Sophia’s POV
It’s been three days since Ivan traveled and I was back to being lonely and bored. He had said I was going to receive some books and be provided with a TV set. I was yet to see either of them.
He probably forgot I thought to myself.
As if on cue, I could hear the sound of keys rattling at the door, and a few seconds later, Maxim burst in. He tossed a couple of books on the bed and turned to leave.
I let out a happy sigh. Finally!
But Maxim retraced his steps. “I know what you’re doing,” he said with a disgusted look on his face.
I ignored him, flipping through the books he’d brought to see which I’d start with. Before I knew it, I was face to face with a pissed-off Maxim as his big hand grabbed my arm pulling me up from the bed.
“How dare you ignore me, you dirty, filthy whore!” He spat out and I flinched. He smiled dryly, “What? You think getting fucked by Ivan is going to save you?”
“Let go of me right this instant, Maxim, or else-”
His grip on my arm tightens, causing me to squirm in pain. “Are you threatening me? You stupid whore?”
I laughed dryly, “What does it matter to you what I do? Or who do I sleep with? Mind your own business! You’re supposed to drop the books and leave. What is this behavior?”
His face contorted into a more disgusted look if that was possible.
“You mean nothing to him, you’re nothing but a prisoner here. You keep spreading your legs for Ivan while being held hostage, or did you think he’d let you go if you let him fuck you long enough? Or better still, fall in love with you? He mocked.
With that, he pushed me away and stormed out. I flopped down on my bed, reminding myself that Maxim was partly right, the truth is always bitter but he’s right. I am nothing to Ivan, sex doesn’t mean anything. But do I want to mean something to him? That, I couldn’t answer.
I was having the best sex of my life, who cares?
Sleeping with a man who kidnapped you doesn’t exactly make you sensible, does it?
I woke up with a start. Again.
This time, I didn’t panic, I was a little pissed. Not at Ivan, not really. But myself.
I knew we shouldn’t be doing this and it would one day end in disaster, probably hurting me in the process. But I could not stop wanting him for the life of me. My brain tells me to stop, my body wants him so bad, that he can use it as he pleases.
So when the door opens and I catch the scent of him in the air, my body perks up. “When did you get back?” I asked, sitting up on the bed. “You don’t have to come in here so late out at night,” I hissed as soon as he locked the door behind him.
No answer. He just starts pacing around the room, like a restless, wounded animal.
I flipped the light on. He looked so unlike his usual put-together self. His dark hair was usually sleeker back and put together, looked like they’d been in and out of a vacuum cleaner. Probably from raking his hands through it over and over.
And his clothes…where the fuck is his shirt? His broad shoulders and wide, muscular chest are on full display.
Did he leave his room like this?
My eyes move down his body, he’s in pajama trousers and barefooted. “Are you drunk?” I asked before I could stop myself, besides, that was the only explanation for his shaggy appearance.
His head whips in my direction as if he’d only just realized I was here all along. He’s looking at me now, but it’s a far-off gaze. With a quick shake of his head, he starts pacing again.
This time he speaks. “I can’t do anything to save her,” he growls. “I-I can’t lose her, but I can’t save her. I have money and power that could get me anything I wanted but I can’t save the one person I desperately want to live!”
I’m so fucking confused. Her? Who is she?
Opening my mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, he cuts me off, continuing his ranting. “And you know what?” His nose scrunches up like he smells something rotten as he huffs out a humorless laugh. “Money and power don’t fucking matter right now. None of it! It can’t fix it.”
Fuck. He’s spiraling. I’ve not known Ivan for more than the two months I’ve been here, but I’ve never seen him this way. And I don’t know how to handle it or what to do.
I don’t even know what’s wrong with him. Hell, he’s not making any sense at the moment.
“I can’t save her, it’s too late,” he snarls. “Too fucking late, I can’t fix this!”
“Can’t fix what, Ivan? Talk to me, please. I don’t understand you.” My heart is pounding in my chest, my ears are starting to ring. I don’t know what is going on, but the way he’s behaving is making me panic. Ivan is one of the most put-together and level-headed people I know. He’s not one to be so out of control.
He’s still pacing. Hands on his head, face pointed to the ground. He repeats his movements over and over, making my head spin.
Before my mind even has a chance to catch up, a deep growl claws its way up his throat as he rips the lamp from the desk, cord yanked from the wall, and chucks it across the room until it shatters right on the door.
With a blank expression on his face, Ivan stares at the mess he made. Chest heaving, but otherwise, unmoving.
A few seconds go by. Nothing. It’s like he’s a statue.
“FUCK!” He bellows, the sound guttural as he drops to his knees, head falling onto his shoulders, staring up at the ceiling, hands thrust into his already disheveled hair.
“Hey,” I say softly, kneeling in front of him. His midnight blue eyes meet mine. They’re glassy and his face is flushed, and he’s breathing hard. He’s wrecked, and I don’t even know why. “It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but you need to calm down.”
He grunts, shoving me off as he rises from the ground, pacing again. Fingers thrust into his hair, yanking on the already disheveled strands, he mutters some words in Russian under his breath that I can’t make out.
My breath is coming out ragged and shallow, watching him lose control. I need to help him… I want to be there for him.
He’s losing control. He needs something to control. Someone.
Maybe, I’m stupid for what I’m about to suggest. Maybe my methods aren’t the best way one who is sensible would comfort another. But I’m not always “sensible”
We’ve already established that.
Like one would a wounded wild animal, I step up to him with caution, placing my hands on his chest.
I mutter the words that I think could help him. “Your anger and frustration,” I paused to search his gaze.
“Take it out on me, Ivan.”