Chapter 16 Kazimir #2
She shrieks, lurching up to hit the back of my headrest. "Let me out!" Her voice is sharp with panic. She tries to grab my arm, and I twist around to look at her before I can stop myself.
She lurches back the instant she sees my face, her own going white. She scrambles back against her seat, grabbing for the door handle again, even though there’s no way she’s getting out.
"Svetlana, stop." I keep my voice low, calm, even though my heart is pounding. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Let me go!" she nearly screams it, and my jaw tightens.
"I'm not going to hurt you.” I look back at the road, trying to focus on the drive before we end up in a wreck and everything gets worse. "I just need you to listen to me."
“Fuck you!” she spits out, and I wrench the steering wheel to one side, pulling into an empty parking lot of an old, shitty, closed convenience store.
I throw the car into park and turn around, meeting her eyes. She looks panicked, almost feral, and it hurts to see her like this because of me. But she’ll understand. Surely, she will.
“Stop fighting me,” I say quietly. “I’m trying to help you. Please, just stop until we get back to my apartment, and we can talk.”
She lunges toward me… to do what, exactly, I’m not sure, but she looks like she wants to cause significant pain.
“Fuck you!” she screeches again, and I grab her wrists, holding her still.
It’s not difficult—she’s too weak, too malnourished.
The realization makes me angrier—not at her, but at the situation, at the world that's left her like this.
"I know about the baby," I say, and she freezes. "I know you're pregnant. And I know you were going to—"
"You don't know anything." Her voice is shaking. "You don't know anything about me or what I'm going through or what I need."
"I know you can't do this alone."
Her face hardens, twisting into an angry sneer. "Watch me."
She tries to pull away again, and I tighten my grip. "I can give you everything," I say desperately. "A home. Security. Medical care. You won't have to worry about money or where you're going to sleep or—"
"I don't want your help!" Tears well up in her eyes. "I don't want anything from you!"
"You need it. Whether you want it or not, you need it."
I let go of her, putting the car back into drive. “We’re going back to my place. We’ll talk there. But I can’t let things keep going on the way they are.”
“Why?” she nearly hisses, and I let out a sharp breath.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I just—I couldn't let you go in there."
She lets out a sharp, bitter-sounding laugh. "You have no right—"
"I have every right." The words come out harsher than I intended. "You're carrying my child."
She goes still. I can see her staring at me in the rear-view mirror like I've lost my mind.
I’m starting to think that maybe I have.
"You don't know that," she whispers. Her face has gone even whiter than before.
"I know what happened at the safe house."
"You're insane."
I don’t say anything to that. I just keep driving, as she makes a sound that's half sob, half scream, and slumps back against the seat. Her hands are shaking. Her whole body is shaking.
I hate that I'm doing this to her, that I'm the one putting that fear in her eyes.
But I have to protect her, and this is the only way.
—
By the time we reach my apartment, Svetlana is sitting pressed against the door, as far from me as she can get, her arms wrapped around herself. She's not crying now, just staring out the window with a blank expression that's somehow worse than the tears.
I pull into the closest parking spot to my apartment and turn to face her again. "You can't take care of a baby in that motel room." I do my best to keep my voice gentle. "You can barely take care of yourself."
“That’s why I wasn’t going to keep it.” She speaks through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched.
"I can give you everything you need. A safe place to live. Food. Medical care. You won't have to worry about money or—"
"I don't want your help." Her voice is flat, emotionless.
"You need it."
"I need you to let me go."
"I can't do that."
She finally looks at me, and the hatred in her eyes is like a physical blow. "You're just like them. Just like all of them."
The words hurt, just as I’m sure that she meant for them to. "I'm nothing like them." My voice, once again, is sharper than I mean it to be. "I saved you. I got you out of that compound. I've been protecting you—"
"Protecting me?" she laughs bitterly. "Apparently, you've been stalking me. Watching me. And now you've kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s the same thing."
"I've been keeping you safe! Making sure you have food, that you're not in danger—"
"You needed to control me. That's what this is about. Control." She looks away from me again, and my jaw tightens.
I don't have an answer for that, because maybe she's right. Maybe this is about control. About needing to know where she is, what she's doing, that she's safe. That feels like protection to me, but to her…
I let out a sharp breath, then finally speak again after a few moments. "I know you're scared," I say quietly. "I know you don't trust me. But I'm asking you to give me a chance. Let me prove that I can take care of you. That you're safe with me."
"I'll never be safe with you." Her voice is harsh and cold. "Because you're not doing this for me. You're doing it for yourself."
It’s clear we’re not making any progress, and I need to get her inside. I get out of the car and open her door. She doesn't move, just sits there staring straight ahead. I let out another sharp breath. “Come on.”
Svetlana glares at me. "And if I refuse?"
I shrug. "Then I'll carry you."
For a moment, I think she's going to make me do it. But then she slowly climbs out of the car with her arms still wrapped around herself like she's trying to hold herself together, seeming to realize that she’s not going to get away from me right now. I can see that she’s shutting down, dissociating, and I hate that I’m doing this to her.
But I couldn’t just leave things as they were.
I guide her toward my building with my hand on her back. She flinches at the touch but doesn't pull away, as if she doesn't have the energy to fight anymore.
We walk into the lobby of my building, and I guide her toward the elevator. When the doors open, I gesture for her to go inside. She hesitates, and for a moment I think she's going to bolt. But where would she go? Back to the motel? I think she knows I’d catch her before she made it to the doors.
My chest tightens. I feel like her jailer now. Like I’m no better than the men who kept her in the cells. But I’m doing this for a reason. The ends justify the means… or at least, that’s what I’m going to have to keep telling myself.
She steps into the elevator, and I follow, pressing the button for my floor. The doors close, and we're alone in the small space. She presses herself into the corner, as far from me as possible.
The elevator starts to rise, and she stares at the floor numbers as they climb. I clear my throat. "Svetlana—"
"Don't." Her voice cracks. "Don't say my name like this is normal."
"I'm trying to help you."
"You're trying to own me." She finally looks at me, and her eyes are filled with tears again. "That's all this is. You want to own me, just like they did. Just like everyone does."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" Her head snaps toward me, and there’s such blatant hatred in her eyes that it makes me flinch back.
"You saw me at that party two years ago, and you wanted me.
You saw me in that cell, and you wanted me out.
You fucked me in that safe house, and you wanted me to be yours.
And now I'm pregnant, and you want me even more.
But it's not about me, Kazimir. It's about what you think you can have if you just keep me locked up somewhere. "
The elevator dings, and the doors open before I have to think of a response.
Jaw tight, I lead her down the hallway to my door. I unlock it, push it open, and gesture for her to go inside. She steps over the threshold, and I follow, closing the door behind us and firmly locking it. The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place seems to echo in the silence.
I see her glancing around my apartment. It’s simple, decorated like I imagine a lot of bachelor pads are: nice enough furniture, some decorations I’ve picked up on my travels, clean and organized thanks to the housecleaner who comes once every two weeks while I keep it maintained in the meantime.
She stands in the middle of the living room, looking around like she's trying to find an escape route. But there isn't one. We’re high up enough that most of the windows aren’t a way out, and the one that leads to the fire escape is locked, as is the door. I have the keys.
She's trapped. Just like she was in that compound.
The thought makes guilt twist in my stomach, but I push it away. This is different. I'm not hurting her. I'm protecting her. I'm keeping her safe.
"There's a guest bedroom," I say, breaking the silence. "You can stay there. It has its own bathroom. I'll get you whatever you need."
“What I need is to not be trapped with a man who thinks it’s fine to keep me against my will.”
“That’s not what this is. You’re wrong about—”
"Am I?" She interrupts me with a bitter laugh. "Then tell me what this is really about. Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've just kidnapped a pregnant woman and brought her to your apartment against her will. How is that different from what they did to me?"
“Because I’m trying to keep you safe!” I shake my head.
"I know you're strong. I know you survived things that would have broken most people. But right now you need help. And all you’re trying to do is get rid of my child.” I close the distance between us, and she backs up until she hits the window.
"You're alone and scared, and you need someone to take care of you. "
She narrows her eyes at me. "I can take care of myself."
"Can you?" I gesture toward her. "You're living in a motel that charges by the week. You were living off chips and Twinkies until I started leaving you food. You can barely take care of yourself now, and you think you can take care of a baby?"
She slaps me.
The sting resonates before my mind catches up to what just happened. I stare at her, and there are two blazing spots of red on her pale cheeks, her eyes vicious with fury.
"I hate you," she says, and her voice is shaking. "I hate you so much."
I draw in a deep breath. “I know. But right now, all that matters is that you’re safe.”