Chapter 13 - Avraam
When I arrived home and walked through the door I was shocked at how enthusiastic her greeting was towards me. It came out of the blue. She has never greeted me like that before.
I could see she was relieved and happy to see me, but I have no idea why. At first, I thought maybe she was trying to trick me in some way, but as she followed me through to the kitchen, I could sense something else was going on.
She was genuinely happy to see me. For whatever reason. I decided to enjoy it.
It makes me smile—to have someone waiting for me at home that reacts that way when I arrive. I felt welcomed. I felt as though she had missed me, and it was such a special feeling to be wanted in that way.
But especially after what happened this morning, I expected her to want to avoid me. Not come flying down the stairs to greet me.
This morning was awkward. I doubt it was pleasant for either of us. I thought she would be angry with me.
Or at least annoyed about it.
***
We are both settled at the dinner table now and the food smells incredible. I was so hungry when I left work—and craving Asian. I almost didn’t order it because I wanted to get something Ruslana would like as well. But then I realized I have no idea what she likes, and I took a chance. Just making sure I got enough variety to cover different options.
I twist some noodles onto my fork and chew thoughtfully. Savoring the flavors of the stir-fried chicken, but also thinking about her. I can’t figure her out. She’s like a puzzle and I don’t have all the pieces.
Every now and then, I look across the table towards her and she seems to shift uncomfortably under my gaze.
She keeps blushing, her cheeks growing bright pink.
I want to chuckle because she looks so fucking cute when she blushes, but I can’t push my luck here. Things are uneasy enough as it is. Just the fact that we are sitting together after this morning—it’s something I don’t want to test further.
“Did you enjoy your day? Did you start a new book?” I ask, looking for something to talk about.
“I didn’t start a new one, not today,” she shakes her head. “But yesterday, I finished that other one, the one you recommended.”
“And?”
“It was good. A bit dark. Kind of morbid. I think I prefer the more light-hearted stuff, but I mean, I still enjoyed it.”
One corner of my mouth curls into a smile. Too dark for her. I guess her brothers have kept her well-protected from the realities of this world she lives in. She is part of the mafia, but she thinks that book is dark. I guess it all depends on what you’ve seen in life.
“I found the book I want to read next, though,” she says, carrying on the conversation.
“And what book is it?” I ask, looking over at her, seeing the enthusiasm in her face.
“The one on statistics in business.”
I laugh, thinking she must be joking. But the moment I laugh, she looks very offended.
“Are you serious?” I ask in shock, unable to hide it.
She starts laughing this time, “Yes, don’t look so surprised.”
“It’s not what I was expecting you to say at all,” I laugh again, “Why in the world would you choose that one?”
She shrugs, “How else am I going to learn how to run a business? It’s the same reason I read all of the books I read about business.”
“And what do you know about business?” I tease her, not expecting it to be much at all.
She grins, “I know how it works with the legitimate business covering the tracks of the illegal processes. Money laundering. And I know how my brothers handled their orders and deliveries and I can put together a very good shipment schedule if I need to.”
I listen to her talking about what she’s learned from books and from watching her brothers. It seems they never blatantly taught her anything—but she decided at some point that she wanted to know, and she went out of her way to find out. People who are willing to teach themselves, without help or guidance from others—those are very determined and very skilled individuals. I never thought this pretty little girl would be that kind of person. But I have been wrong about her before—I keep discovering that—and I should stop making assumptions about who she is and rather find out for myself.
She is chatting away happily, telling me the things she’s learned. I’m really impressed with her, taken aback by her extensive knowledge of money laundering.
After a while she sighs and smiles, “I couldn’t let them leave me behind. They were all learning—growing as people and capable of taking over the family business if one of them got sick or needed help. I wanted to know everything, too. What if one day I need to work for myself? I don’t want to just be some useless girl.”
“Do your brothers know you taught yourself all of these things?”
“No, not at all. All they do is shield me from everything. They think I need to be protected to the point where they barely let me make any decisions for myself at all. But I figured out a way.” She grins, “If you want something badly enough, you can get it.”
She seems passionate about this. Determined and resourceful.
When the conversation slows down a little, though—I see tension return to her body and she keeps looking around the room as though she is waiting for something to happen.
She’s been completely safe inside this house since the beginning, so I can’t figure out what would make her feel otherwise.
Is it because of me?
She looks unhappy. I am the only person she has interacted with the entire time she’s been here—so it must be from what happened this morning.
I want her to talk to me, though. To tell me what is going on with her. If it is because of what happened this mornin,g we should discuss it. Maybe she thinks I will try again or make her do something she doesn’t want to do. I’d rather confirm with her that it will never happen. Like I did this morning. I will reassure her again if it helps her relax.
“You don’t look very happy this evening, Ruslana. Is something bothering you that you want to talk about?” I ask.
Her eyes shoot wide as though she is confused about how I could read her so well. She doesn’t know that she wears her emotions out in the open. “Um, no, everything is fine,” she lies.
I can see straight through her. She fidgets and shifts when she isn’t telling the truth. She’s a terrible liar.
I shake my head. Staring straight into her eyes, I say, “Bullshit. Just tell me what’s on your mind. You are clearly upset about something. Did something happen while I was at work?” I demand, more forcefully than before.
She chews at her lips.
I am about to ask her again when she opens her mouth, hesitates, then finally says, “I’m very alone here. All day, I wander around the mansion and it’s a little scary, it’s such a big place. Anything could go wrong. There isn’t anyone to talk to. I’m so used to going out all the time and seeing my friends. I’m not used to spending all day alone. I just—I really want to be free, Avraam.” She sighs, heavy with misery. But how can I fix that? I can’t let her go. It’s completely out of the question. I don’t even know how to respond to her. I feel my jaw muscles feathering as I avert my eyes from her gaze. Guilt seeping into me.
She’s asking too much of me.
I sigh, setting my fork down. My stomach knotting with tension. I can’t even finish my food. Things have taken a turn in our conversation and all I want to do is get out of the room.
I hate that I am doing this to her. I don’t want to be the reason she isn’t happy.
“I can’t let you go home, Ruslana,” I say slowly, articulating my words and hoping she won’t make me repeat myself.
She looks up at me, her eyes sad, a lost expression on her face. “Will you ever let me go—what is going to happen to me?” she asks the question as though she is afraid of the answer.
It makes it worse because I don’t have an answer for her. I can’t tell her what will happen to her. Things are still moving forward with my plans against her brothers—but no one knows I have her yet.
For now, she is my secret.
“I think it’s time to call it a night,” I say, pushing my chair away from the table and standing up. The look in her eyes is grating at me, bothering me more than I want to admit. I can’t let myself feel guilt for taking her—or keeping her here. She is my prisoner. She serves a purpose, and I don’t have to answer any of her questions.
She slowly sets her chopsticks down and pushes her plate away.
“I understand,” she says softly.
“What do you understand?” I snap, not meaning to sound so aggressive. I am angry at myself—not her. I mustn’t take it out on her.
“I understand that you can’t or shouldn't have to answer me. I am just—I’m not—all I am saying is that I understand the role I am playing in this situation,” she bites her lip.
I stand there like an idiot, not knowing how to respond to that. She stands up and without another glance towards me, she walks out of the dining room. “Good night, Avraam,” I hear her say, just as she disappears through the doorway.
I stand there for a long time, battling my own guilt, the pressure I feel to make her happy.
It’s not my responsibility to make my prisoner happy. That’s not how the world works.
Finally, I head upstairs, after clearing the takeout boxes away just because I needed something to do.
I get ready for bed quietly, and then climb beneath the covers, lying right next to her.
I can smell her. Wild jasmine and dark musk roses. It’s a scent that is starting to drive me wild.
I want her so badly.
She seems stiff and tense as well, shifting and tossing, trying to get comfortable.
The remnants of this morning’s incident are still fresh in my mind.
All I want to do is to start again where we left off. I never wanted to stop. I am so insanely attracted to her it’s distracting me from everything.
But I remind myself, that I would never put her in a position that violates her free will. I will never take from her what is not mine to take.
She is safe with me. No matter how much I want her.
No matter how my body craves her.
I push my face against the pillow, trying to focus on sleep instead of her gorgeous figure lying next to me.
I wish I could make her smile.
There must be some way, something that I can do, even if I can’t let her go—if I’m not willing to let her walk away from me yet—I can do something.
I close my eyes, trying to think of ideas.
And just before I fall asleep, a smile touches my lips.
I know what to do.
I know what she needs, what she would enjoy.
***
Early in the morning, I wake her gently by calling her name and placing a cup of coffee next to her on the bedside table.
“Come on, you need to wake up and get ready,” I say with a smile, brushing my hand across her cheek.
She blinks her eyes open and looks around in confusion.
“What am I getting ready for?” she asks, her voice groggy and soft.
“Just get ready. I have to leave in thirty minutes. I need you downstairs by then.”
She sits up, rubbing her fingers against her eyes. “Um. Ok. I’ll be ready,” she mumbles, then reaches out and picks up the coffee. Sipping it and trying to force herself to wake up.