Page 57 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

No wonder she moved back into the other room, even though it is cold and empty and more like a prison. I know she doesn’t have any good memories of that room. She hated it. She hates being alone.

No wonder she doesn’t want to be around me. I don’t blame her at all.

I have to make this right.

Pressing my foot harder against the accelerator, I hurry home.

All I want to do now is talk to her and make things right between us.

I push the front door open and walk inside. The house is quiet and feels cold and unwelcoming. She must be in her room. She has hardly come out of there since everything happened.

I dump my things on the kitchen counter and run upstairs, taking them two at a time because I’m so eager to get to her.

I rush into the room, barging through the closed door.

She jumps with fright, dropping her book on her lap where she is sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her.

“Ruslana, can we talk?” I ask, looking hopeful.

“Don’t you knock?” she snaps back at me. “I guess, you don’t have to knock—I’m not a guest. I’m a prisoner. I should do well to remember that.”

She turns her face away from me and back to her book which she opens and flips through until she finds the right page.

I watch her as she gets comfortable again and starts to read. Even though I know she’s not reading. Her shoulders are tense. Her jaw is clenched. Her eyes are filled with anger.

I walk further into the room. “Ruslana—I am so sorry for accusing you. I’ve had some time to think about everything. I know it wasn’t you. You weren’t involved in the attack.”

I’m right at the edge of the bed, but she is pretending like I don’t exist.

“Ruslana,” I sigh, feeling heavy and miserable. “I’m really sorry for how I treated you.”

“Ok,” she says, cold and empty. She flips the page.

“Can we talk about it? I—I know I hurt you—I just wanted to talk about it with you.”

“No.” The same cold tone.

I swallow hard.

She hates me.

She hates me for what I did. Especially considering that only an hour before I accused her, she gave me something very special. She let me take her. And afterwards I treated her like trash. I shoved her face so close to that dead man. I was so full of rage. And so stupid.

“Ruslana—“

“Please leave,” she blurts out, finally looking up at me and I can see the pain and anger in her eyes. Tears brimming just behind those beautiful bright green orbs.

I nod.

I can’t force her to forgive me.

I can’t make her listen any more than she could make me listen.

Walking out of the room I feel hollow and alone.

What can I do to make her see?

I rush downstairs and back out to my car.

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