Page 5 of The Stowaway

Ivan put the tray of food on the bed and sat down in his chair. Misha was looking at me or my food. It was probably the same thing for him. He trotted towards Ivan and rested his head on his thigh. I swallowed as I stared at Ivan’s crotch.

“You're not eating?” I asked, feeling guilty as I dragged my eyes towards the tray.

“I’d rather you ate first. You need to regain your health.”

“I will try and be out of your hair soon.”

“‘In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity’—that is a quote from The Art of War by Sun Tzu,” he said softly, stroking Misha’s head. “I’m not letting you go, Amelia. Eventually, you're going to tell me who hurt you, and I will ensure he will never harm you again.”

I gaped at him in surprise, but he continued to stroke his dog like Dr Evil.

“W-what do you mean you're not letting me go?” I asked aghast.

My first thought was of how Paul had weaselled his way into our lives. I looked at the delicious food that had looked so appealing seconds ago, but I began to feel nauseous again.

“You heard me speaking to my grandparents in the car?” he asked.

I nodded and reached for the bottle of water since my mouth felt dry.

“They met in high school when my grandmother was twelve and my father was fourteen. They married three years later after they grew close.”

I glanced up at him in shock.

Who got married at fifteen?

He was smiling at me as if it was normal.

“Back then, there was no age of consent in Russia, but they have been married for almost sixty years. My parents have been married for thirty-seven years.”

Paul had never married my Mum. It was easier to keep her at home and treat her like a side piece.

“My grandparents never stop recounting how they met and how they fell for one another at the time. My parents are the same. I’m thirty-six, and I’ve dated many women waiting to feel an inkling of what they had recounted until you, Amelia,” he said softly. “It will take several weeks for your ribs to heal, but I'm being upfront with you because I do not play games.”

I felt mangled from the inside and out. My brain couldn't comprehend why he wanted me. With a shaky hand, I took a sip of my water.

“We do not hurt our women, Amelia. We protect them,” he murmured.

I gave him an awkward nod but didn't say anything.

I had no reason to believe or trust him, but my body relaxed on the pillows and headboard. I lifted my cutlery up and thought of Paul and Will. The only thing that the duo understood was destruction. Everything about them was wrong. Will enjoyed sitting on top of me and punching me while Paul tried to pull my jeans off. My strung-out mother had come in and accused me of being a whore instead of helping me.

How would this man ever understand what I had come from?

Ivan didn't know me, and he certainly wouldn't want me after he found out about my family. A pang of sadness washed over me at the loss of something I’d not experienced since childhood—hope. I was glad my face was downward, or he would have seen the lone tear that managed to escape.

When I only nibbled at my food, Ivan excused himself and left the room with Misha. I glanced at the door as it closed before I sighed with my shoulders drooping in defeat.

Fairytales were for books, and I was a realist.

∞∞∞

After eating what I could. An older lady came in to pick up the tray. She wore a simple black dress but had a soft, empathetic smile on her face. I couldn't help but feel ashamed of how I must look to everyone. A battered, weak-ass woman.

“You gave us all a scare last night. How are you feeling, dear?” she said with a heavy Russian accent.

“I’m fine,” I said, twisting the covers between my fingers.

“My name is Lena. Ivan said your name is Amelia.”

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