Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I cry until the well of hurt, anger, and fear inside me begins to dissipate. Until my eyes are swollen and scratchy, my head feels two times its normal size and aches, and I’m too stuffy to breathe out of my nose. It’s tolerable when weeping leaves you feeling relieved as if a pressure’s been lifted. But when you finish a good cry and still feel as desolate as before you began… it isn’t a good cry at all.
I pull myself to my feet and look around me. My father’s knocked out in his chair, a line of drool hanging from his lips. I’m glad. The only thing worse than losing my shit is losing my shit and knowing he doesn’t care.
The dishes I left are still piled in the sink. The light under Stefan’s door is out.
I close my eyes, a lump forming in my throat, and reach for my phone. With trembling fingers, I dial Ophelia. It goes to voicemail.
I put my phone down. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. I push to my feet when the phone begins to buzz. I reach for it, hope rising in my chest, and stifle a sob when I see Ophelia’s name.
I answer immediately. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” she asks, her voice still tinged with that lisp she’s tried to fix for years.
I let out a sob. “No.” I tell her everything. Like the good friend that she is, she gasps, screams, curses, and moans at all the right parts, and when I’m finished, she blows out a shaky breath.
“Oh my god. Anya. What are you going to do?”
“Do I have a choice?” I ask, sniffling through a fresh wave of tears. “But I can’t leave Stefan here.”
Ophelia is quiet for a moment before her voice picks up, filled with her usual misplaced optimism. Normally, I like it, but tonight…
“Listen, maybe you don’t have to actually marry him. Maybe… stall. Tell him you’ll think about it, and then maybe we can figure something out. You can—get a lawyer! Or… or maybe you can take Stefan, leave your useless father, and run. Change your names, move to another country. Canada? No one would look for you in Canada. It’s so cold.”
I laugh through my tears, but it sounds bitter and desperate. “Girl, I don’t even have enough money for bus fare, never mind fake passports and whatever I’d need. And how long could I hide from them? He’d find me before I even left the city.”
She didn’t know Semyon like I did. She doesn’t know how laser-focused he was when he wanted something, how determined he was when he set his eyes on a target.
I do.
“I can… I can loan you some money. I’ve got a little stashed away, I could—”
“Babe. I love you,” I say, swallowing a fresh sob. “I love you so much. But no. Running isn’t an option.”
I can’t tell her that leaving the bakery my mother started would break me. I couldn’t do that to her. I was there the day she opened her doors. I was the one who sat on the kitchen counter, swinging my feet, as she taught me how to proof bread, showed me the perfect color of creamed butter, and when she taught me the intricacies of making the perfect loaf of sourdough.
It would feel like burying my mother all over again.
“What if you… What if you pretend to be really sick? Maybe under that stern exterior, the man actually has a heart.” In my mind’s eye, I see his cold, expressionless eyes.
She has no idea.
“Maybe if he knows you’re like… dying of cancer or something, he’ll show some mercy. You could fake it?”
“Ophelia,” I say patiently. “He’s one of the most powerful men in Russia. You know that.”
“Which is why I think you’re ballsy as fuck,” she interrupts.
Ugh, where did ballsy get me though?
I finish, “…and he would have access to doctors who would make it very clear I’m not on my deathbed. Then what?”
She sighs. “Right. God.”
Her voice trails off. It’s rare she’s at a loss for words.
“How long did he give you?”
I look at the broken clock on the kitchen stove that’s missing half a digit and squint.
“I have twenty-three hours left.”
I know Semyon well enough to know he meant that literally.
Her silence stretches for long moments before she finally whispers, “Anya, all I can tell you is… I’ll take care of Stefan. I won’t let your father neglect him.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Stefan can hold his own with my father; I know that much, as he’s had enough hours without me here to fend for himself. And while my father is a selfish, useless asshole, he doesn’t hurt him.
“Thanks,” I whisper. The word hangs in the air between us. “I have to go.”
Maybe I can get some sleep, and when I wake up, the universe will magically present me with the answers to my troubles.