Page 18 of Shadows of the Past
Diosito, why me?
A gentleman would sleep on the floor or on that armchair in the corner, but in the next second, it’s clear I’m not dealing with one.
Maksim claims the left side of the bed and turns out the light. I think I held my breath for a few moments when I realized we’d be sharing the same bed, because now the scent of his shower gel is overwhelming my senses. I didn’t think the smell of rosemary and something woodsy could relax me so much, but it does.
I’m too anxious to sleep, so I gaze at the ceiling, trying not to make a sound. The last thing I want is to keep him awake because of my lack of sleep. I close my eyes, but all I see is a gold tooth, the flames engulfing the home I lived in for eighteen years of my life, and the girls screaming when they heard the gunshot.
Damn it, I can’t sleep like this.
Maybe I’m taking a chance, but I need this contact. Under the blanket, I reach for him until I feel his skin. I don’t have thecourage to hold his whole hand, but I gingerly take one of his fingers and hold it while trying to convince myself I’m safe.
Maksim looks capable of taking down an intruder with ease.With that thought, the rosemary and cedar scent, and the sound of his steady breathing...sleep starts to steal me away.
Chapter 10
?
Maksim
I’m in my room, checking the clock. 9:50. She knows we need to leave by ten sharp, or we'll miss tonight's opportunity.
Outside, the sky is full of stars, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I gaze at them and feel something stir within the useless organ in my chest.
Though I had heart surgery right after birth, I'm certain that organ never fully healed. There’s an invisible thread vibrating between the chambers of my heart, and I know what it is—hope.
Tonight, we're leaving this place.
I hear footsteps and the door opens softly. Vera glances back to make sure no one saw her enter my room.
“You almost delayed us,” I say quickly, though relieved.
She looks at me with that familiar expression that tells me I exasperate her and replies, “Almost, but it didn't happen.”
Her light brown hair is wavy, and her eyes are soft blue. Her nose is slightly upturned, and she has an unmistakable mole above her upper lip. I know every feature, every small detail, every sparkle in her eyes. Today, she's wearing a black knit dress, a flannel over it, and a wide belt at her waist.
I suppose this is what it means to be in love, to feel like this person is somehow part of you. Every time I look at Vera, I feel like I'm looking at a part of myself. A better part. Something I don’t deserve. Something I’ll never be.
“They've brought a new shipment of children, Maksim.”
Those words stop me from checking my bag. I know what it means. And so does she, but we can't deviate from our plan. We'll escape from here and build a life somewhere else.
I’m fourteen, but I’m big enough to convince people I’m seventeen. I’ll find a job and an abandoned cabin somewhere, and we’ll be fine.
“Come on, Vera. We can’t save everyone.”
“But we can try. Please. For me.”
Her last words are barely above a whisper, but she knows I can’t deny her anything. Officially, we’re just friends. Unofficially, she’s the first person I can say I love, and I’d risk my life for her—though she might not know it. Or perhaps she does but prefers to ignore the signs.
I know her well enough to understand that the voices of all the children we’re leaving behind will haunt her. Even though she knows why we need to escape, my Vera has always been the caregiver. She’s the one who tended to every beaten girl and stole extra food for the boys who were locked in the cellar to make them obedient.
With a sigh, I look into her eyes. Why do I feel like I might never see her again?
“I’ll go to the cellar to see what I can do, and you wait by the linden tree by the river, okay?”
“Okay,” she replies, a huge smile covering her face. “Maksim, we’ll leave this place. I promise.”
Something inside me trembles, and I want to shout that we’ll never escape. Not today. Not ever. I want to hold her one more time because her image in my mind becomes blurry. Her scent of chamomile and something she calls teardrops, too. All I want is one more minute with her. Just a few seconds when someone looks at me the way she does. As if she sees me. As if she cares. As if I’m her whole world, the way she is mine.
