Page 79 of Viparious

He’s such a bastard.

I take my daughter from his arms and wait until I’m seated so I can cover her little ears before I give him the only rule I will ever have regarding anything.

“Do not make her feel like less because of your own inadequacies. She deserves more than you.”

He turns, walking away, again, without saying anything or looking at us. No parting glance to ensure she’s safe. All of the care and love has vanished because she’s no longer in his proximity. The saying that girls marry their fathers must be true considering it’s the exact same as my own.

TWENTY-THREE

Vlad

Avoiding Inessa while she’s awake is easy, her hate perfumes the air, warning me to stay away. I’ve spent the last eight weeks with it, and it has become the norm, but she’s home. Both of them are.

She refuses to acknowledge I exist; she won’t even look at me, but in sleep, she’s peaceful. I lay between her and Verena, between the bed and crib, knowing I can’t move in either direction.Her little snores mixed with soft baby sighs are the only thing that allows me to breathe.

I know what she wants me to do, how I’d be able to keep her. If I tell her the truth, she’ll still fucking hate me, but it will be rooted in disgust. Right now, it’s just anger. Revulsion is worse. Even if I wanted to, my tongue won’t form the right syllables, and the clock is ticking on when she’ll no longer be here. Len has fucked everything from beyond the grave, there’s no timeline to my death anymore. All of this was for nothing.I can’t make a choice and I have to. I’m stuck between life and death, suspended with people on either side casting their expectations into the void while I only have my failings blaring at me. I can’t choose because to make a choice means one holds more importance than the other when they all fucking wreck me.

I’ve spent twenty years plotting to kill Dmitri and accepted that I wouldn’t leave Moscow. But he’s not the fucker who caused Vanya’s death, it was the cunt right under my fucking nose. And now I’ve lost twice. The life I should have had was taken by the prick all those years ago and the life I could have had is gone because of my own fixation.Everyone who sneered dyavol at me doesn’t know how much I wish it was true. If I had dominion over the deathly plain, then I could move between it and life. I could have everything.

A little foot kicks against my fingers threaded through the edge of the crib, and I stand silently, not wanting to disturb Inessa. Gently lifting Verena before she can start crying, I take her out of the room and into the nursery. She’s grown, but she’s still small and her eyes snap open when I sit down, laying her on my thighs. They haven’t settled on a color yet and her irises are pitch black.

I lean down, keeping my voice at a whisper, “You’re perfect like your mama, and strong like her.”

The tip of my nose brushes hers and her grumpy features soften. She comforts me when it should be the other way around.

“Did you wake up because you missed me?”

Her diaper isn’t heavy, and she settles instantly, so it can’t be due to her being gassy. Those big eyes remain fixed on me, and I hope they remain dark. She has my hair, soft inky tufts on her head. She’s clearly inherited Valentin’s tantrums as she stretches her arms out and makes a protesting warble.

My voice lowers further as I remain folded over her and try to get her to remember me subconsciously.

“You won’t be like your uncle, will you, malen’kaya zvezda1? You’ll be good for your mama and if you need to scream at someone, you’ll come to me. Or go to Valentin, he does it to everyone else. You can give him a taste of what his tantrums are like.”

She tries to kick me as payback for being a dick as I brush my nose across her cheek. When she tries to eat my face, I realize it’s because she’s hungry and start the machine to make her bottle up.

Inessa keeps a chart on her phone to track the feeds and I make a note of the time and the amount. I reposition Verena so she’s comfortable against the crook of my arm. She falls back to sleep as soon as she has her bottle and sounds of her drinking fill the room. I stroke through her hair, wishing it was like her mother’s instead of dark like mine. If that’s the only thing she inherits from me, I’ll be happy and couldn’t ask for more.I don’t look away from the bottle, making sure no air gets trapped in the teat as she alternates in urgency. Her cheeks are getting fuller, each night she becomes a little bit more aware of her surroundings and soon I won’t be able to steal her away without her protesting at a stranger taking her from her bed.

I hold equal parts joy and fear over her sleeping through the night. It will show she’s growing, but I won’t have these little moments where her hands move, and her little fingers are pressed against my skin as she fidgets. I won’t be able to talk to her or just hold her once that happens.

“I think you’re going to be like your mama, stubborn and kind, intelligent and strong. Beautiful and loyal.” She opens one eye as though she’s warning me not to talk shit. “Yeah, you’re definitely going to be your mama’s double, but you won’t ever lose me. No matter what happens, I’ll be watching you. When you go to school, and some little shithead tries to take your crayons, I’ll fix it.”

Guilt swarms me at the thought of the future, of breaking my promise, but I can’t make the choice in either direction.

Urgent footsteps pad through the hall until Inessa comes into view and visibly relaxes. Her hair is a mess and the t-shirt she’s wearing is one of mine, full of creases from how many times she’s slept in it. But I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. I sound guilty to my own ears as I justify what I’m doing.

“She was hungry, and I thought you could get some extra rest.”

The other nights I’ve managed to get away with stealing any moments I can by staying in the room hidden on the floor like a literal monster under the bed. I get to hear her talk to Verena then, she’ll make funny faces at her to try to get her to laugh. Or when the baby’s sleeping she’ll lay on her back talking to herself, making promises of a life that’s full, one where she feels no pain. Those conversations are worse.

She slowly comes to my side and hovers, but she doesn’t take the baby from me. I don’t know if it’s because of the late hour or sleep deprivation. Whatever it is has Inessa sitting on the arm of the chair. Her voice is soft and melodious, but the topic stokes my anger.

“I hated being an only child. I always thought I’d have at least two kids so they could be friends and wouldn’t feel lonely.”

The thought of there being someone else in her life and giving her that dream has my mouth opening before I can stop myself.

“We can have another one.”

It’s said too easily like she’s not planning on leaving.

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