Ava
I spend the next day exploring the halls of the Volkov mansion. The library more than anywhere else and by the time it’s evening, strange as it might sound, I’m more than excited to see my husband again
Except I don’t see him.
Because he doesn’t return.
At first, I thought maybe something might have come up to keep him a day longer, but then, I didn’t hear from him for the next two days, which only grooms my worry.
My thoughts spiral, raging from, did something happen to him? To, What if he’s hurt? And then my personal favourite, Why won’t he answer his goddamn phone?
I do everything I can to reach him. Calls texts, you name It. I try it all, and each time, I’m met with nothing. It’s almost as if he just disappeared.
By the time the third day rolls out, it feels like I can’t breathe. I can’t focus on anything else, and I try, my God, do I try to reach him, but as usual, I’m met with the constant automatic voice, which I’ve come to grow annoyed with, informing me that the number I’m trying to call is currently unavailable.
My mental state is a mess, and each attempt I make to calm the constant chaos in my mind is thwarted by the gnawing worry clawing at my chest.
He’s going to be fine, Ava, I tell myself when he doesn’t answer for the umpteenth time. It’s a lie I’ve grown accustomed to telling myself during his absence followed by, Maybe he just lost his phone. Or maybe he’s lying in a ditch somewhere.
Okay, so the last one is more of my inner demons infesting my thoughts than a lie but it’s what typically sets off a chain of the frantic chain of unease in my mind.
When the fourth day rolls around I spend my time trying to keep my thoughts together. By the time night comes, my thoughts have grown louder, and without the activities of the day to silence them, it feels like I’m being trapped in a cage with no way out. I wrap myself up in his clothes, seeking his warmth in the dark solace his absence creates. The lingering scent of cinnamon that clings to his clothes appears to be the only thing able to help me fall asleep.
By the fifth day of my husband’s disappearance, my panic grows unbearable. I tell myself it’s okay not to try to reach him again, but by noon, I succumb to my cell phone and dial his number.
The phone rings once. Twice. Three times.
Then it goes straight to voicemail. Again.
Frustration flares up inside me, hot and sharp. I snap the phone close, my fingers gripping the device tightly as I will myself not to throw it across the room. This is ridiculous-he’s a grown man, he should be able to take care of himself.
So why was he doing this to me? His silence, as much as I hate to admit, is killing me. His absence consumes me daily and I don’t know why.
I miss him. It’s something I realised on the third day of his absence when I got so wrapped up
in the scent of cinnamon on his shirt, I reached out for him, absentmindedly in my sleep. The idea that my feelings for my husband might’ve blossomed into something other than hate should’ve sent me running for the hills but it didn’t. Instead, I felt like a piece of me had been ripped out and replaced without any warning.
I try my best to keep Kira Oblivious but It doesn’t take long for her to ask me where her father is. I’d given her a response as generic as saying the world was flat to a scientist-unconvincing and easily questioned, and surprisingly, she’d accepted it with only a simple nod to show that she understood what I was saying, but the look in her eye told me that didn’t believe me one bit.
I’ve spent the last two days ensuring that my worry doesn’t affect Kira and that she can’t see how much her father’s absence affects me. Kat’s been as helpful as ever, keeping her occupied with other things so that her thoughts won’t stray.
It isn’t until the evening of the sixth day, that I feel the bed dip beside me that I’m aware of a familiar presence.
My eyes snap open as my body becomes acutely aware of the settled weight on the mattress. My body tenses and my breath becomes stuck in my throat. I don’t move, partially because I think my constant worry might’ve conjured up an image of my husband right behind me.
Eventually, I sit up, flicking the lights on, as I turn to face the man who’d abandoned me for almost an entire week, but nothing prepares me for the sight I meet.
Blood.
It’s smeared across his shirt, dark and drying in patches around the fabric. My heart stops in its tracks, and my breath catches in my throat as panic spreads like wildfire through my veins.
“Nikolai? My voice cracks, barely audible. I reach for him instinctively, my hand trembling as I try to make sure my mind isn’t playing tricks on me.
His gaze snaps to mine in the dimly lit room, and he lets out a string of curses when he notices that I am no longer lying in bed. Through the poorly lit atmosphere, I can make out the curve of his jaw, the small cut on his top lip and the grimace on his face when his dark green gaze meets mine.
“Solnyshko” He murmurs, followed by a pained expression, “You’re supposed to be asleep”
Anger intermingles with the panic, burning brightly. Is that really all he had to say? He’s gone for days. He left me alone for days, and now he’s back, yet that’s the first thing he thinks to say to me.
“I can’t sleep.” I reply, my tone tight, “I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days” He winces and the look of hurt in his expression isn’t enough to stop the words from tumbling out.
“Did something happen to your phone?”
“What?”
“I tried calling you, multiple times actually, but It all went straight to voicemail and then I tried texting you, but you never responded.”
“I lost my phone” it isn’t exactly the words that set the flare of annoyance whistling around my limps but the simplicity in which he says them.
“That’s it?” My voice rises, frustration spilling over the edges of my carefully built restraint. Of all the excuses I thought he might bring up this hadn’t even crossed the top ten, “You lost your phone, so you couldn’t find any way to let me know you were alive? Not one single way to tell me you were okay?” My voice breaks at the end, and for the first time since he sat down, he reaches for me, but I move away, stopping him from making contact.
“Do you realise how worried I’ve been? You told me you were going to be back in two days and you’ve been gone for almost an entire week.”
“It wasn’t my intention to worry you”
Wasn’t his intention to worry me? Wasn’t his intention? The nerve of this man. I open my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but then he releases a pained grunt, and it’s only then my mind re-registers the sight of blood on his shirt.
My gaze drops to one of the bigger patches “Please tell me that’s not your blood”
“It isn’t”
Fuck.
I moved without thinking, forgetting to slide my feet into the bunny slippers positioned beside my bed. My feet slap against the floor until I’m standing in front of him.
He looks up at me, eyes curious as he watches me drop to my knees and reach for his shirt. He doesn’t stop me. He allows me to flick open the buttons of his shirt, one frantic tug at a time.
His body remains impeccably still as he watches rid him of the blood-stained fabric, revealing his perfectly toned body.
During the few times I’ve seen my husband shirtless, I’ve realised that the sight of him, every dark ink and scar-covered inch of him, is simply something I’ll never get used to.
Except right now, as my eyes roam his skin it isn’t just his usual tattoos and scars that mark his skin. A small gasp escapes my lungs and I reach out without thinking, my fingertips brushing over the now purpling bruise at the side of his ribs.
He lets out a low hiss, and my eyes widen, and my heart skips a beat at the pain evident in his eyes.
“Nikolai…” I whisper, my voice shaky. “What happened to you?”
He looks away as if he can’t bear to see me, and I reach up, cupping his jaw in my hand, and gingerly pull his gaze to mine.
“Who did this to you?”
My voice is barely a whisper, cracking at the end of my question.
“I’m fine” He grits out.
He wasn’t fine. Any fool could see that.
White hot rage flashes through my veins, coiling itself around my throat. I am so angry. I am angry that he left and now I am angry that he returned with a bruised rib cage.
How could he let himself get hurt like this?
“No. You’re not. You’re hurt. Somebody hurt you while you were away and you’re going to tell me who”
A slow, teasing smile splits his face; it’s the very first emotion I’ve seen on him since he got back, and I would’ve found it amusing if it weren’t for the anger burning inside my chest.
“Is my wife going to seek vengeance on my behalf?”
Is he … joking?
I glare at him, frustration building in my chest, “You think this is funny? Do you think my feelings are just something for you to play with? I was worried about you Nikolai. I couldn’t eat properly. Hell, I couldn’t even sleep. I thought something happened to you and I thought I would have to be the one to deliver the news to Kira. Do you realize how scary that is? Having to be the one tell her that you were…”
My voice breaks and I don’t even realise I’ve started to cry until I feel the wetness dampen my face. The tears blur my vision and it’s getting increasingly hard to focus, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. I want him to see them. I want him to understand the weight of what he put me through so that he’ll never do it again.
Nikolai’s teasing smile falls, replaced by a look I can’t quite decipher. Guilt? Pain? Maybe both. His jaw tightens, and his hand moves like he’s about to reach for me but stops short.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low, resigned.
The tears don’t stop; as if fueled by his apology, each droplet falls faster than the last. I hate that I feel this way because of him. Nikolai reaches for me again, not stopping himself this time as he brushes away the teardrops from my eyes.
“YA nenavizhu, kogda ty plachesh’, solnyshko. I didn’t mean to make you worry. I thought I was keeping you safe. If I’m being honest a part of me thought I was offering you relief.”
(I hate it when you cry, sunshine)
Relief? I’ve never felt more unrelieved than I have in the last few days.
I shake my head, my throat tightening, “You don’t get to decide what brings me relief or not. I needed you here. You took me on the best date of my life, and then you just left even though I kissed you and practically begged you to stay.”
His jaw clenches, his expression darkening, morphing into something raw, unguarded.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, quieter this time. It would appear that’s the only thing he can say right now. “I should’ve found a way to let you know I was alright. That was my mistake”
“You should have,” I agree, my voice firm. I meet his gaze hoping he can see the storm his absence brewed inside me. “You should’ve found a way to reach out to me. And Kira-God, that little girl adores you. You can’t just disappear like that, Nikolai. Not from her. Not from me.”
I wipe away the lingering tears from my cheeks with one ferocious swipe. I’m pretty sure I look like a puffer fish right now with how red my nose must be and how swollen the underside of my eyes.
“I’m sorry”
“Stop apologising” I cry harder. There’s something I haven’t admitted to myself and yet right now, as the tears fall ferociously down my face, I can’t deny it anymore.
“I care about you Nikolai, apparently more than I realize, so please, don’t you ever disappear on me like that again?”
The room is suddenly quiet with only my silent sniffles and Nikolai’s subtle breathing punctuating the silence. Something shifts between us and I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he didn’t expect me to blurt out my feelings in the midst of my scolding.
A part of me wants to take it back. But I don’t, because I can’t. Because I mean it. I care about my husband.
Nikolai’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. He searches my features like he’s looking for something and very slowly, his lips part.
“You care about me?”
The words leave his lips in a silent disbelief. I nod, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth to keep it from quivering.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged with something unspoken. Then, with a quiet groan, Nikolai shifts, wincing as he adjusts his position. Instinct takes over, and I reach for him, steadying him with gentle hands.
“You’re hurt,” I murmur, focusing my gaze on the bruises forming along his ribs. My fingers brush over the mottled skin, careful but firm. “Let me take care of you.”