Twenty-Three
Fawn
* * *
I jolted awake at the sound of a slamming door and sat up abruptly, looking wildly around the room, noticed immediately Vasile wasn’t here. I glanced at the clock and noted the hour. Two thirty. Not so late that it gave me pause, because there was no rhyme or reason to his comings and goings, but when he’d left earlier, he said he’d be back soon and it had been several hours.
I’d wanted to stay awake and see him when he returned, knew that even though he’d never said so, he liked to see me at the end of a long day, maybe even looked forward to it. I was happy to oblige him. As I stood, I stretched, the baby’s little kick making me smile.
“You miss your daddy too?” I said, a hand on my stomach.
I headed down the stairs toward the kitchen, but as I approached, the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and an uneasy feeling rushed through me. It was quiet, too quiet, and even though the men Vasile had insisted be at the house at all times made an effort to not disturb me, this felt different. Eerie.
Cautiously, I went into the kitchen, noticed the French doors were open, and when I looked through them, I gasped.
Oleg, wearing his tank top even though there was a chill in the air, lay on the kitchen floor in front of the open doors, an ever-expanding pool of dark blood growing around him.
My mind wanted to reject what I saw, but the blood, Oleg’s still form, the furious pounding of my heart made that impossible, and the fear I thought I’d finally left behind came flooding back. I turned, my mind racing as I moved, planning to grab my car keys and leave.
I made it two steps and then stopped short.
“I told you it was time to come home,” David said.
My throat went dry, and my racing thoughts slowed, stuck on one. David was here, in our home, and there was no one to protect me.
Strangely, though I was afraid, terrified really, I managed to beat that back, stayed calm. David was always unpredictable, volatile, but my only hope was keeping him as calm as I could, and I couldn’t do that if I let my fear show through. “You need to leave, David. You don’t want—”
“You’re done telling me what to do, bitch.”
In an instant, his cool facade faded, and the monster from the nightmares that still sometimes haunted me stood before me. I wanted to be strong, but I couldn’t help the tremor of fear that racked over me.
“David, it’s over. Please leave,” I said, surprised that I managed to keep my voice moderately even, and that I didn’t look away from him.
He narrowed his eyes, the expression so familiar, yet one that felt like I had seen it in another lifetime. Still, I knew what that expression meant, what came after it. I couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t risk myself or my baby. I took two steps back.
“What did I tell you?” he said, stalking toward me slowly. “What!”
I said nothing, which enraged him even further.
“It’s been too long. Playing house with that motherfucker made you forget. But I’m going to remind you. It’s over when I say it’s over. You belong to me. And only me.”
Never, though I wouldn’t tell him that. I continued to back up, moving deeper into the kitchen as he walked forward. The French doors were open and maybe if I got out there, I could call for help.
I continued to move back slowly, trying to put as much distance between us as I could. And then suddenly, I turned, running as hard and fast as my body would take me.
The door was getting closer, and though I moved awkwardly, my socked feet slipping on the marble floor, the awkward angle of my belly hampering me, I still ran.
“No you don’t,” David said.
He was muscular and while I knew those muscles came from chemicals and a rigid weightlifting routine, I also knew he had no stamina. Rage must have fueled him though, for before I could reach the door, he grabbed me, one arm snaked tight around my shoulders and one around my waist. He spread his palm over my belly, and of all the things he’d done to me, as revolting as I found his touch, nothing was worse than this, his hand on my stomach, touching my baby, our baby, as if she was just another of his possessions.
“This might be mine, you know,” he said, breath fanning over my ear, his voice cold, menacing.
My mind rejected the words, the very idea and in a display of carelessness, I freed my tongue. “She’s not,” I said. “Nothing here belongs to you, not anymore.”
He tightened his hand until I felt the first bite of pain, but I didn’t let it show, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“You better hope it is,” he said. “’Cause if it’s not, you’ll never see it again. And neither will he.”