Page 54 of Plus-Sized Bratva Prisoner

He starts pulling out blankets and pillows.

“The air-controlled section is on that side of the cellar. If we set up some blankets over here, we can make a bed and get some sleep.”

Yefim builds us a little sort of hideaway blanket fort and I smile, watching him work, trying to help where I can, but he seems to be on a mission to create something specific.

When it’s done, he takes my hand and pulls me onto the piled-up pillows and blankets and into his arms. My heart flutters wildly as I lie there on his chest in the softly lit room, the orange light glowing like a gentle fire.

“What was your childhood like?” he asks after a long moment of silence.

“In the beginning, it was really nice.” I sigh. It’s not something I talk about often, but I want to share who I am with Yefim. “My dad left before I could remember. So I don’t even know anything about him other than what my mom told me.

"My mom—she was amazing. I know she worked so hard to keep things together for us. She worked two jobs, and still had time to make me feel like I was the center of her world. I loved her to bits. But as I got older, I guess she got older, too, and those years and years of working nonstop and never resting—it all caught up to her. She started drinking. I can still rememberthe first time I ever saw her drunk. I was so confused. I didn’t understand what was going on.

"Anyways, once she started drinking, she never stopped. She lost her jobs—she couldn’t get work because she always reeked of alcohol. She started gambling with what little money we had, and once or twice she won, and that was enough to convince her she could win every time. She took loans from some really dark and dangerous people—she lost everything.

"Eventually the alcohol caused her liver to fail, and she died, leaving me with the debts. That’s why I had to take all of those jobs, it’s why I’m scared of not working hard, in case I lose my way like she did.”

I lie quietly, resting in his arms, feeling his chest drift up and down with his breath.

He wraps his arm tighter around me, kissing the top of my head. “Your mom may have messed up at the end, but she still created the most beautiful daughter. Everything you went through in your life turned you into this gorgeous, driven, strong woman that you are today. You should be proud of yourself, Tia. For overcoming that, and for still standing strong. I understand why you work so hard now. I understand why you value your career and your ability to look after yourself. But sometimes, it’s okay to accept help from people who care about you.”

“I’ve never really had anyone care about me, not since my mom passed away. And when she did, she wasn’t in a state to care about anyone, not even herself.”

“Things change. Life changes, new people come along, and you can let them in.”

A warm smile touches my lips, the warmth spreading through my chest, into my heart, filling me with something beautiful. Comfort. A feeling of—safety.

I close my eyes and take a soft breath.

As I snuggle against Yefim, we fall asleep together in the wine cellar.

Chapter 16 - Yefim

Tia’s words are still ringing in my thoughts three days later.

I’m really happy she felt safe enough to open up to me like that and tell me about her childhood. It helps me understand her so much deeper. And all I want is for us to grow closer, for her to trust me, so that means a lot.

She is such an incredibly strong and beautiful person.

I can’t believe she’s been taking care of herself ever since her mom died. She was still almost a child when she lost her mom, barely having turned sixteen. She managed to stay out of the way, get more than one job, and go unnoticed by the authorities, so she wasn’t forced into a foster home. She’s lucky, I guess, that they didn’t make her go into foster care, because the stories I’ve heard about those places are enough to tear your heart out. I’m glad she didn’t suffer through that kind of horror.

But it doesn’t make her struggle any less worthy of note and praise.

She managed to keep herself fed, a roof over her head, warm clothes on her body. All by herself. As a child. She created this strength I see in her today, just by her will to survive.

She has been through a lot. She’s lost a lot. Her mother wasn’t even a proper mother, starting from since she was around nine years old. That’s when she started escaping to the bottom of a bottle, forcing her child to take care ofher. Tia spent her childhood taking lit cigarettes from her mother’s hand when she passed out so she doesn’t burn the house down. Begging for food from the neighbors so she doesn’t starve. Lying to school when her mother can’t fetch her.

A child deserves more than that. More than needing to constantly think of ways to hide her mother’s addiction.

Tia has been taking care of herself for much longer than she understands. Even while her mother was around, that woman was not capable of looking after a child.

I pace up and down my office, running my hand over the shadow of stubble on my face.

Tia’s story got to me. It got to me because I want to do everything and anything I can to take her pain away. To ease her stress. She is still paying off her mother’s debts. They aren’t even hers. So even in death her mother is dragging her down and making her have to fight to survive.

I want to help Tia in some way, I just don’t know how to do it without making her feel like I’m trying to take away her independence. And now that I know how important it is to her to remain independent and capable of looking after herself, I think I understand why she won’t quit the editing job. If she gives up her other job, then she feels like she is taking a massive risk, putting her trust in me. She is not used to being able to trust someone else to take care of her.

I am that person, though.

---