Chapter Eleven
ALINA
I can’t sleep.
I’ve consistently been in a sleep deprivation cycle. My phone mocks me with 6:00 a.m. in big, unfriendly numbers.
Even Albert raises his head, blinking at me in confusion, before laying his bleary head back down.
“Yeah, I know. You’re telling me, ‘enough, Mom. We didn’t get to sleep until late, and then, when we did, you tossed and turned like we were at sea.’” I kiss his furry head and get up, yawning.
He huffs out a noise and stretches out. Oh, he’ll follow me downstairs when I go. That’s Albert for you, but if he can grab a few minutes of extra shut-eye, he will. He loves human beds over his soft little doggy beds.
Rather, he loves my bed over his.
I get his desire for more sleep. I want it, too. For me, it’s an elusive dream and has been ever since I was kidnapped a week ago.
A week where I’ve seen Ilya exactly once.
It’s killing me.
I’m aware of how precious time is, of how brief those moments of happiness may be, but to be forced to miss them…
Max comes to mind. Our time was way too short, but all I can think is if someone had forced us apart sooner and robbed me of even more time with him.
I’d never forgive that person.
I’d hate that person.
And Demyan’s doing that to me over Ilya.
I don’t want to hate or never forgive my brother.
But he’s stealing time he has no claim over. And it hurts.
The tension between us grows by the day and makes me constantly sick, constantly fragile, like I’m on the verge of tears.
I’ve been awake since five and probably fell asleep around three. But through the churning inside me, there are pockets of calm.
Because I can’t take any more.
And that’s made me come to a decision.
I get up and get ready quickly, then I head downstairs and make some coffee, a slow and sleepy Albert not that far behind me.
He sits by his empty food bowl and looks mournfully up at me. I fill it with kibble. He’ll get a home-cooked meal from Magda later, who claims she isn’t spoiling the dog, but is feeding him right.
And clearly, from his look at the kibble and his glance around the kitchen before dropping his head to take a bite, Albert loves Magda’s meals.
I sip my coffee.
If Demyan’s on schedule, he’ll be up and in here shortly, ready to start his day.
A high-pitched giggle wafts through the house, which tells me Nadya, aka Poppy, and Sasha are up.
I put the coffee into the espresso machine and make Demyan a fresh cup as a peace offering. I’m determined to clear the air. Lay down my case. Make him see.
Sure enough, a minute after I set his cup down and retake my seat, he walks in.
