ll get to live a normal life, a life free of danger, free of me.
This is the only way I can keep her safe.
I repeat the mantra in my head over and over until the words are tattooed on my soul. This is how it has to be. If I stay with her, I’ll get her killed.
An hour later, we turned right into her neighborhood. My heart races faster with every passing second, the distance between her house and me shrinking, but it feels like the ground is pulling me deeper. The silence in the car is suffocating, a stark contrast to the usual banter we share. It’s like we’re both trapped in our own worlds, too afraid to break the stillness with the truth.
Scared, pathetic man.
I’ve been dragging this on—not for her, but for me. If I wasn’t such a selfish coward, I would’ve ripped the bandage off back at the hospital, but I used her lack of a car as my excuse to delay the inevitable.
I pull into her driveway and shift the car into park, but I don’t turn the engine off. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I sit there, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
“What’s going on?”
Her voice pierces the silence, demanding an answer I don’t have. I don’t know what to say to her, don’t know how to explain the storm tearing through me. I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. It’s like my brain is frozen, unable to form anything coherent, and my chest aches with the weight of everything unsaid.
She doesn’t wait for me. She grabs my face, forcing me to look at her, but I can’t. Every inch of her pain-filled eyes chips away at the control I’m clinging to, leaving me raw, exposed.
I jerk away like the coward I am, the monster I know I am. I refuse to see what I’ve done to her, refuse to look at the hurt, the confusion, the betrayal etched across her face.
I want to remember the way she looks at me when she’s in love, the joy she radiates when we’re together. That’s the version of her I want to hold onto. That’s the version of her that haunts me at night.
But no, that’s not what I deserve to remember.
What I deserve to see every time I close my eyes is the anger she’s looking at me with, the way she can barely contain the betrayal in her gaze.
The crease on her forehead deepens, and I can feel the seconds dragging on, heavy and suffocating, as I fail to say anything. Her hands move to my shoulder, shaking me gently, like she’s trying to force the truth out of me.
“Talk to me,” she pleads, her voice cracking with desperation. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you acting like this?” Her eyes fall to the luggage in the back seat, and I know what she’s thinking before she says anything.
I brace myself, my jaw tightening, ready for the fight that’s coming.
“I’m leaving tonight for Russia,” I say, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips. “I have business to take care of, and I’m not sure how long I’ll be there.”
I tell myself this is for her safety, that it’s the only way to keep her out of harm’s way, but the words feel hollow. I’m telling her this, but all I want is for her to fight me, to stop me, to scream at me.
Her gaze falters, her body language shifting, her arms crossing defensively as she tries to hold herself together. “Don’t leave me,” she says, her voice small, the desperation bleeding through.
“I have to leave, Sophia.” I gesture for her to get out of the car, but she doesn’t move.
“No.” Her voice cracks as she shakes her head, the refusal clear in the way she stands, stubborn and hurt. “No.”
“Soph—” My voice falters, betraying the emotions I’m desperately trying to bury. “Sophia, please don’t make this harder than it already is. I need to leave now to catch my flight.”
Her head jerks back like I’ve struck her, and it’s like a knife twisting in my chest.
I’m doing this for you.
I remind myself over and over, but it doesn’t change the fact that all I’m doing is destroying her. I just want to protect her, but it feels like I’m breaking her in the process.
“Go.” The word barely makes it past my lips, thick and choking.
“If I walk out that door,” she points to the house, her voice trembling with emotion, “we’re done.”
The intensity in her eyes hits me like a freight train, and it knocks the breath out of me. “Is that what you want?” She waits for me to respond, but I’m too paralyzed to say anything.
She stays there for a few minutes, watching me, waiting for an answer I can’t give. Finally, her frustration spills over. She groans, defeated, and then opens the door, slamming it behind her with a finality that rings in my ears.
I watch her walk away, feeling like the ground is falling out beneath me. My heart shatters with every step she takes, and the emptiness of the car amplifies the crushing weight in my chest.
Did I just make the biggest mistake of my fucking life?
Yes, you did, you fucking imbecile.
I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, the anger, guilt, and pain rising in me like a tidal wave. I scream, the sound guttural and raw, echoing in the empty night. I scream because I don’t know what else to do. I scream because I’ve just destroyed the one thing that mattered to me.
I stare at the door of her house, hoping it will open, praying she’ll come back and tell me I’m wrong, that I didn’t ruin everything. But it stays closed, and I’m left alone with the wreckage I’ve created.
I can’t live without her. She’s the reason I wake up every day, the reason this world doesn’t feel so dark, the reason I keep breathing. Without her, I’d rather be six feet under, because this world doesn’t exist without her by my side. I should’ve been honest with her and given her the chance to make her own decisions instead of taking that choice away from her. I’ve dug my own grave, and now I have to lie in it.
My heart pounds in my chest as I step out of the car and make my way to her house. Am I really going to involve her in this? She could get hurt. That part of me—the part that wants to keep her far away from all this darkness—questions my every move. For a brief moment, I hesitate, second-guessing myself. But it doesn’t take long to answer that part of me. She deserves to know the truth. She has the right to decide if she wants to be involved in this nightmare that’s coming.
“What the fuck?” The words barely leave my mouth before I lose my balance and end up crashing into the hood of my car. The back of my head slams into the metal, and I feel the emblem of my car dig into my lower back, the pain exploding in my skull.
I stay in that position for a moment, dazed, trying to regain my composure. What the hell just happened?
“Oh no, Maxim. Are you alright?”
Sophia’s voice—louder and more sarcastic than usual—cuts through the sharp pain in my head, intensifying the ache. I tilt my head back, eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to stop the dizziness.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be out of the car. I didn’t mean to hit you with the suitcase.” Her voice carries a mix of amusement and just the faintest hint of concern. Wait a minute…she threw her suitcase at me?
“In my defense,” she continues, the amusement clear in her tone, “it was meant to hit your car. You were just a bonus.”
The absurdity of the situation hits me, and despite the pain, despite the blood in my mouth, the dizziness threatening to knock me out, a laugh escapes. The laughter bursts from me uncontrollably, mingling with the sharp throb in my head. I laugh harder than I should, shaking from the pressure in my skull, but I can’t stop.
When I finally manage to regain control, the laughter dies in my throat, but my smile falters as I look up at her.
Sophia stands in front of me, arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently on the ground. Her face is flushed red, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide with an intensity I’ve never seen before. And it’s not just anger; it’s a murderous fury that makes my chest tighten.
You fucked up, Maxim.
The realization sinks in deep. I’ve pushed her too far. I’ve hurt her in ways I can’t even begin to fix.