I stomp around the bed and crawl back in, dragging the covers over myself and letting out a dramatic sigh. He slides out of his pants, draping them over the chair, and climbs into bed.
We stay turned away from each other, strangers forced to share a bed.
I hate that I wonder what he’d do if I turned around and reached for him.
Would he touch me back?
Would he want to have sex with me?
Or would he remain the same cold and distant husband?
Before the wedding, I was terrified of him wanting to consummate our marriage.
But now, even though I’m still scared of him, it’s all I can think about.
I thought I could survive a loveless marriage, so long as Emilio didn’t kill me.
Lying beside him now, the thought of that sounds worse than death.
I want more from our marriage.
Love. Connection. Intimacy.
All things Emilio will never give me.
Aleksy said I can have thatifI kill him.
A husband who will love me.
One of my choosing.
My body softens as Emilio’s breathing grows steady.
And like a lullaby, it lulls me to sleep.
18
I waituntil Liliya is asleep before sneaking out of bed and walking downstairs for a glass of water.
I down it in seconds, refill the glass, and leave the kitchen. Taking the glass with me, I walk around my home—something I haven’t done in years.
My father infected this home when he moved in forty years ago.
Even after his death, the evil lingered like a ghost, the dark memories kept hostage between these walls.
I stop when I reach the library and flip on the light. It flickers a few times before the chandelier brightens the room. I walk across the room, and the old leather office chair squeaks under my weight as I sit behind the desk. Leaning back, I close my eyes, cursing this room and my father.
A sound breaks the silence, and I snap upright, just in time to find Liliya trying to sneak past the doorway.
“What did I tell you about spying?” I call out.
I hear footsteps, and then she peeks into the room.
“Technically,” she says, drawing out the word, “you only warned me againsteavesdropping.”
She enters the library, inviting herself in. Her hair is tangled and knotty, like she was fighting with the pillow all night.
“Am I allowed in here if you are?” she asks, running her hand along a bookshelf before whipping around to face me. “Hey, is there some secret bookshelf that leads to a hidden room?” Stopping again, she pouts her lower lip before pointing toward me. “Though I doubt you’d tell me if there was.”
