Chapter 19
POV Samuel
Earlier, when I held Tatyana’s body close on the bed, she groaned in pain. I moved my hand away and felt her back was damp—I realized it was blood. She didn’t say anything, just took a deep breath against my chest, and in that moment, I felt like a monster. She had asked to feel my pain, but when I struck her soft skin, I let myself be consumed by anger, by the emptiness within me. I wanted to say I was sorry, that I shouldn’t have hurt her body, but I couldn’t. All I felt was a choking knot in my throat. For the first time, I felt something other than suffering—I felt fear, fear of never holding her in my arms again.
My eyes are fixed on Tatyana’s face, right here, in front of me, her head lowered, avoiding me. I still can’t comprehend this confusion of sensations tightening my chest. Why do I feel bad for making her feel my pain? An anguish corrodes me from the inside, inch by inch, making me freeze. Her eyes are a deep shade of blue, and even though she avoids looking at me, I can feel the pain consuming me. The same pain that consumed me when I lost Tina, when I realized love was a weakness. I feel like a complete idiot for wanting to hold her firmly against my body and beg her not to pull away from me. I know she’s difficult, but I’m impossible.
Tatyana finishes eating and slowly gets up from the table, probably in pain.
"You didn’t finish your food, you disgusting thing. Sit down and eat—my son needs to develop properly," Luara snaps angrily.
I watch Tatyana’s nervous gaze fall on my wife, and her expression turns furious.
"You want me to eat? Why don’t you eat it?" Taty grabs the porcelain plate angrily and smears it in Luara’s face. Luara slaps the dish out of her hands, smashing it violently onto the floor.
"Enough!" I bellow, irritated. "Go upstairs, Luara. I don’t want you here anymore. Stay in your room until tomorrow."
She gets up, slamming her chair against the floor, and storms upstairs in a fit of rage. Sometimes I feel like Luara is still a child frozen in time.
Tatyana stands still, staring at me intently. I feel my face grow hot.
"Put on a dress. We’re going for a drive," I say briefly.
"Why would I go?" she snaps, crossing her arms in anger.
"Because... because... damn it!" My thoughts torment me, and I let the words shoot out. "Because I want to apologize to you."
She looks at me, opening and closing her lips as if her words were swallowed the moment she heard the word "apologize."
Tatyana nods and heads to the bedroom. I take a deep breath and feel my heart pounding in my chest.
"Damn, I look weak," I think.
I’ve just realized that I care about Tatyana, that I care about hurting her, and that she is becoming my weakness.
***
POV Tatyana
I enter my room, still trying to process the word "apology" that came out of Samuel’s mouth. I open the closet doors and study the available outfits. Unfortunately, I didn’t choose any of these clothes, but two dresses catch my attention. Both are blood-red. They feel perfect for tonight. One of the pieces is a short dress that would leave most of my body exposed, while the other is long and conservative. I choose the short one, and after putting it on, I walk to the mirror, smoothing the fabric over my body. I spend a few seconds staring at my reflection—seconds that feel like an eternity.
"What is happening to me? Why can’t I hate him?" I think.
My gaze lands on the shoes in the corner of the room, and I pick a pair of black heels. Once I’m ready, I descend the stairs. There stands Samuel Colt, the soulless man who whipped me with all his strength, pulling me into his world. If I didn’t enjoy pain, I’d simply forget him, but the darkness in his heart has already entwined itself with mine. He holds a cigarette between his fingers and brings it to his lips. Using a lighter, he ignites it and inhales slowly, his gaze fixed on me as I descend the staircase gracefully.
The smoke spreads across his face as he studies my entire body. He’s wearing a handsome gray suit, slightly unbuttoned, making me want to strip it off him. As I approach, he extends his hand. I accept, placing my hand on his with a pang of unease. Samuel leads me out of the house, and we walk to the garage, where we get into his car.
The drive is silent; I can hear the engine’s roar and the wind brushing against the car. I look out the window—the moon is even brighter tonight, and the sky is filled with sparkling stars. This night has a different tone, a devouring tone.
The arrogant man accelerates the car, letting out a heavy breath. I keep my back slightly lifted, as leaning against the seat causes me pain. He glances at me sideways, then runs his right hand through his golden hair, pushing it back. Samuel pulls out another cigarette, clearly agitated, and lights it. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes as if the nicotine could soothe his inner turmoil.
When we finally arrive, he parks the car, and we get out. In front of me is a massive bridge spanning the Moscow River. The structure is grandiose, and the height is terrifying. He takes my hand, leading me toward it.