by Sara Hubbard
Chapter 13
Luna: There are some shopping bags on the dresser when I wake. At some point this morning, someone came in here, and I never heard a sound. I suppose that makes sense. Every night since I got here, I’ve woken a million times throughout the night with nightmares or uneasiness. Last night, it was like my brain finally said, “No more.” And I slept like the dead.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes and toss off the sheets to go and look through the bags. They’re a welcome sight, even if I feel weird about accepting gifts from Maxim. Though, honestly, it’s not as if he gave me a choice to come here or pack my bags.
A few days ago, the morning after Maxim took me to see my mother, Yara brought me some shoes and a change of clothes. I believe they were second-hand. They had a gently used appearance to them—not that I’m complaining. Many of my clothes are second-hand. Since she brought those clothes, I’ve been alternating between my two outfits, washing one while wearing the other.
Inside one of the bags is a shoe box, and inside of that, is a pair of tan leather flats. They are so soft that you can bend them into a circle. The ones Yara brought me fit, but they were a touch small, and I didn’t want to complain. I put my new ones on, and my feet feel like they’re stepping in pillows. They fit perfect. I hug them to my chest before setting them down on the carpeted floor.
I open the other bags. There are a few pair of leggings, some soft sweaters, and a few pairs of silk pyjamas and a pair of slim jeans. Holy crap. Two of the sweaters are cashmere. I make a face. Initially, I think he’s trying to romance me or buy my affection. And then I think better of it. He’s not that person. In some ways, he’s a complicated mess but, in others, I think he’s very basic. He saw a need and he filled it. My heart squeezes a little. Yes, I think when I find a bag with underwear and bras. They aren’t really my style. Satin and lace. They’re the kind of underwear you wear on a date if you’re considering getting naked. Not the kind of underwear I’d want to wear to help Yara around the house or to relax in. But in this moment, I don’t care. It’s just nice to have underwear again.
I go to the bathroom with a pair of leggings, some underwear, and one of the soft sweaters. After enjoying a warm shower, I get dressed and take a long look in the mirror. Most of my bruises are gone now, but that stubborn mark on the edge of my nose where the scab from a cut has finally fallen off remains. I wonder if it’ll ever go away. That man who grabbed me punched me so hard. He probably broke it, but at least it’s straight…mostly. There’s just the little bump.
As I stare in the mirror at me in my new clothes, I almost feel…disloyal. These are from the man who stood by while my father was killed. I’ve thought more and more about this in my free time, trying to understand where he was coming from, and thinking of all the different scenarios that would have played out if he’d intervened. In each of them, he would have been wounded or killed. I’ve softened more to him because I know he was in an impossible situation. And for whatever reason, he’s trying to save me and my mother now. And he let me see her. He has no idea what that meant to me. Just to know she was going on with her life, no matter how broken she is. Yeah, that means a lot. So I’m placing my anger and pain squarely on the shoulders of the person who deserves it: his father, and I’m hoping one day karma bites him—hard.
“Hello?” Yara’s voice travels through the broken door, and I pad to the bedroom to greet her with a smile.
“You’re up. I thought you might sleep the day away.”
“I didn’t realize how late it was.” The clock says eleven-thirty in the morning.
“Can I get you breakfast?” she asks.
“That’s okay. I’ll make something.”
“You’ll clean up after?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.
I chuckle. “Of course.”
Last night, I stayed up late, like I have been doing, waiting—but not waiting—for Maxim. I get so lonely when Yara leaves. The hours seem like an eternity when I’m alone in this house, and it gets worse as the days go on. So, I stay up, I make food, and Maxim and I eat. I talk about nothing, and he listens. Sometimes he joins in.
“Yara?”
She appears again.
“Did you buy these?”
“Kind of.”
I chuckle at that.
“I have a niece, and she’s roughly your size. I asked her to help me pick out some things you might like.”
“That’s really thoughtful of you.”
“I didn’t buy them, though. Mr. Maxim did. He wanted you to be comfortable.”
“These look expensive, though.” I grip the hem of my sweater. “I should pay him back.” If I had money, or access to my account, or a job. They’ve likely already replaced me. The thought saddens me. All of my hard work gone. Just like that.
Trailing behind her, I follow her down to the kitchen. She descends the stairs to the basement to do laundry, and I make some eggs. While I stand in front of the pan, moving the egg, milk, and cheese mixture around, I can’t help my thoughts. Maxim. Maxim. Maxim. I slap my head and try to force him out. Why can’t I get him out of my head? Two years ago it was the same. I was consumed by my feelings for him. Now, I'm consumed with desire as I keep imagining him in the shower, his warm, wet body glistening, his hair slicked back…his narrow hips and what was between them.
“Luna?”
“Hmm. What?”
“Where did you go?” The mischievous grin on Yara’s face says she knows exactly where my mind went, and my cheeks burn with embarrassment.
I tip my head down to hide and stir my eggs some more. “When did Maxim leave this morning?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I came here at eight, and he was already gone.”
“He was up late. I thought he might have left later today.”
She chuckles at that. “Maxim? No. He is a creature of habit. He could come home at five in the morning, and he’d still walk out the door to go to the gym before eight.”
“He trains a lot.”
“Yes. Since he was young.”
“And he fights competitively?”
She makes a face. “Yes, you could say that.”
“How do you feel about it?” I ask.
She shrugs a shoulder. “I have no thoughts.”
I frown at her.
“Okay, I do.”
I laugh.
“For Maxim, it is good. He has his father’s temper, though thankfully he has a bit more of a conscience. It’s better to focus his temper on a sport, don’t you think, than on people?”
“I think he probably does both.”
She nods. “Perhaps. He tries, though. That’s something, isn’t it?”
I’m not so sure.
She walks to the table and puts down the basket of clothes she had under her arm. While she folds laundry, I pop some toast in the toaster. As I wait, I grab a shirt and help her. She smiles sweetly at me before touching a hand to my face. I’m not sure why this action affects me so much, but it does. Maybe because it makes me miss my mother all over again. My bottom lip quivers as I feel overwhelmed with emotion. I walk away and grab my toast and eggs and sit at the table, opposite from her.
“I’m sorry. This is very hard for you, yes?”
I nod and choke back threatened tears as I chew my eggs.
“I don’t ask Mr. Maxim many questions. I know he prefers it that way, but you…do you prefer that?”
“You can ask me whatever you want, Yara.”
She finishes folding a pair of boxers and slides into the chair beside me. Hesitantly, she places a hand over mine and pats it before letting it still. I like the warmth and the comfort it brings. She’s so faithful and loyal to Maxim, and I’ve really come to like her.
Her face moves through several different emotions before she settles on a frown with a sprinkle of worry lines on her forehead. “How do I make this better for you?”
“Let me go?” I tease.
She sighs.
“I know you would never.
I understand why and, honestly, I don’t blame you. I’m having a hard time blaming Maxim lately, too.”
“You like Mr. Maxim?”
I’m not sure why this question makes me sad. “I did. Once upon a time.”
“And now?”
I let out a sigh. “Too much has happened.”
“I see. Well, all I can say is you can love someone and hate them at the same time.”
“I never said I loved him.” The feelings I had were intense, but they weren’t love. That’s not to say, I couldn’t have. If I’d stayed with him, I’m not sure I could have helped myself.
She pats my hand again.
I smile weakly at her. “You know what I really like about him?”
“Tell me,” she says, leaning in close.
“There was this one day when we went out to eat. Afterward, I wanted to take him to this little hole in the wall place that sells amazing gelato. Anyway, that’s not important. It wasn’t far from the restaurant, so I insisted we walk. I remember I was on the outside of the sidewalk, next to the street, and he gently took my elbow and guided me around him so he was on the outside. It was an odd thing to do. I chuckled at him and asked why. He said, ‘If a car were to lose control and come up on the sidewalk, they would hit me first.’
“I thought he was joking. Who thinks about that stuff, right?”
She nods knowingly. “Maxim does.”
“It took me a moment to really understand he meant that. He really thought switching places with me meant he was protecting me. He was always on alert, always aware of everything around us, like he would take a bullet for me. I teased him about it. He shrugged it off. I’m not sure he knew how much I appreciated someone caring for me like that. No one has ever cared for me like that.” Not even my father.
“He’s not a man who loves easily, but I tell you this—if he cares, he cares completely. And if he cared for you, which I’m quite sure he did, you are right about one thing. He would take a bullet for you. Of that, I’ve no doubt.” She taps me on the nose and stands.
While she finishes the laundry, I stare at my food. My appetite is gone, and in its place is an ache I can’t understand. He cares for me now and he cared for me then. And if I’m honest, I never stopped thinking about him either. Maybe that’s another reason why I threw myself so deep into my work. Why I took on so much overtime. Yes, I wanted to save for a house and become financially secure, but I also didn’t want time alone with my thoughts. Like I have now.
Growling in frustration, I take my plate and put it in the sink. Angrily, I wash the plate and utensil and put them away before trudging up to my room. I try to read my medical textbook, but all of the words seem to bleed together as Maxim invades my thoughts. I hate him, I think, but it isn’t true, because the time can’t pass by quick enough for him to get home to me.
* * *
A creaking noise wakes me in my chair in my room. Though I didn’t think I could, I managed to fall asleep. Nearby, a door quietly clicks into place. I see the handle of my doorknob turn. Was he in here? Why didn’t he wake me? I rub the sleep from my eyes. He’s early tonight. It’s only nine o’clock. I get up and drop the book onto my chair before walking to the door. When I open it, I find Maxim across the hall, about to shut his bedroom door behind him.
“Hey,” I say.
He nods. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
“It’s fine. I woke up late today.”
He clears his throat and shoves a hand in his pocket while the other leans against his doorframe. There is something in his face, different from usual—a heaviness.
I touch my hand to the hem of my shirt. “Thank you for the clothes.”
He lifts a shoulder.
“This is where you say, ‘You’re welcome, Luna.’”
“You’re welcome, Luna,” he says with a hint of mischief in his voice. The playfulness dies quickly, though. His gaze drops to the floor momentarily.
“Why do you always look like you’ve lost your best friend?” I ask him.
He wrings a hand around his neck.
Slowly, I tip toe forward until we’re a few feet apart. “What is it?”
He eyes me before his gaze washes over my hair and every inch of my face. I gulp, desire stirring in the pit of my stomach. Raw emotion, too, a need to help him. To make everything better. I can’t help myself.
“You should go back to your room,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
Slowly, he removes his hand from his neck and reaches out to press his thumb and index finger to my bottom lip. My breath catches, and the urge to close my eyes and beg for more is overwhelming. His touch is feather fine, as if he can’t decide whether he should touch me and mean it or not. My eyes fall closed, and his fingers are gone. When I snap them open, he’s gazing at me with a burning intensity. When I let go of my breath, it’s shaky and audible.
“I want to show you something,” he says softly.
I nod. My emotions overrule my brain.
“Come,” he says. He looks down, and I follow his gaze to see his hand, palm up, waiting. Holding hands wasn’t something we did before. He never looked for my hand, and I never looked for his. I wanted to take his many times, but it just wasn’t something I thought he’d enjoy. So, I overthought it and hesitated. Maybe I misread him.
Slowly, I reach out and cover his hand with mine. Our fingers intertwine. The feeling of his hand in mine does incredible things to my entire body. It’s like my blood catches on fire, burning for him. Butterflies dance in my stomach, and my heart races. What does he want to show me? My sex stirs now, giving me a delicious tugging sensation that radiates up my legs to my core.
I won’t sleep with him, though my body wants it very much. I suspect that’s where he’s leading me, but instead, he saunters to his closet, gently pulling me behind him. And the fire burning inside of me quickly fizzles out.
I look at him, utterly confused.
He turns to me when he stops and licks his lips. “I’m trusting you,” he says.
He trusted me with his secret car and now something else. I thought this would be so much harder for him, but like me, are the history and residual feelings between us too great to ignore? I bite my lip, unsure and worried about what exactly he’s trusting me with, but eager, all the same.
I nod to him.
It takes a moment for him to move. He lets go of my hand and reaches into his closet, spreading apart the row of his hanging collared shirts. Behind them there’s a button to the left that’s nearly flush with the white walls. You’d never know to look for it if you didn’t know it was there.
“What is that?”
“Press it.”
Hesitantly, I hold my hand out and push. A voice from a speaker says, “Denied.”
I look all around me for the location of the speaker.
He points up. I think I see it, but I’m not sure. A small grate. It could easily pass for a vent.
“Register fingerprint,” he says.
“Registering,” the robotic voice says.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Press it again.”
I do as he asks.
“Now, leave it there.”
A few seconds later, a robotic voice sweetly says, “Fingerprint registered.”
“Username Luna,” Maxim says. “Access to security room approved.”
The woman repeats his command.
I drop my hand. “Who are you?” I say, completely mystified. His electrical gadgets are like the stuff you see in movies.
He merely shrugs his shoulders. When he touches the button now, the wall behind the closet slides open. He ducks his head to pass under the shelf that sits above his hanging clothes. Staying close behind him, I follow him into the small room inside. It’s the size of a small bathroom, just big enough for the desk that’s pushed against the far wall, a tall filing cabinet, and a small fridge. The computer on the desk holds six screens, all hung on the wall
.
I meet his eyes and wait for an explanation that he’s not quick to offer.
“All of the security cameras on the property route to this computer.”
“Okay. Why are you showing it to me?”
He scratches at the short hair on his chin. “In case.”
“In case of what?”
He points to another button, this one by the filing cabinet. “If you need to come in here, neatly put the shirts back together so it’s not obvious and press that button. It’ll close the door.”
“Maxim, why would I need to come in here?”
“This room can also double as a safe room.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“It’s just a precaution.”
“Did something happen?”
He holds my eyes and slowly shakes his head. He’s so skilled at deception, I can’t tell if he’s lying.
“I don’t believe you.”
He rolls his shoulders and then frowns at me.
“I thought this house was like Fort Knox.”
“It is. But danger doesn’t always come from strangers. It could be from someone invited in.”
“Like your father?”
He nods, but there’s a slight shift to his eyes.
“Does he know I’m alive?”
He shakes his head, and this time, he seems more certain. I release the breath I was holding. He’s just being protective again. This time it warms me.
“The button in the closet will recognize your fingerprint and let you in,” he says. “Anytime you feel unsafe or unsure, you come in here, you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Curious, I turn on a monitor, but there is nothing on the screen. I press a key, and the computer boots up, but it asks for a login. He said it’s for cameras on the property, but I wonder if it’s for cameras in the house. I look over at him, and he shakes his head.
I didn’t expect him to give me the login, but it was worth a try.
This equipment reminds me of the video he said he had of my father. I haven’t asked about it since I first got here. I’m sure it’s already destroyed, and that’s probably a good thing, but I want to know…
