Page 121 of Scarlet Thorns
“Don’t overdo it, malyshka,”he’d said, his accent thick with an oddly intense concern.“I need you safe.”
Don’t overdo it.
I don’t know how I could possibly do any less physical activity. I’ve read three books this week. Scrolled through my phone until my eyes burned. Binged every mindless show Netflix has to offer until the characters’ voices blur together into meaningless noise. The boredom is almost worse than the pain— it gives my mind too much space to wander into dangerous territory.
Like the way my heart skipped when he called me “malyshka.” Like how safe I feel when he’s here, even though everything about Osip Sidorov screams danger. Like how I already love this baby with a fierce, protective intensity that terrifies me. Sometimes I catch myself talking to it, whispering promises about the life we’ll have together. Other times I’m gripped by such overwhelming fear of losing it that I can barely breathe.
Like how I’m dangerously close to falling in love with the man whose child I’m carrying.
The thought makes my chest tighten with equal parts longing and terror. I can’t afford to love Osip Sidorov. Not when everything about our situation is built on quicksand.
But God help me, I can’t stop myself. His growing tenderness and fierce protectiveness since learning about the baby is impossible to resist.
I know he’s dangerous; the cache of weapons in his secret room made that very clear. Yet he’s so tender with me. The contradiction should confuse me. Instead, it draws me deeper into whatever web we’re weaving together.
Probably because I need to feel safe right now. After what happened with the car, and the bizarre moment where I thought I saw Stanley, I’m neurotic as hell.
Someone wanted me dead. Or hurt. If I hadn’t been driving so slowly that day…
I push the thought away before it can take root. Here I am, trapped in this place, safe but slowly going insane from the isolation. The mansion is a fortress, complete with security cameras and armed guards who try to pretend they’re gardeners. I know because I’ve tested the boundaries, tried to take walksaround the grounds only to have polite but immovable men redirect me back toward the house.
For my safety, they say. Osip’s orders.
Part of me is grateful. The other part wants to scream at the beautiful bars of my prison.
Another dull cramp rolls through my abdomen, making me wince. I’ve been having them on and off all day— nothing severe, just enough to remind me that my body is a battleground right now. Hormones and endometriosis and pregnancy all warring for control while I sit here like a spectator.
I close my eyes and try to focus on my breathing, the way Dr. Varga taught me.
In for four counts, hold for four, out for four.
The meditation app on my phone has become my lifeline these past few days, though even the soothing voice of the instructor can’t calm me down completely.
A sharp cramp seizes my abdomen, so sudden and vicious that I gasp aloud. This one is different— deeper, more insistent. The pain radiates from my pelvis up through my ribs, stealing my breath and making my vision blur at the edges. I curl forward instinctively, pressing both hands against my stomach as if I can will the agony away.
This doesn’t feel right. This really doesn’t feel right.
A surge of panic hits me.
The baby.
Please, God, not the baby.
The words become a mantra as I rock slightly, trying to breathe through it. I’ve had bad endometriosis pain before, but this… this feels different. More urgent. More dangerous. When the cramp finally subsides after what feels like an eternity, I’m left shaky and cold despite the warmth of the room.
I try to keep breathing slowly. Dr. Varga said stress makes everything worse. I need to stay calm for the baby’s sake. Thecramping could just be my body adjusting to the hormonal changes. It doesn’t have to mean anything sinister.
But the fear has already taken root, spreading through my chest.
I make my way upstairs to the master bathroom, my legs unsteady beneath me. Each step feels precarious, like I might crumble at any moment. The marble is cool under my bare feet as I turn on the taps, letting the water run at a soothing temperature.
“Just calm down,” I tell myself, stroking soft circles on my belly. “Relax.”
In for four counts, hold for four, out for four.
“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper to my reflection in the mirror over the oversized tub. To the tiny life growing inside me. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
The words feel hollow in the steamy air, but I need to say them anyway. I need to believe them.
