Chapter 12 Nikolai
I watched Anya stare at the glass of vodka like it might poison her. Her small hands were still shaking. Her huge dark eyes kept darting between me and the door, like she was calculating if she could run.
She thought I had called her here to try to sleep with her again.
I could see the fear in her face.
I had not called her here for that. I had called her because... because…
Why had I called her?
The truth was complicated and embarrassing. The truth was that after she left, I had tried to sleep. I had turned off the lamp like I always did. And try to lay down in my bed in complete darkness.
And the panic had come immediately.
The walls started closing in. Air started disappearing. I started feeling like the twelve year old, trapped in that cellar. My father's voice started echoing. The darkness was suffocating me.
And I had turned the lamp back on, gasping, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode. And then I had sat there on my bed, shaking, and hating myself for being weak.
That was why I spend sleepless nights in my study, locked up with the lamp burning.
But sometimes, I try to be strong, to see if I had grown past the trauma but I end up, shaking in bed.
But for the past few nights, when Anya had been sleeping on my floor in my study, I had slept better. Not perfectly. But it was better. The sound of her breathing nearby, her quiet humming, even just knowing someone else was there, it had helped keep the darkness at bay.
Without her, I was back to being terrified.
I hated it. I hated needing anyone. I hated that Marco Koslov's daughter had somehow become necessary for my sleep.
But I needed her. And that was why I had summoned her back.
Not to use her. Not to hurt her. But because I could not sleep without her nearby.
How pathetic?
I looked at Anya sitting there, terrified, and felt something twist in my chest. She thought I was going to hurt her again. She thought I was going to finish what I started.
A part of me wanted to. I wanted to taste her, feel her soft skin under my hands and hear those little gasps she made again.
But I would not. She was too fragile. And I knew I would be too rough. I did not know how to be gentle. My father had never taught me gentleness. Only brutality.
"Drink," I said again, pushing the glass closer to her.
Anya picked it up with shaking hands. And took a small sip. Her face twisted and she coughed.
"All of it," I ordered.
"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "What are you going to do to me?"
"I am not going to do anything to you." I tried to siund tough.
She looked up at me with those huge eyes. "Then why am I here?"
Good question. What was I supposed to say? That I needed her to sleep in my room because I was afraid of the dark like a child? That she had somehow become necessary to me? That I had missed her?
Never. I could not say any of that.
"I have been thinking," I said slowly. "About our arrangement."
Anya went very still. "What arrangement, sir?"
"You are my slave, correct. But I have not been monitoring your living conditions properly."
She must have choked on her saliva because she started coughing. And I found myself waiting till she calmed.
"Yes. You live in the servants' wing.” I continued. “In a room I have never seen. I do not know if you are taking advantage of my property." I was making this up as I went along and it sounded ridiculous even to me. "I need to inspect it."
Anya stared at me. "You want to inspect my room?"
"Yes." I nodded.
"Now? At night?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Good question. But I had no good answer.
"Because I want to make sure you are not enjoying my property too much,"
I said, and it sounded even more stupid out loud than it did in my head. "You are a servant. Servants should live like servants. Not like guests."
Anya's jaw dropped slightly. She looked confused. "I... I sleep on a small bed. I have only one dresser and a small bathroom. There is nothing to enjoy."
"I will be the judge of that." I stood up. "Tonight, I will sleep in your room."
The words came out before I could stop them.
Anya's jaw dropped completely.
"What?"
"I will sleep in your room tonight. To make sure it is appropriate for a servant." I was digging myself deeper into this hole. "You will manage with me there."
The room went silent. The air became thick and awkward.
Anya stared at me like I had lost my mind. Which maybe I had.
"You want to sleep in my room?" she asked slowly, like she was talking to a crazy person.
"Yes."
"In my bed?"
"I..." I had not thought that far ahead. "No. On the floor. Like you sleep on my floor." I stammered.
Why would I go through that length?
"Why would you do that?" She asked, looking confused.
I scrambled for an answer. Any answer that was not the truth.
"Because I want to see how my servants live. I want to experience it. To make sure I am not being too soft."
I almost choked on my vodka because it was the stupidest excuse I had ever given. Mikhail would laugh for days if he heard this.
Anya just stared at me. Her face was a mixture of confusion, fear, and something else. Maybe she thought I was insane.
She was probably right.
"I do not understand," she said quietly.
"You do not need to understand. You just need to obey." I said coldly, moving towards the door. "Finish your vodka. Then go to your room. I will be there soon."
"But why…" she tried to argue or maybe talk sense into my head.
"I said you do not need to understand." I cut her off, my voice cold. "Now go."
Anya stood up slowly. She was still holding the glass of vodka. She drank it in one quick swallow, her face twisting. Then she put the glass down and left.