Page 20 of Maksim

That wasn’t until the third night when I talked about my father. I’ve always wanted to know where the other half of me comes from, and I told him this.

He told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. That the short time we’d been together could never be long enough. That he wanted to show me my roots, to show me a new life, a better life with high-paying work that would be more than enough to support my mother and three sisters back home.

He wanted to help me, all in exchange for my love. He was handsome and charming and everything I dreamed a man would be.

He proposed. I said yes. That night, I gave him my virginity.

We were supposed to wait for my visa, but months passed, and he grew impatient. He asked me to fly to Mexico where all we’d have to do is pay to help me cross the border, which they did. I willingly climbed into that truck, not knowing it was the worst mistake I’d ever make.

We asked the wrong people for help. I’m paying for it.

“I was going to marry for love,” I lie. I’d never admit the truth out loud. “Not for the visa.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were going to marry him for. He was never going to marry you.”

What?

“He’s a trafficker, Elira. It’s pitiful you haven’t figured that out on your own by now.”

There was humor in Maksim’s voice when he started this, but it’s gone. He sounds serious.

I look away, choosing instead to stare at my knees. I’m wearing the dress again. The dress. It looks more like the one I picked out in the store now that I’ve washed it, but it suddenly feels dirtier than it did yesterday.

I close my eyes so I don’t have to see it. “You’re wrong.”

“Even having zero clue who this guy is, I know with absolute certainty that I’m right.”

My eyes burst open, my head snapping up to face him. “You’re wrong!”

I hate him.

I’ve never hated another human being so much in my life.

Maksim raises his hands up before slowly standing, picking up the plate as he does. “You believe whatever you need to keep your sanity. But think about your situation and make your moves carefully.” He points above us. “My friends are kind. Knock on the door, promise to be a good girl, and they’ll let you out… But hurt someone or try to take off again, and I will throw you in a dried-up fucking well where you will live for the remainder of your excruciatingly long life… Sound fair?”

Tears sting my eyes, so my vision blurs. I stare at the tattoo on the right side of his chest, written in Russian so I wouldn’t understand it even if I could see clearly.

I believe him. The man is a snake, a liar, a manipulator, but I believe that he’d punish me for acting out. As much as I want him to be wrong, to be vicious and cruel and vile, the way he pegged James is so on the mark. What he says makes sense. Enough sense for me to believe him about my fiancé too.

And I hate him for it.

I want to scream. I want to take a knife and carve my hatred over that tattoo.

But instead, I nod, letting a tear slip from my eye.

“Good.”

And then he leaves. Like a harsh parent, he leaves me to sit in my shame, to be tormented by my thoughts.

Fear turns to anger.

Sadness turns to anger.

And eventually, I get sick of the basement. I go upstairs and knock on the door.

7

MAKSIM