Chapter 8
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Julia
I pace around Maksim’s room, trying to formulate a plan.
Physically, I’m thousands of miles away from the twins.
My gaze falls on the computers in front of me, and then I realize I could ask for his help. He might be able to find out if they’re safe.
Do I trust him enough to confide that I have younger sisters? My mind responds instantly: yes .
He could have raped me. He could have hurt me. He wouldn’t have shown me the hatred he feels for these people if he was involved with them.
Just then, the door opens, and he walks in with a bag in his hand. His eyes lock onto mine, and for a few seconds, I forget what I wanted to say.
Right. The twins.
“Can I ask you something?” I inquire softly.
If he refuses, I'll need to find another way to find out what’s going on.
He studies me for a few seconds. “What is it?”
I take a deep breath and blurt everything that’s on my mind.
“I have two younger sisters. They’re twins.
When Rogelio’s men came for our father, I managed to get them out of the house and to a neighbor's. I went back to help my parents, but then there was an explosion. I was caught minutes later, and I don’t know if they escaped or if the twins reached our uncle. ”
I exhale, feeling like I’ve said everything in just two seconds, judging by how I'm gasping.
His gaze is cold and unwavering, and I force myself to stop fidgeting with my hands as I try to calm my nerves. When I feel that enough time has passed, I whisper to him, “Please.”
His jaw clenches, and all he offers in return is, “I’ll look into it.
Actually, I’ll teach you how to do it yourself because if you want to survive in this house, you need to learn to defend yourself on all fronts, Julia.
But don’t try anything stupid, like calling the police or reaching out for help.
Ivan has people everywhere, and if you bring any unwanted attention to his business, trust me—not even God will be able to protect you or your family. ”
There’s a hint of regret in his voice, but what I focus on is that he’s agreed to help me find out about the twins.
“I brought everything you need here. Including your first contraceptive injection.”
I dig through the bag he hands me and find the pregnancy test, a few blouses, some pants, a pair of boots, a basic set of undergarments, tampons, a toothbrush, and... a hairbrush with butterflies?
A smile comes onto my face automatically because it feels like fate that he picked that exact hairbrush. With butterflies. They are my favorite.
When I was five, my parents took me to a monarch butterfly nature reserve.
We were lucky enough to catch a swarm in the middle of the forest, and that moment was pure magic in my childhood.
The forest was so green, with the sound of a few birds in the background, and hundreds of butterflies painted in shades of orange, black, and white.
Pure magic.
I didn’t realize I had picked up the hairbrush until I notice Maksim’s furrowed expression toward it.
“I really like butterflies,” I say, trying to keep the smile on my face. I think we both need a bit of optimism.
He nods slightly in understanding.
“We’ll start this evening. Take the test. Take a shower. Then we’ll handle the injection and go over some ground rules.” And with that, he turns and exits the room.
He’s not the friendliest guy on the planet, but he’s the only one here I believe doesn’t want to harm me, and that’s enough for me.
The bathroom attached to the bedroom is as clean and impersonal as the room itself.
As I wait for the test results, the reality hits me hard: I might actually be pregnant.
What would I do with a child? What would Maksim do if he finds out I’m pregnant?
I'm convinced he regrets helping me, but if another soul enters this equation, I doubt he’d hesitate to cast me aside.
That thought sends a shiver down my spine. Control yourself.
When I open my eyes after a few minutes and see the result, I feel a relief unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Negative .
Gracias, Diosito.
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After finishing my shower, I do what I always used to do at home. Spend a minute under cold water. My senses come alive as the first drops of cold water hit my skin, and I'm reminded that I'm still alive. I've survived so far.
But somehow, in this moment, I feel Martin’s hands on my thighs and physically recoil in the shower stall. I force myself to open my eyes. You’re safe. You’re not in that room anymore.
I survived, but at what cost?
When I emerge from the bathroom dressed in some pajamas Maksim got for me, he is sitting at his desk with his back to me. I know he senses my presence because he turns in his chair.
“The test is negative,” I feel the need to tell him first.
No response. No comment.
“Sit on the bed. I’ll administer the injection right away.”
His tone is authoritative, so I don’t manage to tell him that I hate needles. I hate injections.
It’s for your own good, Julia.
I watch him approach with the syringe in hand and position himself at my level. I close my eyes and know I’m gripping the edge of the bed so hard that my knuckles turn white. I wait for the pain. I suppress the urge to jump up.
“Julia, open your eyes.” His voice is softer now.
When I open my eyes, I'm struck by a veil of gray, and I have to force myself not to gasp, because they are the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.
His black hair falls across his forehead, but it's cut short on the sides. He has a rugged expression, and even though he’s roughly my age, he looks more mature. I see a few small scars on his face, which only add to his mysterious allure and make my heart beat irregularly.
Cálmate, corazoncito.
My heart wishes to calm down, but it can't. Ugh, I hate these hormones.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re afraid of injections?” he asks, and I want to give the obvious response.
“Because you’re so calm and self-assured, and I want to try to be like that too,” I respond in my authoritative tone, the same one I use with the twins when they misbehave.
In the next second, he bursts out laughing, his whole face lighting up, and the pleasant sound vibrates through him so powerfully that my eyes widen, and without realizing it, I start laughing too.
Then I register the prick of the needle, but before I can look or even process it, he withdraws the syringe. I look up at him, shocked, and all he says is, “It’s better if you don’t expect it.”
I know this moment has changed something in me. I’m not sure exactly what, but when I think about it, my chest fills with a special warmth. He cared that I might feel pain; he cared about my fear. He took responsibility for me. And somehow, my soul skips a beat because of that. Because of him.