Page 3 of Nikolai Petrov

Natalia

Shepinchesthetwosmall red pills between her manicured nails as she gestures impatiently at me.

“Don’t be an entitled little bitch. Just take the fucking things so I don’t have to call security to hold you down again.” Svetlana cocks her bony hip under her flowing white slacks and waves her hand again.

“No, please don’t make them do that!” I can’t hide the tremble in my voice at the memory. Heavy handed men pinning my arms while she covered my nose and mouth until I swallowed.

She didn’t take them away until after I passed out.

A shiver runs through me, hurrying my reach to take the horrid drugs from her outstretched claw.

I fucking hate her.

She’s made me an addict. The shaking doesn’t stop in my limbs as I swallow the meds dry with practiced ease.

It’s the same dance we’ve been doing for years. I almost welcome the fog now. Knowing that I’m destined to marry her monster of a brother soon nearly has me begging for the entire bottle at once.

“Now, go get cleaned up for dinner. Do something with that disgusting red mop of hair. Your father should be ashamed of himself having that red headed whore of a wife passing down her weak genes to you.” She turns on her high heel and slams the door shut behind her.

Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks. Mother has been dead for almost six years, and Svetlana’s derogatory remarks still hurt as if she passed yesterday.

Cancer doesn’t mean she was weak. She was the strongest woman I knew.

A knot forms in my throat and I glance at the clock. Only a few more minutes to feel the pain of her loss raging through me until the numbness sets in.

My stepmother is right. I do look like my mother. Watching the brush work down my long copper colored hair, I meet my own green eyes in the mirror. My mother’s eyes.

I see the recognition in Father’s face sometimes. The pain he feels when he looks at me.

If only I could save the daily doses of poison. It would take away my heartache and his.

Dinner is the same every night. Svetlana sits at one end of our long table, Father at the other and I’m in between.

No one talks.

She occasionally will scoff at my clumsy movements, but I don’t care. It’s her fault I am this way.

I’m slumped in my chair and pushing peas through mashed potatoes when his phone rings, breaking the oppressive silence.

“Nikolai. Yes. Yes. I understand, I will see you soon.” I miss the deep timbre of his voice. How long has it been since Father has talked to me?

Not long after I was forced into betrothal with his wife’s brother. He had no say, and now seems to have abandoned me to my fate.

That’s just how it’s done in our families. No one weds for love, only power.

The peas form a frowning face on my plate. They mimic my mood.

“—Natalia!” My name from his lips sounds foreign. It takes a moment to register through my stupor that he’s talking to me.

Exhausting effort drags my eyes to him. His neck is red. That always means he’s angry when the blotchy color creeps out of his collar.

“Yes?” I can barely talk. It’s hard to roll the words over my swollen tongue when I’m high as a lost balloon.

Rich tones of his voice pour over me. It feels so good to hear him talk. My gaze fixes on his hand, waving in my direction.

The fingers tighten into a fist that bounces the cutlery when it strikes the table.

“Do you understand what I told you?” A vein pops from his temple and his dark eyes flash as he glares at me.

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