Page 46 of Scarlet Chains
“I’ll take you home.”
Not a question. Not a request. A statement delivered with the same quiet authority he uses when he’s making decisions for both of us. The same tone that used to make my pulse race when we were together, when his protectiveness felt like safety instead of suffocation.
Home. As if I have one anymore. As if anywhere could feel like home when it’s built on lies and blood.
I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Because if I open my mouth, I’ll either scream at him or break down completely, and I’m not sure which would destroy me more.
So I just keep walking.
The tears come then, hot and fast despite the cold rain. They stream down my cheeks, mixing with the water until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. My heart is breaking all over again— for Slava, who deserves better than a father who abandons him; for the baby I lost, who will never know either of us; for the man walking behind me, who I once loved; for the girl I used to be, who believed love could overcome anything.
Not murder, I think bitterly.
Never that.
My chest aches with each sob I try to swallow. The rain pounds against the pavement, against my skin, washing away my makeup and leaving me raw and exposed under the gray sky.
“Ilona.”
His footsteps are getting closer, splashing through puddles. I can feel his presence like heat at my back, the way I always could. Even in a crowded room, I could sense exactly where Osip was without looking.
Some primal recognition, I used to think it was.Soul calling to soul.
Now I know it was just my prey instincts recognizing a predator.
“Let me take you ho—”
“NO!”
The word explodes out of me with such force that it echoes off the surrounding buildings. I whirl around to face him, my hair whipping across my face, chest heaving.
He’s closer than I expected— close enough that I can see the water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, the way his shirt has molded to him. Close enough that I can see the confusion andhurt flickering across his features before he can hide it behind his usual mask.
He lowers his hand that he’d extended to me, like he’s trying not to spook a wild animal. Maybe that’s what I am right now— cornered and dangerous and ready to lash out at anything that comes too close.
I turn away from him again, wrapping my arms around myself. His jacket is soaked through now, useless against the cold, but I can’t bring myself to give it back. It smells like him, like the man I used to wake up next to, and I’m not ready to let go of that small comfort.
Pathetic, I think.
Clinging to pieces of a monster who destroyed your family.
My feet slip slightly on the wet pavement as I start walking again. Each step feels like an effort, like I’m walking through quicksand instead of puddles. The street stretches endlessly ahead of me, and I have no idea how I’m actually going to get anywhere. No idea where I’m even going.
But I can’t get in a car with him. Can’t sit in that intimate space, breathing his air, pretending to be okay when every cell in my body remembers what it felt like to be his.
When every cell in my body still wants to be his, I admit to myself.
Even knowing what he is.
Even hating him for it.
“Thank you.” His voice is quieter now, hard to hear above the rain.
I stop walking but don’t turn around.
“Thank you for what you did for my son.”
The words hit me hard. Because that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not us. Not what we were or what we lost. Just gratitude from a father whose son I helped care for, whosebroken child I loved like my own for the brief time we were together.
