Chapter 15 - Bardil
It's been two days since we met her brothers at the restaurant.
I hate myself for it, but I had no choice.
My plan was in place long before the night I shared with her. It was always the way it was supposed to happen. I was going to use her to get what I wanted.
I'm angry that I ever strayed from that plan. I messed it up for myself. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
I delayed it. I was distracted. I even considered not doing it at all. But Simon caught me. He figured everything out, and he came looking for me at the cabin. It was only a matter of time before they found me in the city, too.
Then, the morning I met up with them, I woke up before her and planned to make us breakfast in bed, but a message from my oldest brother stopped me in my tracks.
Marlen wrote to say he knew I had their sister, and he wouldn't tolerate it.
It was clear that I had limited time to make my move before they made theirs.
I had no choice. I had to arrange the meeting. I had to establish my power over them.
There were no snipers. She was and never will be in danger from me. All I needed was for them to believe that.
But still… I can't stop thinking about what happened with her at the club. In fact, it's driving me insane. I'm losing my mind over it.
Our bodies moving together.
That moment… that intimate, intense, perfect moment… it was never supposed to happen. I was supposed to control myself, to keep my hands to myself. But I couldn't.
Over and over again, I told myself it was just sex and meant nothing, but it's impossible to hide the truth from myself. These emotions inside me are too overwhelming. Too real.
That was the most unforgettable experience I've ever had.
My mind was blown. My existence was shifted.
It terrified me.
It still does.
But since the restaurant, Nikita hasn't spoken to me. Two days.
Not that I can blame her. I would hate myself too if I were her. I treated her like shit. I hate what I did, but I had to.
She passes me in the hallway and keeps her face turned down. She walks out of the kitchen when I walk in. She doesn't eat with me and sits silently in the library reading for most of the day.
When I do talk to her, she might glance at me, her eyes full of emotion and her head full of thoughts I wish I could read. But she doesn't reply unless she absolutely has to.
A short yes or a no.
The thing is, what's happening between us is exactly what should be happening. I need her to hate me. I need her to stop talking to me.
How else can I distance myself from her? The more we interact, the more I want her. The more my mind and body scream to be near her. If I don't push her away, I'll end up with her in my arms again.
This is the way things have to be, no matter how terrible it seems.
We can't be together.
So it's better if she hates me. It'll make letting her go that much easier.
But the guilt is killing me.
I'm so accustomed to her vibrant energy, her smile, and her laughter. I'm used to her teasing me and playfully joking with me. But now she's moving around the place like an empty shell of herself. She's hurting, and it's my fault.
The last two days have been hell. That's the only way I can describe it.
And by day three, I'm ready to tear my hair out and scream her name. I'm desperate for the smallest conversation from her. A flicker of a smile would set my heart on fire at this point. I need something from her. Anything.
By day four, I can't take it anymore. I haven't slept. I cannot get her out of my head.
I pace the hallway outside the room she's in. I mutter to myself. I'm going crazy.
All logic leaves my senses, and no matter what happens, I know I have to win her back. The silence is unbearable. His distance is killing me. The only thing that matters is to see her smile, to hear her laugh.
Knocking on her open bedroom door, I half expect her to tell me to get lost, but she doesn't even look up.
I walk quietly into her room. She's sitting on the bed with a book in her lap.
The book is closed, and her fingers are constantly tracing over the embossed emblem on the cover. She looks exhausted and numb.
I stand next to her bed and wait, but she doesn't look up.
"Kita?" I say quietly.
Nothing.
Leaning down, I set a small box on the bed. Her eyes steal a glance at it, and her brows furrow.
"What is that?" she demands abruptly.
"It's for you," I say, cautious, watching her reactions.
"Why? What for?" she snaps. For the first time in days, she looks at me. Those beautiful eyes pierce into me, and my heart pulls tight in my chest.
I don't have an answer. Not one I can give her. Because I'm sorry. Because I miss you like crazy. Because my life without you is empty and meaningless.
I need you to forgive me.
Just speak to me.
When I don't say anything, she reaches out and snatches the box angrily. The lid falls to the floor when she pops it off.
Inside is a gold chain and a tiny gold rabbit pendant holding a bright, glittering diamond in its tummy. Hanging with the rabbit is a long silver sword made of titanium, symbolizing her strength, and also inlaid with diamonds.
I smile.
"It's because you are sweet, but feisty. Never to be underestimated," I muse.
She huffs loudly, shaking her head.
"Why would you do this, Bardil?" she demands, standing up to retrieve the fallen lid. She snatches it off the floor and pushes it back onto the box.
Her eyes are bright with anger when she grabs my hand and holds it palm up, then pushes the box into my hand.
"I don't want anything from you," she snaps.
Nikita climbs back onto her bed, sitting down and picking up the book again.
I leave the little box on her bedside table and walk out of her room.
Half of me is thrilled to have felt her touch.
Her fingers on my hand. To have heard her voice.
The other half is thinking that the gift wasn't enough, and I need to try harder.
That evening, when Nikita comes downstairs to get herself something to eat, the entire foyer is filled with the reddest roses. She has to walk through them to get to the kitchen. Some are so tall they tower over her, others crowd the floor at her feet.
Along the way, she spots a card with her name on it and plucks it from the bouquet to read it. I watch from the living room. Tense.
"Sorry?" she scoffs loudly. She shakes her head and tosses the card onto the floor. In a rage, she kicks at the flowers, shoving them out of her way. When she turns to glance over her shoulder, sensing my eyes on her, I see tears running down her cheeks.
I'll try again tomorrow. I won't stop trying.
And day after day for over two weeks, I do my best to win her back. But she rejects everything.
The longer I can't reach her and pull her back toward me, the more it makes me lose my mind.
There has to be a way. There has to be something.
Maybe I shouldn't be buying her gifts, and I should be talking to her instead.
Maybe I should just tell her. Speak to her from my heart. Explain to her how sorry I am.
That night, I lie awake, running over and over the things I want to say to her. I can't get them in the right order or make them come out in a way that doesn't make me seem crazy.
I practice for hours until I fall asleep, exhausted.
But the next day, Nikita had her bedroom door closed.
My instincts tell me that if I push too hard against her boundaries, she'll hate me even more, so I try my best to be respectful.
All day, I wait patiently for her to come out for something to eat or to walk around the garden like she enjoys doing. Or to choose a new book from the library. But she doesn't. It's late afternoon, early evening actually, almost dinner time, and she still hasn't left her room even once.
I can't take it anymore. An entire day without even seeing her has me breaking down completely.
Giving in, unable to give her the privacy she's clearly after, I try the handle and find it locked. My heart constricts with worry.
What is going on?
"Nikita, open this door immediately," I demand, banging my fist on the door, my voice heated with stress, making me sound angry. I take a breath and try again. "Nikita, are you ok in there? Please, let me in."
The silence is deafening.
She says nothing, and my blood boils. The panic gives me no other option, and I slam my shoulder against the door, close to the lock. It splinters and opens on the first try. The door swings and I catch it before it slams against the wall.
Marching inside, I'm almost certain I'll find her gone, escaped.
But instead, I find her curled into the smallest ball in the center of her bed. I rush to her side and sit next to her. "Nikita?" I ask, touching her waist. The blankets are pulled up over her shoulder, and to my horror, she's shivering badly.
I roll her onto her back so I can see her face.
Her skin is pale and clammy with sweat. I brush my hand across her forehead. "Little rabbit, you're sick!" I say in horror. "Why didn't you call me?"
She rolls back onto her side, turning her back toward me again.
"Are you hungry? Can I make you some tea?" I ask.
"I don't want anything from you, Bardil. Please leave me alone," she mutters quietly. Her voice sounds weak. I reach out and brush my hand over her arm, gently squeezing.
"I'm coming back in a minute. Don't worry, Kita, you're not alone anymore," I whisper.
Rushing out of her room, I grab some painkillers, thinking her body must be aching with fever.
I get a bottle of still water from the fridge and make a cup of tea.
I also find a box of plain vanilla biscuits in the pantry.
Maybe I can convince her to eat these and then make her something more substantial later.
Going past the bathroom, I get a washcloth and soak it in cold water, then fold it to place on her head.
Back in her room, I set everything down on her bedside table. Sitting on her bed, I gently pull her onto her back again, and she groans, too weak to fight me.
"Sit up a little, sweetheart," I coax her. She doesn't argue. I don't think she has the strength. I lift her with my hand on her back, then push two pillows behind her so she can be comfortable while she drinks something. And hopefully eats a little.
She leans against the pillow wall, breathing as though she's in pain. When I place the washcloth over her forehead, she sighs with relief and reaches up to push the cool fabric against her skin.
"Where does it hurt?" I ask, touching her face. She places her hand over her stomach and grimaces. "And my head. Actually, my whole body," she sighs.
I take her hand and place two Panadol into her palm. "Take these. It'll help. And drink some water. You're probably dehydrated."
She sighs softly but takes the pills and sips water from the bottle.
I can't convince her to eat, though. When I offer her a biscuit, she almost turns green and has to look away.
Nikita's eyes fill with tears of frustration that break my heart. I shift closer to her on the bed and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
"It's ok, little rabbit. Close your eyes again. Give the Panadol some time to help you."
She briefly wants to fight me, to push me away, but she has nothing in her, so she rests her cheek against my chest and closes her eyes. My fingers brush through her hair, slowly and methodically.
"Try and rest some more. I'm right here with you," I whisper.
Nikita takes a deep, slow breath. Her body softens in my arms, giving in to me.