Page 24 of Maksim
After staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes for a few seconds, she sets the packet on the counter and goes to the fridge.
“Is there another box?” she asks, pulling out butter and a carton of milk.
“Probably.”
“Could you get it, please? I want to double your serving of poison.”
I feel another laugh coming, but Hugh’s sudden presence commands my attention, as well as Elira’s.
The milk slips from her hand as she startles, sending it sloshing onto her dress and spilling on the floor. She gasps before falling to her knees to pick up the carton, but instead of standing, she stays on the floor with her head bowed. Is she afraid of everyone more than me? How could that even be possible?
I turn to meet Hugh’s inquisitive stare.
“Is she all right?” he asks in Russian.
I shrug. “Just jumpy. Sorry about that.”
He waves the apology away before grabbing a beer from the fridge, eyeing Elira as he twists off the cap.
“How long is she going to stay like that?”
“I don’t know. As long as it takes for you to leave, I guess.”
He takes a pull of his beer. “Those pigs did a number on her last night, huh?”
It takes me a minute to remember my lie. “I got there before they could do anything.”
His head tilts. “Makes sense that she’d be more comfortable with only you, then. You saved her.”
Right.
“I’m pretty sure it was Nikita who scarred her for life. He had a bit of a temper when Anton brought her to his office last night. He made her clean up the mess.”
Hugh nods, still staring at Elira, before chugging the rest of his beer. He grabs another from the fridge then heads from the kitchen without another word.
Once he’s gone, Elira quietly starts to clean up. I get the impression our conversation is over, so I pull out the photo from my back pocket and set it on the counter.
“I want you to know, I get no pleasure in being right.”
Her eyes move to the counter, but I don’t wait to see her reaction, to see her heartbreak. Call me a coward if you must.
I head into the living room with the others and watch Elira disappear into the basement minutes later. My lips feel heavy with a frown, but I fight it. It’s best for her to know the truth. Best for me, but also best for her. The truth hurts, but hope gets you killed.
Before I leave, I walk to the basement door to lock it but hover my hand over the knob instead.
Is she crying?
Is she angry?
I’ll never know because I walk away, feeling an uncomfortable amount of guilt.
8
ELIRA
The woman sitting across from me on the bus keeps singing.
It’s the same song—or maybe poem—over and over, the same eight lines over and over, and although I want to scream at her, I stay quiet.