19. ANDIE
I peer out of my bedroom, peeping around the door to make sure the coast is clear.
I know I shouldn’t be sneaking around like this, that there’s every chance I’m going to get caught in the act before I get anywhere, but I just can’t stand to stay locked up in that room any longer, not after everything that has happened.
I feel like I’m going to lose it. The way Nikolai reacted after I told him about the pregnancy is….well, a far cry from what I was hoping for, that much is obvious.
Perhaps I was crazy to think for a second that he would respond like a normal fucking human being. He has shown himself, after all, time and time again, to be the kind of man who’s more obsessed with the way things look than the way things are.
But did he really imagine that I would be as delighted about this as he was?
That I wouldn’t have my reservations about the way this has all gone down?
It’s driving me crazy, how he seems to dig his heels in whenever I tell him a damn thing, telling me that he has done everything in his power to make sure that I’m provided for when I never needed anyone to provide for me in the first place.
I have to admit, when he brought up Natalie, it stung.
Seriously stung. It’s not as though I’m ignorant to the fact that he was going to marry someone else until she ran off at the last moment, but the way he said it, it’s as though we were just dolls he could swap out as he saw fit, not real people in our own right.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to get him to realize that I’m not the same as her, that I’m not willing to barter away my life in exchange for what he can give me.
Hell, maybe that’s the reason she made a run for it the way she did, because she knew she couldn’t stand the idea of raising a child, a family with this man.
I creep along the corridor, as light on my feet as I can be to ensure that I don’t make any of the floorboards creak beneath me. I’m sure he’s just looking for a reason to cause me trouble again, as much as I wish he would just ease up on me for a hot second.
He’s not even giving me time to think, when it comes to what I want to do with this pregnancy.
I mean, I’m pretty certain I want to keep it, but he didn’t even make it sound like I had a choice in the matter.
It’s as though he’s forgotten the significant physical toll this will have on me, not to mention the fact that I didn’t even get to choose the husband who got me pregnant.
No. No, I know that part isn’t true. As much as I am thrown by all of this, it’s not fair to spin this like it’s all his fault, when I’m the one who slept with him. I’m the one who came to him more than once seeking the passion that I knew only he could give me.
And that’s the part of this that is screwing me up the most, the knowledge that, on some level at least, I chose all of this.
Did I want it? Was I hoping that I would fall pregnant on some level? Or was I just searching for a way out of this mess, something I could cling to that would make me feel as though I had some level of control in the way this all unfolded?
I don’t know. But I do know that I’m done playing by every one of his rules.
I need a break. Some fresh air. To go somewhere I know his guards are not going to be able to follow me.
Just for a while, just a few minutes, just around the block—something, anything, to clear some of that weight from my mind.
As it stands now, I feel like I’m a caged animal, pacing the same concrete of my enclosure until it feels like I’m going to go goddamn crazy.
I’ve been keeping an eye on who’s on the door all day, and I know they switch out around midnight. I’m exhausted from the stress of everything that has been going on, but I have waited up all night to make sure I’ll be able to break out for at least a little while.
I know Nikolai keeps insisting that it’s dangerous for me to leave the house by myself, but God, isn’t it more dangerous for me to stay here with nowhere to go, and feel like I’m losing my mind? Stress isn’t good for the baby, and being stuck in one place has always made me feel antsy.
I think, to some extent, it’s because of how I was raised.
I mean, with parents like mine, it’s not as though I spent much time in a single place.
They could never afford it, dipping out of rent the moment the landlord came looking, telling Chris and me to pack up our things and taking off before anyone could catch up with us.
I guess things like rent came second to getting high for them, always did…
I plant a hand on my belly, wondering, briefly, how my mother felt when she found out she was pregnant with me.
I was her oldest, after all. Did she feel that same swell of protection that I’m sensing now?
The same urge to look out for her little one, even if it was difficult, even if she struggled?
I know she got clean when she discovered she was with child—the only good thing she did for Chris and me was keeping off the junk as long as she was carrying us, even though she relapsed shortly after each birth.
My parents, they were trapped in this cycle, this back-and-forth where getting them both sober at the same time felt damn near impossible.
I can still remember, when I was a little girl, that feeling of helplessness when I came home after school to find the house quiet, blinds drawn, the thick, chemical stink of that shit in the air.
It was a reminder, whether I wanted to admit it or not, that they had relapsed.
I remember the sinking in the pit of my stomach and how I would turn around to hurry Chris out of there, taking whatever cash we had to get him some ice cream or pizza and praying that our parents would have pulled their shit together by the time I got back.
They never did, of course.
And I had thought, in that stupid, naive way that kids do, that I could keep Chris from being exposed to the same shit I had been.
Maybe I did too good a job protecting him, because he was barely seventeen the first time he shot up.
When you’re raised in that kind of lifestyle, I guess you go one of two ways, either staying away from it for life or diving into it to find out just what it feels like.
To know what kept your parents from being parents.
What was so much more important to them than you ever were.
My mom and dad, it felt like, had been a lost cause from the day I was born.
But my brother—my brother, God, that hurt worse than anything else.
I can still remember when I got the call about him, just after I finished up a job with a particularly wealthy client in the West Side.
I was standing there, just outside the hall where the reception was being held, listening to the laughter and joy inside and being hit with the cold, harsh reality of what lay beyond that.
I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes, the fact that he’s gone.
I have to replay that memory in my mind, the voice of the police officer who called me, her harsh tones laced with distaste as though she could barely muster up the ability to care about some junkie who had managed to do himself in.
I wanted to scream at her, to tell her that it was my brother she was talking about and that he was the kindest, sweetest, most loving man I had ever met, but I knew she wouldn’t have believed me.
Would have probably thought that I was just in denial about the kind of person he really was.
But he was a good person. Despite it all.
He might have been lost to his addiction, but he was always there for me, always kept sober enough to give me a lift home in his crappy old car when I was just getting started and needed help running around the city.
He always asked me about what I was working on, and how he could help, even if that was just by keeping his ass as far away from my business as possible.
We joked about the rich people and everything they had, and I’d share with him the most ridiculous requests from my most demanding brides while we’d laugh on the way to pick up Thai food.
Those memories are the hardest part. The times we were happy together, however brief they were, however distant they seem now. That’s the man I had hoped would one day meet my children.
I had all these ideas about making enough money for him to get sober—one of the reasons I’d thrown myself so hard into my work, because I had these visions of sending him to rehab and him coming out so shiny and fresh and cured.
And when he passed, work was the only thing that kept me sane, as hard to believe as it feels now. I needed something, anything, to keep my head busy in the face of it all. And now that’s been taken from me, the distraction that has kept me from feeling these emotions for the last three years.
Now, they’re all flooding back to me, on top of the shit I have to contend with from Nikolai and his expectations.
I know Chris would never have let me get caught up in this.
He would have dug his heels in, done everything in his power to make sure I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to.
He would have scouted out everything he knew about Nikolai, made sure I didn’t get involved in anything without fair warning, and I would have had someone—an ally, anything—outside of this place.
But as it is, it’s just me.
Just me and this baby, and the doubt about what the hell I’m going to do next. I don’t know where all of this leaves me, but I know that I’m not going to figure it out sitting around in this house waiting for something to happen.
I sneak along to the door, and peep outside—sure enough, it looks like I’ve managed to time it right, as there’s no guard standing on the door to keep watch over me.
I can’t wait any longer. My heart thumping in my chest, I rush out, hurrying toward the door and down the steps that lead to the street outside.
As soon as I make it past the metal gate that sits between this property and the street beyond, I suck down a great big breath of fresh air. Thank God. It’s the first time I’ve tasted something even close to freedom after everything that has happened.
How long have I been locked up in there? Feels like a lifetime. I tip my head back, looking up to the sky above, which is smeared with the glow of streetlights all around me.
I glance back toward the house. I’ll sneak back in when I’m ready.
It’s not like the guards who let me slip out are going to be in any kind of hurry to tell Nikolai that they took their eyes off the ball long enough for me to get away, and I have to rely on them covering their own butts to cover mine right along with them.
I take a few steps, feeling like a teenager sneaking out in the middle of the night. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering slightly, wishing that I’d brought some kind of coat with me.
Hell, next time, maybe. If there is a next time.
If the security doesn’t tattle on me once they realize that I’ve managed to escape right out from under their noses.
I’m about halfway around the block when I feel something, something nagging at the back of my head.
The hairs on my neck are standing up, as though someone is watching me.
I frown, and shoot a look back over my shoulder.
As far as I can see, the street is empty.
I don’t see what anyone else would be doing out and about at this hour, but then…
I hurry up a little, suddenly feeling a grip of discomfort at my chest.
Come on, Andie.
I’m letting Nikolai’s paranoia get to me. There’s nothing to worry about. I am nobody, just some random woman out on a late night walk in the?—
And then I hear it.
Footsteps. Behind me.
For a moment, I think it’s the echo of my own steps rising up the alleyway, but they sound heavier than mine do, out of time with the steps I’m taking.
My pulse starts to pick up the pace inside my chest. There’s no way that Nikolai could actually have been right about there being danger out here, could he? I’m still in sight of the house, after all, I doubt someone could catch me this quickly.
I hurry toward the gate once more, deciding that my little jaunt into the outside world is well and truly over. I reach the gate, and look back over my shoulder one last time, scanning the area around me as I try to assure myself that I’m overthinking this?—
And then, something slams over my mouth. Cold leather. A gloved hand, pinning me there, cutting off my breath.
I struggle, trying to throw an elbow back toward whoever is attempting to make their move against me. It feels almost as though I’m watching myself from above, staring down at this nightmare as it spins out of my control.
A thick, sweet scent fills my senses. And that’s the last thing I’m aware of before my knees give out from underneath me, and I sink back into the arms of my attacker.
The last thought on my mind is that, whether I want to admit it or not—I should have trusted Nikolai.