Melissa
"Miss me?"
I came to from a sharp, nagging pain.
My dream was cut short. I lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was happening. The light through the heavy curtains barely illuminated the room, turning it into a gray void where everything seemed blurry. For a moment, I thought I was still asleep, but a nagging pain under my rib brought me back to reality.
I didn't dare move right away. I lay there, listening to my own breathing and trying to assess how bad the damage was. Again. But each breath brought a new surge of pain. My palm involuntarily reached down to my stomach. I carefully touched the place where the stitches were. Again. Again.
The fabric of my shirt was damp.
"No... Not this again," flashed through my mind. How could it be again?
I forced myself to sit up on my elbows, despite the resistance of my body. My head was spinning, but I sat up. A hand pulled the edge of my shirt up, and I saw what I had feared most: scarlet stains were showing through the bandages, which now looked useless. How many times would these stupid stitches come apart?
The pain burned through me again, like a reminder.
I turned my head with difficulty and my eyes widened. Roman was sleeping next to me on the other side of the bed. His face, usually serious, was now relaxed. He was lying on his side, facing me. His thick hair fell slightly over his forehead, and his hand lay casually on the pillow.
He looked tired, exhausted, as if he devoted every waking second only to me.
I held his gaze a little longer than I intended. He was there, and it was comforting. But I knew I had to do this on my own.
I lowered my feet to the cold wooden floor, trying to move slowly so as not to disturb him. Every movement was painful, but I remained silent, gritting my teeth.
My hands shook as I rose to my feet. The world spun before my eyes, but I didn't let myself fall. I needed to get to the first aid kitâthe cabinet against the wall. Hospitals had first aid kits, right?
Every step felt like a feat. The floor creaked under my weight, as if reminding me that I was doing something wrong. I froze when I heard Roman sigh in his sleep and stir. My heart beat even faster in my chest, but he didn't wake up.
The first aid kit was closer than I expected, but it was harder to open. My fingers, wet with sweat, slid over the metal lock. Finally, I got what I was looking for: bandages, antiseptic, and small scissors.
I sank to the floor right in front of the locker. I sat up, trying to catch my breath. My head was spinning, and my arms were too weak to hold the bandages properly.
I lifted the hem of my shirt again and saw the tear, glad that at least this time I had on panties. The stitches had indeed burst, and blood was oozing out of the wound. I forced myself not to look for too long, but the sight was still etched in my memory.
"I'll process it now. I can handle it," I convinced myself. I didn't need a hospital, doctors, or anyone else.
The antiseptic burned my skin as I ran a cotton swab along the wound. The pain made me cry out, but I immediately covered my mouth with my hand. The noise would wake Roman, and I couldn't allow that.
My hands were clumsy as I began to apply more bandages. They seemed to be getting heavier. I tried to breathe evenly, but the weakness was becoming overwhelming.
"What are you doing?"
Roman's voice pierced the silence of the room.
I turned around abruptly. He was already standing next to the bed, tall, disheveled, with bare arms and in a simple T-shirt. His eyes were burning with a mixture of anger and horror.
"I... just wanted..." I started, but my voice was too quiet. I don't know why I suddenly felt weak, but even strong girls can feel it.
"Just wanted what?" he interrupted, stepping closer. "Get yourself into more trouble?"
His gaze fell on the bandages that I had not yet managed to apply. He understood everything instantly.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" there was resentment in his voice.
"You were sleeping," I replied, turning away.
"Slept? Are you serious? Do you think that's an excuse?"
He bent down, took the bandages from my weakening hands and lifted me off the floor.
"Sit down," he said shortly.
His tone left no room for argument. I didn't resist, feeling my legs buckling.
He sat me down on the bed, sat down next to me, and began to work. His hands moved quickly and confidently, like those of a man accustomed to dealing with emergency situations.
"You could just say," he said without looking up. "Why do you always do everything yourself?"
I remained silent.
"You think I don't care? That I slept next to you all night after last night because I don't care?" he continued.
"No," I finally answered. "It's just... you've already done too much. We're nothing to each other anymore, and you didn't need to save me."
Roman looked up sharply. His eyes met mine, and there was something deep and elusive in them.
"It's not your business to decide how much I can or cannot do," he said.
His voice was firm, but there was a hidden tenderness in it.
When he finished the bandage, he put the bandages aside and sat down on the chair opposite me. For a while, we just looked at each other.
"If you do anything like that again," he said quietly. "I..."
He didn't finish, but I saw his lips tremble.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. It came out so suddenly and so right that I didn't have the strength to resist the urge.
He reached for my hand and squeezed my fingers tightly.
"I need you to promise that you'll be careful," he said. "If you're going to go back to the mansion, you can't risk yourself like that again.
I nodded, feeling my eyes fill with tears.
"I promise."
He didn't let go of my hand, even when a brief silence filled the room again. A new day was already beginning outside the window, but for us, time seemed to have stopped.
I tried to concentrate on my breathing.
The silence in the room seemed deafening, as if every breath I took was too loud. I avoided looking at Roman, feeling that his gaze was fixed on me.
"Do you promise?" he asked again, more gently this time, but with an insistence that made me look up.
"I promise," I whispered.
My voice shook, not from pain, but from a crushing sense of guilt. I knew he was right. I had always tried to cope alone, even when it could hurt me.
"Look at me, krasavica," said Roman.
I looked up. His face was close. In the gray morning light, his eyes seemed darker than usual, but there was sincerity in them.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," my husband said. "That doesn't make you weak."
His words sounded like a command, like a truth that could not be evaded.
"You know I'm here, right?" he continued. "I already told you. Do you want a divorce? You'll get it because I don't want to hurt you anymore, but I'll be here."
I nodded, but Roman shook his head.
"It's not enough. You have to feel it."
I didn't know what to say.
Memories came to my mind: how, no matter what, Roman secretly wanted me to always be there. Yes, he had pulled away out of stupidity, but he almost always returned to our bed, was there. But now it was scary.
I lowered my head, feeling a warm but painful feeling flaring up inside me.
"I feel it," I finally said, barely audible.
"Then don't try to close yourself off from me," his voice sounded tired, but there was still some firmness in it.
He brushed the hair from my face, the movement gentle, almost imperceptible.
"Let me see."
"Roman..." I tried to object, but he was already reaching for my stomach, lifting the edge of my shirt.
My face flushed, but I didn't resist.
His fingers brushed lightly over the skin, checking to make sure the bandages weren't too tight. He looked focused, as if the world around him had ceased to exist.
"Is this bad?" I asked quietly.
He didn't answer right away. His brows furrowed slightly as he continued to study the bandage.
"It's not perfect, but you stopped the bleeding in time."
His tone was stern, but there was gratitude in it.
"You're stubborn as always," he added with a slight grin.
I felt the corners of my lips twitch involuntarily.
"I had to handle it myself," I said with a shrug.
Roman shook his head.
"You don't owe me anything. You have me again. Remember that, okay? I won't distance myself from you anymore."
He got up from the bed and headed towards the closet. I watched him go, trying to figure out what he was doing.
He took out a clean shirt and carefully placed it next to me.
"Come on, get changed."
I glanced at him, expecting him to turn away or leave the room, but he remained standing there, his arms folded across his chest.
"Aren't you going to leave?" I asked.
"You are too weak. If you fall, I must be there."
I rolled my eyes, but deep down I felt grateful for his concern.
"Can you at least turn away?"
"Seriously? I'm your husband and I've seen you naked many times and in many positions." Roman chuckled, but still turned to the window. "Okay. But if you start fainting, I'll intervene."
"That's very encouraging," I muttered under my breath as I pulled on a clean shirt.
My movements were slow and careful, but I managed to change without incident.
"Done," I said.
He turned around again and walked towards the bed.
"Now lie down." He ordered, his voice soft but insistent.
I complied, feeling my body gratefully accept the comfort of the pillows and the softness of the blanket.
Roman sat down next to her on the edge of the bed.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you are not alone anymore?" he asked, looking into my eyes.
I couldn't think of anything to say. Instead, I placed my hand on top of his, as if trying to say it with my touch.
He didn't remove his hand.
The room became quiet. The first morning sounds could be heard outside the window: birds singing, the sound of the wind in the trees.
"Where's Dean?"
"I sent him to the penthouse and told him that if he and his strange obsession with your health ever showed up here, I would cut his stomach open."
I raised an eyebrow. "Jealousy doesn't make things any easier for you, Mr. Kirillov."
"Your stubbornness doesn't tame you either, Mrs. Kirillova.
"You knew I was like this," I finally said.
"I knew," he replied. "And yet here I am."
His words were simple, but there was something in them that made me feel safe. Again.
I closed my eyes, letting his words comfort me.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He didn't answer, but his hand remained in mine.
The world was slowly returning to balance.
"How many times do I have to tell you that you are not alone anymore?"
Forever, Kirillov.
***
"You scared the crap out of me, girl." I smiled when I saw Natasha enter my room. "Being on the brink of death twice. That's not like you." She chuckled, sitting down on the chair next to my bed. Roman was supposed to be on that chair, but alas, he was gone when I woke up yesterday.
"I'm just getting old."
"You're just crazy." Her wrinkled hand covered mine. "I'm glad everything's okay."
"I just had some stitches come apart." I muttered but squeezed her hand.
"Yes, of course." She snorted.
I smiled. "Roman....he's not in the penthouse?
"No." Natasha rolled her eyes. "There's just his hysterical sister and that American."
"I understand." I muttered.
"But I don't understand." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Your things were moved from the penthouse."
"And?"
"What's happening?"
"It's too long a story." I breathed out.
"That long?" Natasha snorted. "Maybe then you'll at least explain why your husband is in the hallway and there are little girls around him who look incredibly similar to you?"
"What?" My jaw dropped.
"Yes, your husband is here. That's why he's not in the penthouse."
My husband, next to the triplets, is here. In the hospital.
I hate surprises like that.
What the fuck is going on?