Silence.
It stretched taut between us. A thin thread ready to snap.
Judas’s pale eyes didn’t waver from mine yet his expressions were as unreadable as my whispered words.
And then he did something I didn’t expect.
He chuckled.
Low and quiet at first. The sound rolled from his chest like cold thunder, growing darker, and sharper, until it wrapped around me like a noose. My pulse quickened, and I couldn’t tell if it was fear or humiliation or some sick, twisted combination of both.
“You might be pregnant?” he repeated probably weighing what I just aid. Of course it was an assumption. It was not like I wanted to carry his child. But I didn’t want to entertain any causality. If I was pregnant then I’d do anything to go away from him. He wouldn’t love my child, I knew. And this child would be fruit of force and not love.
My eyes caught the way his fingers brushed the edge of the table, tapping an absent rhythm as his gaze pierced through me.
My throat was dry. “I-I’m not sure. I just-”
He cut me off with a slow raise of his hand, his smile widened though it still didn’t reach his eyes. “Shh, ptichka. No need to stumble over yourself.”
I swallowed hard.
Not sure what I was doing wrong here.
Before I could respond, Judas stood and retrieved his phone, and dialled something and that made my chest tighten. He leaned against the table, the device pressed to his ear as he watched me, unblinking.
“Yes, Dr. Orlov,” he said In English when he could use Russian, I knew it was meant for me to hear. His voice shifted to that smooth, commanding tone he used when the world bent to his will. “My woman seems to think she’s pregnant.”
I flinched at the voice, but he didn’t even pause, his gaze locked on mine as he continued.
My woman.
His woman.
“No, no symptoms worth mentioning. Except perhaps a newfound attitude,” he added with a small distasteful scowl.
I gripped the edge of the table, nails biting into the wood.
“She’ll be at your clinic tomorrow morning.” A beat of silence. “Yes, I’ll be there too. Of course.”
With that, he ended the call, setting the phone down on the table. And before I knew, he was advancing towards me.
I scrambled to my feet, instinct telling me to retreat, but he was faster. In a blur, Judas’s hands gripped my hips and spun me around, shoving me forward until my stomach pressed against the table’s edge.
“Judas!” I gasped, twisting to look over my shoulder, but his hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place.
“You think you’re carrying my child,” he murmured forcing his hands into my leggings and cupped my core. I whimpered. His grip tightened on my neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me I wasn’t going anywhere. “And your first thought is to tell me?”
The edge of the table bit into my stomach. I opened my mouth, but no words came. My thoughts were too tangled-fear, defiance, shame-every emotion fighting for air.
“To the man who is a monster,” he continued pushing two fingers into me. “To the man you hate,” The words vibrated through me as his fingers moved ruthlessly. “Tell me, ptichka, what was the plan? Confess this little secret to the devil himself and hope for salvation?”
I squirmed against his grip, my hands clawing at the table for leverage, for escape, but it was useless. His hand on my neck kept me pinned, and his fingers… God, the way they moved was both punishing and possessive. He was claiming me, dismantling me, and he knew it.
“Stop-”
He chuckled. “Stop?” His fingers slowed, dragging along my slit with excruciatingly slow circles. “But you’re not telling me to stop because you’re afraid of me, are you?” He leaned closer, his breath ghosting against my ear. “No. You’re afraid of yourself. Of what you feel. Of what I make you feel. Afraid if you might really be pregnant with my child. A monster’s child.”
Tears stung my eyes and shame burning hotter than the fear. I didn’t know why he was doing this. Why he wanted to name himself a monster?
Instead, I shook my head. “Aren’t you the reason… for all this?”
He stilled along his fingers and when I thought I may have crossed the line, he scoffed. “Don’t think for a second you can fuck with my head, little bird. Even if you were pregnant, I’d have you get rid of that child.”
He released me abruptly, and I stumbled, my hands catching the table to steady myself. My legs felt weak, my body trembling, but I forced myself to stand, to turn and face him.
The room felt smaller, air thinner. My chest heaved as I turned to face him, my arms trembling from the effort of holding myself upright. He was still there, but at the same time fading.
Get rid of that child.
It shouldn’t have hurt. I hated him. I hated every cell in his body. So why did it feel like he’d just reached into my chest and ripped my heart out, piece by pointed piece? My knees buckled, and I collapsed into the chair, my hands clutching at my thighs as if I could hold myself together.
I couldn’t.
It hit home.
“Why?” My voice didn’t even sound like mine. “Why are you like this? Why do you even care if it doesn’t matter to you?”
He took a step closer. Consuming me with his ruthlessness and all I did was looking down at his shoes. “Don’t mistake insanity for affection. I don’t care. Not about a fucking child. Not about you.”
A sob broke free from my throat.
It wasn’t just him-it was everything. The way he tore through my world like a storm, leaving nothing but rubble. The way I clawed at hope only for it to crumble beneath my fingers. The way I was breaking, piece by piece, and he stood there watching as if it were a performance staged for him.
He crouched in front of me, his hand cupped my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes and I cringed at the disgust his touch left behind. “What did you expect?” he whispered. “Some fairy tale where I suddenly become the man you want me to be? You knew what I was from the beginning, didn’t you? A monster. You said it yourself.”
I couldn’t look at him. I stared at the ceiling, my tears splattering against his palm, my hands gripping the sides of the chair as if letting go would make me fall into some abyss.
“You don’t understand,” I trembled. “It’s not the child… It’s not even you. It’s me.”
I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know how I got here.
For a moment, he was silent except for my uneven breaths. And then his fingers tilted my chin upward, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t even cruel. They were hollow, like staring into a void.
“I told you who I am,” he said softly, almost tenderly as if he wanted me to understand. “I told you I would ruin you. And yet here you are, begging for answers to questions that have no meaning. Why am I like this? Why are you like this?”
I shook my head, my vision blurring as fresh tears spilt. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I don’t know anymore.”
I choked out my tears. “Why do you keep me here? Why do you-”
“Because you’re mine,” he interrupted. “Not because I love you. Not because I want to save you. But because you’re mine for fuck’s sake.”
Something inside me snapped. The sobs came harder now, wracking my body as I buried my face in my hands. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Everything crushed me, and all I could do was let it.
He didn’t touch me this time. Didn’t console me. He just stood there, watching.
And then, I realized… he wasn’t just breaking me. He was erasing me.