Bad Boy Rich

Katerina jolts at my scream, crying in symphony inside her carrier.

“Anywhere between months to years. I’m sorry.”

Her cries amplify, and with my anger gripping me, I pick her up and hush her, rocking her back and forth with no luck. The doctor suggests that she take her off my hands, but I pull her back, warning her not to touch my baby.

“Miss Milenov. We have counselors on site, I think it’s best you talk to them and maybe get someone to help you with the baby. It’s going to be a difficult time.”

Staring down at her face, unaware that my tears are falling onto her blanket—my mind becomes increasingly clear.

If I had to choose between her and Mom, I would choose Mom in a heartbeat.

I squeeze my head between my legs, desperately trying to erase all the memories. The darkness should have cured me. Running away from everything was my only answer. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. I couldn’t even give birth like a normal mother should have nor could I even breastfeed. And that bond, the supposedly unconditional love that you feel—it was missing.

No, I made the right decision. Flynn would help, he promised me he would. He wouldn’t let me down. I just needed to be alone, and needed to find a way to stop Mom from dying anytime soon.

There’s a rustling in the bush; it echoes loudly in the still of the night. Maybe my time is up, a wild animal ready to feast on me and eat up my soul. Yeah, I should be so fucking lucky.

And then, the dead silence becomes heavy breathing. In and out. Strong, heavy, and with a familiar beat.

My mind is playing tricks on me. Hallucinating from the surge of emotions that gripped me moments ago.

“It’s you,” the voice whispers, not to frighten me.

In a heart’s beat, my pulse races furiously. Another memory, another piece I wanted to so desperately forget. He’s here, he has found me. I’m terrified, I cannot look at him. I didn’t need his judgement on top of everything else.

“Will you say something, please?”

I check my shoelaces, making sure they’re tight. Like a well-tuned engine, my heartrate accelerates, sending waves to my brain that begin the adrenalin rush. Without lifting my head, I try to remember which path to take through the dense bushland. If I needed to escape him, it would need to be quick.

Three…two…one.

I run, my arms moving at rapid speed, the sticks beneath my feet breaking. He’s yelling; birds flying from their nests with fear, but I run, I don’t need him. My life is better without him. I could do it all on my own.

My body is yanked backwards, and with my breath caught into my throat, he turns me around and smacks me into his chest, suffocating me.

I can’t breathe.

I smell only him.

I feel only him.

My willpower fails me, and with a heavy scream, I sob into his chest—slamming my fists into his body like I’m beating a drum. Part of me wants to escape him, hurt him, and push him away and out of my space. But the other part of me, in an exuberant amount of pain, remains in his arms though trying to fight how comforted he made me feel at this moment.

“Milana, please stop, I beg you.”

I can’t. Hysterical but so hopelessly sad that he was here. It takes me moments; my chest heaving loudly inside his embrace. He’s trying to protect me, but he can’t stop Mom dying…no one can.

Softly, and with a gentle touch, he lifts my face. My eyes have swelled, and with only the moonlight hovering over us, we both search each other until our eyes meet and my whole world falls into his hands.

I love him.

I can’t deny that.

“Don’t run away from me, please, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

The cries that escape me are driven by fear; the hurt seeping out in every tear.