Page 48 of Deadly Knight
Seeing her outside the school my first day.
Watching her in the hallways.
Meeting her at the party.
Every second with her during our relationship.
The abuse and horror she survived.
Camping out in the hospital until her parents demanded I leave.
Checking on her day after day, hour after hour.
Standing on her front step and having my heart ripped out.
Witnessing her leave Moscow and move here.
Stalking her during school, and every year after.
Unable to let go the way she has.
It all hits, along with the realizationthisis what I’ve been truly missing. Stalking her hasn’t been enough, when now, my soul feelscured. Patched up in ways I never could have imagined.
Stalking her has to be enough. I have to pretend it is, for her own well-being. To ensure that, once Papa is gone, no one else from my life gets to her. Katya’s life must continue within the sunlight and avoid the shadows my world drags her into.
Once Papa’s dead, my list is complete. The paper in my pocket that’s been folded and re-folded countless times over the years, it’s miraculous the paper remains intact—though barely. The folds are so worn, the list is beginning to tear apart.
Five names of men who hurt her.
Four names of men no longer inhabiting the planet.
Artur Blok. Danil Andronikov. Georgiy Yolkiv. Maxim Klimtsov.
Artur—Tortured. Hands cut off. Dick removed. Decapitated.
Danil—Tortured. Hands cut off. Dick removed. Burned alive.
Georgiy—Tortured. Hands cut off. Dick removed. Stabbed repeatedly.
Maxim—Tortured. Hands cut off. Dick removed. Hung.
All gone, all pled for mercy but were shown none, like they hadn’t shown us—her—mercy when they had her tied to the bed and raped her. They ignored my pleas and laughed while Katya was forced to take the sickest parts of them.
So I showed them the sickest parts of me without mercy or regret.
There’s only my father left.
“I’ll keep you safe,moya dusha. I’ll die trying before I let harm come to you again.”
She moves in her sleep, moaning lightly. Her head turns to the other side, and I remove my hand. My feet shift, to either bolt or flatten myself to the floor.
Her moan turns into a groan. Her hand fists the pillow. She twitches, restless, before crying out, “No! Stop. Leave us alone! We won’t tell. Just bring us back to the party.Please.”
Jesus fuck.How have I never known? Never realized all these years later she’s having nightmares from that night? Has her damn therapist been doingnothingto help?
I want to touch her, to hold her, to ease her. If only to quell the rage in my veins.
She mumbles something I’m pretty sure isn’t English or Russian before rolling over and giving me her back. Her arms tuck beneath her head, her cry shifting into a sleepy sigh.
