Chapter 17 Svetlana #3
"Because you're carrying my child and there are people who would hurt you to get you back." His voice is hard now, all traces of amusement gone. "Whether you believe that or not doesn't change the facts."
"The facts." I laugh sharply. "The facts are that you kidnapped me after stalking me for weeks. That you think you have some kind of claim on me because we fucked once." I press a hand to my stomach without thinking, then immediately regret it when his eyes track the movement.
"I'm going to take care of you," he says quietly. "Both of you. Whether you like it or not."
"I don't like it. I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you."
"Too bad." He moves closer, and I shift back against the counter. "You're stuck with me now, Svetlana. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be."
"Easier for who? You?" My voice rises despite my best efforts to stay calm. "This isn't easy for me. None of this is easy. You took away my choice."
"Call it whatever you want." His jaw is tight, his eyes dark. "You're keeping the baby. That's not negotiable."
The words hit me like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"You don't get to—"
"It's my child, too." He's right in front of me now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. "And I'm not letting you—"
"Letting me?" The rage that's been simmering inside me all day finally boils over. "You don't let me do anything. You don't own me. You don't control me. And you sure as hell don't get to make decisions about my body. You left me alone, and now you want to act like a hero?”
“I don’t think I’m a hero.” His jaw tightens. “I’m trying to make up for what happened—”
"I don't want your pity or your—your misplaced sense of responsibility. I just want—"
Frustration colors his features. "What? What do you want, Svetlana?"
"I want to go back!" The words burst out of me before I can stop them. "I want to go back to before any of this happened. I want my old life back. I want to be the person I was before they—before they—"
I can't finish. But I see his face soften.
"You can't go back," Kazimir says gently. "None of us can. We can only move forward."
"I don't know how." My voice cracks for a moment, the words spilling out despite how badly I want to stop talking, to not be vulnerable in front of him. I’ve been holding everything back for so long, and I can feel the threads holding it all in snapping.
"I don't know how to move forward from this.
I don't know how to be okay with what happened.
I don't know how to—to live with this thing inside me that might be—that could be—"
He tries to reach for me, and I flinch back. "You don't have to pretend you're fine. You don't have to be strong all the time."
"Easy for you to say." I step back, putting more space between us. "You're not the one who has to live with it. You're not the one who has to carry this—this reminder of what they did."
"No. But I'm the one who's going to make sure you never have to face it alone."
“I didn’t ask you for that!” I reach for that anger, wrapping it around me like armor. It feels so much better than being soft and vulnerable in front of him. “I hate you. And I’d rather be alone than face anything with you.”
“I know.” He sounds exhausted as he says it, as if all the fight has gone out of him for this present moment.
I dig in, while it feels like I have the advantage. "I mean it. I hate you for leaving me. I hate you for not protecting me when you should have. I hate you for—for watching me and stalking me and thinking you have any right to—"
"I know," he says again, and there's something in his voice that makes me look up.
He's not angry. He's not defensive. He just looks... sad. Resigned. Like he's accepted that I hate him and decided it doesn't matter.
"If Ilya had married me like he was supposed to," I hiss, knowing I'm being cruel but unable to stop, "none of this would have happened. I would have been safe. Protected. I wouldn’t have been sold. Wouldn't have been—"
“Ilya didn’t love you.” Kazimir’s voice is flat, and he looks at me, meeting my eyes. I stare at him.
“And you do?”
He says nothing.
“Don’t bother saying you do. This isn’t love, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
"You're right," he says finally. "I did leave you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. But I'm here now. And I'm not leaving again."
"Until it's inconvenient. Until you have another job or another priority or Ilya tells you otherwise—"
"No." The word is hard, final. "There is no other priority. Not anymore. Just you."
"I don't believe you."
"Then don't." He steps back, giving me space. "Believe it or not, it doesn't change anything. You're staying here, where I can protect you. You're keeping the baby. And you're going to let me take care of you whether you like it or not."
"You can't make me."
"Can't I?" He tilts his head. "You're broke, Svetlana. You have no job, no money, no support system—not even an I.D. You're living in a motel that's one step above a crack house, and you can barely afford that. What exactly are your options here?"
I wish I could punch him. There’s so much muscle on him that it would probably break my hand.
It might be worth it anyway.
He's right. I have nothing. No one. Nowhere to go. I'm completely at his mercy. And it makes me feel sick to be so dependent on anyone, especially him.
"I hate you," I say again, but this time it comes out as a whisper.
"I know." He moves toward the master bedroom, putting distance between us. "Eat something else. Then go back to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Too bad." He glances back at me. "We're going to talk anyway. About the baby and what happens next, and how we're going to make this work."
"There is no 'we.'"
"There is now. Get used to it."
I stand there in the kitchen as he walks into his bedroom and shuts the door, shaking with rage and fear. He's not going to let me go. He's made that clear. And I don't have the resources to fight him.
I'm trapped. Completely and utterly trapped.
And unlike in that cell, this time no one is coming to rescue me.