Page 162 of The Lazarov Bratva

Andrev nods. “Of course.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but I close the door before he can.

Alena remains in the same position on the bed, but I catch the glint of her eye in the amber light. She’s watching me.

A good indication that the shock is wearing off. I hope.

Once the bath reaches a good height, I shrug off my jacket and roll up my shirt sleeves. Turning the bathroom light down low to add to the warm atmosphere, I approach Alena on the bed.

“Alena?”

She doesn’t look up at me, but she also doesn’t pull away from my touch when I scoop her up again. I have to be careful.

“I’m going to take your clothes off now, okay?”

She grunts softly, the closest I’ll get to acknowledgment, it seems.

Undressing her swiftly, my fingers catch on the chill of her skin, and it spurs me on to be quicker. Once naked, I help her into the bath and she sinks down among the bubbles.

Her droopy eyelids flicker, the first hint that she’s coming back to me.

Kneeling by the side of the bath, I use one of the softest cloths to begin washing her body. It starts as just washing away the salt of her dried tears and the tree bark and moss from her hair, but the more I focus on washing her, the calmer my mind becomes.

Every inch of her arms gets washed gently as I work to chase away the cold and bring her back to a more stable place. It seems to be working as she soon starts to respond to my touch. There are flickers of movements here and there as I wash down her legs.

I clean everything away and focus a lot of my attention on her feet. They’re dirty from her running and spotted with a little blood where her panicked steps carried her over sharp stones and gravel. Keeping my touch as gentle as I can but as firm as I need, I wash off all the dirt. Every hint of a tear is wiped away, every lingering phantom touch of the doctor, and when I reach her abdomen, my hand pauses.

It’s surreal that despite everything, my baby is inside her.

The joy of that comes in short, sharp bursts before I fight to rein it in. Nothing in this world is definite, and it would be reckless of me to see this as a done deal.

But it’s difficult to manage the excitement.

Washing over her belly, Alena finally reaches out and touches my arm. I halt my movements, unsure if she’s silently telling me to stop or if I should keep going. Her face is still distant, but her eyes are less glazed over. Her touch doesn’t move, so I continue cleaning her, and my mind drifts.

Can my baby sense me? Does it know I’m here? Does it feel how Alena feels?

So many questions and not enough answers.

By the time I wash her hair, color has returned to her pale cheeks, and there’s a much healthier sparkle back in her eyes, even as exhaustion hangs off her eyelashes.

She still doesn’t speak to me, not even as I scoop her out of the bath and into an armful of towels to dry her off. I don’t speak either, instead focusing on the therapeutic act of showing her how much I care in the hope that it will be enough.

She’s dressed in a fluffy robe, and by the time we return to the bed, Andrev has left us a tray of food. There’s some soup and some berries as well as water and tea. All gentle foods.

Tucking Alena into bed, she eyes the tray but makes no move to eat anything. Once again, I step in.

Settling next to her, I take a spoonful of soup and gently offer it to her. There’s a pause where I brace myself for the soup to end up in my lap, but after a long pause, her lips part and she accepts. She leans further into me with each spoonful of soup, and my heart finally unclenches.

She’s coming back to me slowly, so maybe I will have a chance to explain.

Maybe she will listen.

Spoonful after spoonful, she drinks it down, and when the bowl is empty, I feed her a few of the berries and help her drink her tea. Each sip brings life back to her, and by the time her cup is half empty, she’s taken it between her own hands.

I can’t pretend to be an expert on how to help someone with trauma, given I’m the one usually causing it, but Alena looking much more like herself gives me hope that I’ve done the right thing.

As much as I can in this situation.

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