Page 52 of Conquer
Chapter Sixteen
We must fall asleep with our limbs entwined, still fully dressed, because I’m startled to awareness when Vadim’s arms stiffen around me as the door to the room swings open. Once again, we’ve been interrupted by a small figure who doesn’t wait for an invitation.
Instead, she lurches onto the bed and burrows her way in between us, seeking out the safety of Vadim’s arms, which I’d been enjoying until now. As a result, I’m forced to make room as she slithers in to take my place.
Her father, however, has already switched into dad mode. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs to her, so gently that even I’m soothed by his tone. “I thought you liked the house?”
“I do,” Magda insists against his chest. “But it’s too dark in my room.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Too dark?”
“We can turn on the lights,chérie,” Vadim offers. His confusion matches mine.
“No,” Magda whines the second he starts to pull away. “I don’t want to.”
The independent girl who first came here a few weeks ago had no problem sleeping on her own. Though, back then, she wasn’t reminded of the aspects of her past that still obviously scare her. This new aversion, I suspect, has everything to do with what happened with Maxim. Whatever memories seeing him triggered, haunt her badly enough that she’ll risk her pride just to find safety in her father’s arms.
It would be heart-warming if it weren’t so tragic. I can’t stop myself from stroking my hand down her back, sensing her trembling beneath her nightgown.
“It’s dark,” she repeats, still clinging to Vadim, her body curled into a stubborn ball. “I want to sleephere.”
She doesn’t bother asking, not that the man holding her would ever have the heart to refuse her if she did. Sighing, I crack a smile and shift over to make room.
“I guess it’s okay for tonight,” I say.
Always prepared, Vadim repositions himself to somehow embrace us both on either side of him. Like leeches, we nestle into his warmth, draining him of all the comfort he has to offer.
And, he seems to possess more than enough for us both. When morning finally comes, he disentangles from our mass of limbs long enough to return minutes later with breakfast food piled on a tray and a jug of orange juice.
Sensing a shift in the mood, we eat in silence and wind up lounging in the master bed, sandwiched together—Vadim in the middle—with Magda and me on opposite ends. And, of course, It somewhere in between. For the first time, I realize that the bedroom even has a flat-screen television affixed to the far wall, defaulted to the news station. After flipping through the channels, we settle on watching cartoons and promptly vegetate the rest of the day.
The time spent in this way reveals a strange new aspect of our dynamic. The doting father. The clingy daughter. The pseudo-mother popping pain pills every few hours just to stay coherent. When evening comes, Vadim retreats again to bring back pizza, and we only leave at various intervals to get ready for bed—him assisting Magda—before we all wind up back in the master suite.
This time, she doesn’t even bother to give an excuse before burrowing beneath the blankets, not that Vadim or I ask for one. With her nestled in between us, we fall asleep in the middle of a show about rambunctious undersea critters and wake up to very much the same routine. Again, the cycle repeats the next day.
And the next.
By the end of the week, I’m forced to confront a horrible realization as I wake up with Magda’s foot in my stomach and Vadim’s breath fanning over my forehead. We’ve barely left the room, let alone the house in days. Our only outside interaction at all came in the form of Milton stopping by to remove my stitches.
Otherwise, we’ve been on an island unto ourselves—and I think Magda’s fingers are starting to leave permanent marks on Vadim’s forearms.
There is no dancing around it—we haven’t just been indulging in the lazy inclinations of a seven-year-old. We’ve beencoddlingher. In essence, we’ve becomethosepeople. One of those weird families so fearful of the outside world and the danger it may bring that they collapse in on themselves. Eventually, we’ll have Magda encased in bubble wrap and only leave the house to fetch the mail. Though, with Ena around, we may not even get to do that.
Somewhere during Vadim rousing himself like a zombie to trudge down to the kitchen, I come to a conclusion.
“Rise and shine, princess!” I ruffle Magda’s hair until she blinks up at me, deliriously innocent and half asleep. “You too, Sir.” I slap Vadim on the ass as he rises to his feet.
Then I shimmy to the edge of the mattress and tentatively stand. After days of being damn near bedridden, I have to sway just to regain my balance. Once I do, I’m surprised to find my left side feels marginally better. Enough that I can march into the bathroom, leaving my bedmates staring after me. When I emerge—having brushed my teeth and run my wet fingers through my hair—I snap to command their attention.
“Hop to it! We’re going riding.”
Vadim raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to injure yourself again?” he asks, ever the spoilsport.
Undeterred, I wiggle my arms and only wince a little. “I’m nearly healed,” I say. “As long as we go slow, I’ll be fine. And the fresh air will do us all some good.”
He doesn’t look fully convinced. Nonetheless, he copies my lead, heading toward the closet.
But he’s not the only one needing persuading, it seems.
