18. Erin #2
He knows he’s not allowed. And he keeps sneaking looks at me. But I’m so damn happy I let him do it.
Finally, he starts to grizzle because he’s hungry, and Demyan goes to steal a soldier.
Sasha’s eyes go wide. “No!” he squeals. “Bad Dane. Bad. Mine.”
“Well,” I say, “Demyan’s a big boy and hungry, and you’re just playing around with your food.”
His lip trembles. “Mine, Mama. Mine.”
And he tugs his plate to him and eats all the soldiers.
After he’s done, he wiggles down and runs off to play in the yard. My heart slams as he does, but it’s penned off. There’s an area set up for him. A little swing set and a trike There’s sun and shade and soft grass and a moveable childproof fence.
I turn back and almost gasp as Demyan quietly clears the table. Without a word, I help him. “He likes the setup outside.”
“I know.”
I lick my lips. “Thank you for not getting mad at him. He can be a monster sometimes.”
“He was showing off. I didn’t think to have the sandwich precut.” He gives a small laugh and I like him like this, accessible. Human.
“Put the fucking plate down.”
His tone hasn’t changed, but terror hits me. I look at Demyan, waiting for the ax to fall.
“Go play with Sasha.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Thank our son. It’s obvious how much he’s missed you. And you’ve missed him. Go now before I change my mind.”
I go up on my toes and kiss his cheek, slightly roughened with stubble, and I don’t miss the sudden intake of breath. Then I turn and flee out into the sun.
“Sasha, you’re spoiled,” I say as he trails his goat by one leg, showing me all his toys like a pirate with his hidden treasure.
Demyan spent a fortune on him. And all the toys I can’t afford are here. There’s an indoor trike and outdoor trike. He’s even got the latest, coolest cartoon on TV embossed on a helmet that I’m guessing he’s made to wear when tearing around on the trikes.
With me here and his intent on showing me everything and making me play with him, Sasha hasn’t touched the trikes. But I can see the scratches; the indoor one has a streak of paint that he’s clearly got from scraping against a wall.
Some of the toys shriek when pressed. There’s a doll, a toy truck, games, and blocks and Legos.
He has a plethora of crayons and pencils and coloring books.
There’s even a pile of picture books, some a little too advanced and some in Russian and Sasha looks like he’s king of his own little world.
And as we play, Demyan watches.
At first when he came outside, he was talking to someone, but we were in his line of sight. Now we’re indoors and Demyan sits in a chair, sipping coffee, watching us.
I thought it would be invasive and weird, but strangely, it’s not. He’s not watching for me to fuck up. He’s watching his son. A father enjoying his boy at play.
Father.
For some reason the word sends a rippling thrill through me .
Sasha has a father who wants him. It does something to me, turns something soft, almost gooey inside, something I’d rather be left alone.
But the tearing around, the showing off and the hardcore play is finally too much for a little boy who’s pushing the boundaries of his schedule.
I don’t even know if Demyan has one for him, but if it were us, this is well and truly nap time and he succumbs, getting whiny, then teary and grizzly.
Sasha starts to cling.
“Nap time, baby.”
“No, Mama. Play.” And he starts to cry.
“Definitely nap time.” I glance at Demyan. “He’s late for his regular nap. At least when we used to have nap time.”
Demyan stands and picks him up and Sasha’s so tired he doesn’t go stiff or wriggly. He just flops in his father’s arms, his goat clutched tight by the nose this time, and he rubs his wet face on Demyan’s shirt.
“No, Dane. Play.”
“You heard Mama. Nap time.” He looks at me. “I’ll do it.”
I nod because the man’s looking at me like he wants my approval. Demyan hoists Sasha onto his shoulder and I follow them down the hall and upstairs, into a bright and inviting room.
One that’s been dedicated to Sasha. And on the bed is his pillow. My fingers itch to take over. To take part. To do anything but watch.
Because it’s hard. Reading him a story, tucking him in, making sure he stays in bed, and laughing with him is my job. But Demyan does it like I’m not needed, like he’s been doing this all his life.
When he’s asleep, I kiss Sasha’s cheek, wanting to stay with him, but Demyan gestures to the door and reluctantly I make my way out. He pulls it shut and leads me into a study, where he hands me a baby monitor.
“I’ve put this off long enough,” he says to me. “I have to go out. I wouldn’t, but… it’s a necessity.”
He crosses his arms, tapping a finger against one elbow, like he’s weighing up his options.
“Please don’t lock me up again.” I run my fingers over the monitor. “I want to be here for him. I want… Demyan, I won’t try to run. Even if I wanted to, the place is crawling with guards and Sasha’s bonding with you, so I promise I’m staying.”
I mean it.
If this had been yesterday or the day before, I’d have been lying through my teeth.
I’d have tried to run with Sasha. God only knows how I’d get away, except…
except I think I might have, if I was willing to push through.
They’d pull guns, give chase, but I don’t think any of his men would risk his child.
But I’m not willing to risk Sasha.
More than that, I’m not willing to put Demyan through what he put me through. He deserves a chance with his son.
There’s no way back to him not knowing, anyway.
He looks me over. “You know you could risk the fact my men won’t shoot if you have him. Of course, some are snipers, and you’d be dead before you got halfway to the gate.”
“I’m not running. You deserve to know your son, Demyan.”
He nods slowly. “Fine. I’ll let you roam around the house. Within reason. No snooping, and no going outside. In fact, you’re never to step outside without me there. Even if I’m home, you stay in unless I’m physically there.”
“I can live with that. I promise not only won’t I run, but I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“See that you are. ”
He motions me out and pulls the door shut behind us, but he doesn’t activate the keypad lock.
I have no idea if it’s a test or if there’s nothing of interest in there.
But in all honesty, Sasha’s the only thing of interest. And if I ran, if a sniper didn’t kill me, then we’d be on the run for the rest of our lives and that’s no life for my son.
Besides, I think as Demyan heads off, the only person under any kind of threat is me. Sasha is safe. Loved. Adored.
I make my way back to his room where he’s sleeping and I kick off my shoes and climb on the bed, curling around Sasha.
I’ll do anything for my son.
Including making a pact with the devil.