“We always share women,” Andrei says.
“Did you touch her?”
Andrei doesn’t respond.
“Did you touch her?” I yell, shaking him.
“No.” It’s Sofiya who responds. “He just made me lie on the couch. He didn’t touch me.”
Some of the tension leaves my body, but that doesn’t mean I’m ok. “You’re lucky,” I say to Andrei. “I could have made this even worse for you. But seeing as you already disobeyed me when I said to leave Sofiya alone, I’m going to have to make my message clearer.”
I grab the whip from his hands and roll him onto his back. Andrei tries standing up, but I bring the whip down hard on his back, and he slumps to the ground. I become an animal as I whip him over and over again.
My world is red. My world is black. And Andrei is now my enemy.
“Sofiya is mine!” I shout. Whip. Whip. Whip.
Andrei isn’t even putting up a fight anymore. The only sounds escaping him are low groans. His back is soaked in blood.
After minutes of whipping him, I step back. My vision comes back into focus. I hear a sound from the other side of the room and look. It’s Sofiya. She’s covered in her dress, which is almost torn to shreds, and she’s hiding behind the couch, watching me with complete fear in her eyes.
I look back down at the whip in my hands, and all I can think about is the day my son looked at me with that same fear in his eyes.
My son.
Natasha and I had a son, and I lost him after Natasha died. He was only five years old.
The day he died, he saw me lose my temper. He was terrified of me.
And now, I can never make it up to him since he’s dead.
I look back at Sofiya. She gasps when I step toward her. I drop the whip and open my arms wide.
Her eyes flit between Andreis’ prone body on the ground and me. He’s still groaning in pain.
Then she steps from around the couch and approaches me slowly before her breath hitches, and she’s in my arms. I wrap them around her tightly.
She’s shaking and trembling. Andrei hurt her, but I know I share some of the blame.
Picking her up, I carry her to my car and place her in the passenger seat. I even buckle her seatbelt for her. Then I get behind the wheel and drive us home.
Where she belongs.
SOFIYA
I keep looking at Mikhail out of the corner of my eye. “How did you find me?”
His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Your sisters.”
“They’re ok?”
“They looked fine to me.” Even though he’s answering my questions in a calm voice, there’s a simmering anger underneath. Anger directed at me.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can think to say.
“Why did you leave?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“But you did. So, why did you leave?”
I swallow hard. How can I tell Mikhail what’s on my mind when I don’t even fully understand it myself? “I don’t want to be your trophy.”
He frowns, clear confusion in his eyes. “What?”
“You said you’d only let my sisters stay if I gave you my virginity in front of other people. You want me for my body. I’m not your equal.”
“So, you left because of that?”
“I left because my sisters were going to leave anyway, and I wanted to protect them. We deserve our freedom. You don’t own my body, Mikhail.”
He stops the car so suddenly that I jerk forward in my seat. “I do own you, Sofiya. You’re mine now. And you disobeyed me. Were you trying to hurt me?”
“I …” Hurt him? “I didn’t think you cared about me.”
The laugh that escapes him is without humor. “Care about you? You’re my wife. You’re my everything now. Of course, I fucking care about you.”
I flinch. “I didn’t know.”
