Page 74 of Viparious

My body is stiff after not moving for so long, and I stand with my wife’s voice in my head telling me not to ruin the relationship with her grandfather. If he attempts to suggest that they be moved again, I’ll have to kill him. They’re not going to his preferred hospital, they’re both mine and it’s my responsibility.

Ana switches places with me like a guard and I don’t know who she’s talking to as I pick up her whispering, “Hmm, yeah. It’s not like the other times.”

The pipsqueak is a freak, hellish. She belongs to some old-timey underground circus rather than normal society but she’s violent enough to stop anyone getting close to Inessa, so I leave the room. The entire floor is empty save for our guards and the nurse’s station is deathly silent as I stand there, refusing any emotion.

Maximoff doesn’t stand as the Pakhan, he’s the grandfather and his tone is harsher than when dealing with business.

“If any harm comes to my family, your name will be written out of existence.”

I’ve never responded well to threats, and I get larger, knowing the new addition carries my name.

“My wife and daughter have my name, don’t allow your tongue to weave your end,” I say without moving my eyes from his.

His brows come together as he loses some of his anger rather than killing me for the disrespect of his position. It’s slow and still menacing as he smiles to himself.

“I knew this would be a good match. Protect them both,” with the order given, he turns around and fucks off.

Knowing everyone has left with it being the middle of the night and that Ana is sitting with Inessa, I remain rooted to the spot.

Five steps to the doors, turn left, four steps to the next ward.

There’s no one to witness what will destroy me, so it should be safe. None of the nurses pick their head up as I count my steps and move on autopilot to the room our daughter is in. I stare straight ahead as my body battles to go backwards, to move further away from her, before I end up ruining her too. But she’s alone. She shouldn’t be alone; she should be with her mother.

The smell of clinical disinfectant stops permeating the air as I gently push through the doors of her empty ward. Dima stands guard beside the last set of doors, and he stretches his arm out as he whispers, “Val left twenty minutes ago, there’s no one inside.”

Why is everyone whispering? Or am I drowning out the world and unable to hear their normal volume?

There’s no accusation in his eyes and I pause. My hands are still pink, blood staining them and they’re swollen. The NICU rules aren’t what force my feet to move to the sink stationed outside the doors, it’s the pink.

Washing my hands three times, I make sure there’s no pink left on my skin even though I won’t touch her. I can’t hold her.

I won’t ever hear her call me papa.

I’ll just sit there and make sure she’s breathing, then tell Inessa, so she can open her eyes. I repeat the movements of washing my hands to delay turning and seeing the lights shining down on her like she’s some fucking experiment through the window separating her from the hall. Unease crawls up my spine with the sight in my periphery.

She won’t be blue, she’ll be fine. Small but perfect.

Forcing myself to turn around, each step is like walking through lava, but I don’t leave. Dima soundlessly opens the door and I keep moving as the world blurs. Just until Inessa wakes up, I remind myself. I won’t get attached to what I can’t keep. But seeing her little red, wrinkled face has my hands shaking. She’s too small and she doesn’t even have a name. She should have a name.

I keep moving closer despite how my stomach aches and my hand does the same until it’s through the hole at the side of her crib. My throat burns, making my voice rough.

“I know you’re new to the world, but I need you to do something for me, malen’kaya koroleva.”

She should never have any harshness around her, she should be spoilt and stubborn. Her little face scrunches, already unhappy with being told what to do like her mother.

“I need you to be safe and healthy for me, okay? You can do anything else you want after that.”

She lets out a warble in protest, stretching her fingers out, and I move on autopilot. Lifting the top of her crib, she’s in my arms before I can blink, and I adjust the hat on her head to cover her fully, so her ears aren’t cold.

She settles straight away as I hum bayu bayushki and wrap the extra blankets around her. I’m fucked, this little thing fits in one of my hands, but she’s got me wrapped around her wrinkly little finger. My lips brush the fabric covering her head without any pressure as I rub circles on her back with two fingers.

“Prosti malyshonuk, ya tebya lyublyu1.”

I can’t be here, and I can’t move away. Every part of me wants to run away yet stay at the same fucking time.

So, I don’t think.

I don’t allow the guilt or the past in as I lower into the seat beside her bed. She makes a fist and attempts to stretch, gently brushing it against my jaw.

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