Chapter 12 - Anya

I’ve been pacing up and down all day and all night. I’m bored out of my skull. I can’t believe that Rodion gave the security team instructions to not let me leave the property. Who the hell does he think he is?

I have no one to talk to here and I feel trapped and angry. He isn’t interested in being a part of my life—but he also doesn’t want to let me live my own life. It’s not fair at all.

All day, I do my best to stay busy, expecting him to arrive home any minute, but the hours roll by and there is no sign of Rodion.

Dinner comes and goes, and I sit in the kitchen and eat alone, getting more and more agitated about how he is treating me. What kind of life is this?

When he gets home, he is going to get an earful about this. I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.

I won’t let him treat me like this and if he tries to pull some shit like this again by telling the guards not to let me leave the property—I will call my brothers.

I sigh.

I won’t call my brothers. That will be too embarrassing for me. I don’t want them to have to fix things for me anymore. I want to have control over my own life and my own choices. But Rodion has taken that away from me just when I was getting it back.

It gets later and later and I’m starting to feel exhausted. I have an internal conflict drifting back and forth in my mind. One side of my thoughts is telling me to just go to bed and deal with it in the morning—and the other side of me is too angry to sleep and determined to let him have it as soon as he walks through that door.

The angry side wins and I am now waiting in the living room.

The TV is on, but the sound is off. I’m listening to his car. Besides, it’s not like I could focus on some stupid show anyway. Not with the way I’m feeling right now.

A chime carries through from the entrance foyer ,letting me know that the front gate has opened. I jump to my feet. That asshole is home.

Marching straight for the front door, I quickly run through everything I want to say to him.

Standing with my arms folded across my chest, I wait with a look of thunder painted on my face.

The front door pushes open and he walks in with his head down.

“Where the hell were you? What right do you have to lock me up in this house and not let me leave—am I your prisoner? Do you think you—,“ I gasp in fright when he lifts his head, and his eyes lock with mine.

He stares at me, looking exhausted, a blank expression on his face.

My mouth drops open.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” he huffs in annoyance.

“What happened to your face?” I stammer.

He has bruises growing next to his eye, his jaw is cut, and bleeding and his lip is turning a light shade of purple.

I run towards him and press my hands against his chest as I stand on my tiptoes to try and get a closer look. He turns his face away from me, then moves around me, trying to walk past me.

“What happened, Rodion? Did someone attack you?”

“Just leave it alone, Anya. I’m going to bed,” he snaps angrily.

“You are not . Not looking like that .”

I grab his arm and drag him into the downstairs bathroom. He complains all the way there, muttering about how he’s fine and I need to leave him the hell alone. But that isn’t happening.

I know there is a first aid kit in this cupboard because I found it when I was exploring over the past week or two.

I haul it out and push Rodion back so that he is forced to sit on the closed lid of the toilet.

“For fuck's sake, Anya, can you just leave it alone?”

“Stop being a child. I’m going to clean you up. If you go to bed like this you’ll get blood all over the bedding and you’ll probably end up with an infection.”

The comments fly back and forth between us and eventually, I give up talking altogether. I just start wiping his cuts and bruises with disinfectant and letting him complain and mutter about it to his heart’s content. There is no point in arguing with someone who isn’t even hearing a word you’re trying to say.

Once the wounds are disinfected and I’ve cleaned the dried blood away, I turn to find the medical tape so that I can try and close the cuts, but behind me Rodion stands up.

“What are you doing?” I say, pushing against his chest.

“I’m going to bed ,” he says harshly.

“Not until I’m done ,” I shout, losing my patience.

I push forcefully until he sits down again. His jaw muscles feather and his fists clench in his lap. It’s clear he is sulking, but I don’t care. I have to look after him. He did it for me, so why won’t he let me do it for him?

I pick up the medical tape and stand with my legs on either side of his lap so I can get close enough to him to work carefully as I put it in place.

It’s very intimate and my body begins to heat with lust as the warmth from his body seeps into mine. It feels like static is sparking between us.

He is either oblivious to the sexual tension between our bodies or he is ignoring it very well.

I lean close to his face and feel the warmth of his breath on my hand as I gently place a strip of tape over the corner of the cut on his cheek, just like a single stitch, holding it closed so it can heal nicely.I think I’ll need three more to secure it fully.

Leaning back a little to cut another piece, glancing at his sour expression, I sigh softly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?” I ask, as gently as I can. Doing my best to leave all annoyance out of my intonation.

He clenches his jaw harder and ignores my question.

“Rodion—what happened ?” I ask more directly, more insistently. My tone, now touched with annoyance, because I don’t understand why he’s being such a dick while I’m trying to help him.

I place another strip of tape over his cut and he reaches up and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling my arm down and holding me there. He sighs deeply.

“I got into a fight,” he snaps, annoyed that he has to admit it.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I can see that—I was hoping for a little more of an explanation.”

He huffs loudly.

“I voluntarily entered a cage fight. I wanted to release some stress.”

Scrunching my nose at him, I ask, “A cage fight? Is this something you do often?”

“No, Renat does, though. I’ve watched him once or twice.”

I shake my head. Now that he’s told me what happened, it makes even less sense that he would be so agitated.

“If you chose to fight—then you expected to get beaten up, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you so upset about being beaten up?” I lift my shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug to emphasize my confusion.

While he’s talking, I use my free hand to try and place the other tape strip on his cut, because he won’t let go of my other hand.

He lets out a low growl of annoyance and grabs my free hand, too.

“I’m not annoyed about being in a fight. I’m annoyed that I won—I beat the absolute hell out of the guy and then I felt guilty about it. ”

I wiggle my wrists, pulling my mouth to the side. “Let me go,” I demand.

He glares at me, not moving a muscle.

“Rodion, you really aren’t making any sense,” I complain, continuing to try and wiggle my hands free of his grip.

“I have never felt guilty for hurting people who deserve it, or who choose it. But since I met you, I’m suddenly guilty. It’s your fault. Something about you—the way you influence me—you are making me weak . You are turning me soft.”

He snarls the accusation at me as though I am to blame for his foul mood and stupid choices this evening.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head. His eyes flare with darkness.

“You’re not soft , Rodion.”

His eyes lift and lock with mine. My gaze is gentle when I speak. “There is nothing wrong with you. You just discovered your conscience—that’s all.”

His grip on my wrists relaxes and I wiggle free.

The muscles along his jaw relax a little, too. I reach up and trace my hand over his face, around his cuts and bruises. “There isn’t anything wrong with caring about other people, Rodion,” I whisper. He is watching me closely.

I feel his hands move onto my thighs, running up my legs, slowly moving over my body until they are resting on my waist. The tension in the air grows thicker and more intense.

My heart beats rapidly and my throat becomes tight with nervous excitement. I want to lean forward and kiss him, but I’m terrified of him rejecting me again. I don’t know how he feels about me so it’s difficult to make such a bold move.

Electricity is shooting up my spine as I brush my thumb over his lips. He opens his mouth and wraps his lips around my thumb. I gasp softly, the warm sensation of his tongue against my finger is a tease I was not expecting.

Slowly, I pull my finger from his mouth, watching his lips move, then I lean forward, my body pressing into his as he wraps his arms tighter around me.

My lips are on his, his tongue playing inside my mouth. He groans deeply.

Rodion slips his hands beneath my t-shirt and his touch on my bare skin is twice as potent. I can’t handle this. I need him so badly. I’ve been needing him for weeks, frustrated and desperate.

Deepening the kiss, I run my fingers up the back of his neck and lower myself down onto his lap. His cock is hard against me.

But instead of the moment between us becoming more charged, I feel him go rigid and tense and I lean back, confused.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper nervously.

He lifts me straight off his lap and sets me down on my feet next to him.

He stands up and shakes his head. “This isn’t happening,” he snarls.

“ Please , tell me, what’s wrong ?” I ask again, feeling miserable that he pushed me away again.

“I can’t kiss you, Anya. I can’t do anything with you,” he snaps at me, moody and aggressive.

“Why not?”

“Because I have a conscience now. If I kiss you and you aren’t willing, I will feel too guilty. So, I should rather avoid it altogether.”

He turns around and storms out of the bathroom and I stand there in shock with my mouth open and my words frozen in my throat.

Is this why he stopped the last time, too?

Because I’m not ‘willing’. But how did he not see that I was the one who started that whole situation?

I chew at my bottom lip, lost in thoughts that are laced with confusion.

I know I said in the beginning that I would never be with him, but can’t he see that things have changed now?

I swallow away the lump in my throat and quickly wipe my hand across my face to brush away the tears.

A sharp sting of pain settles in my chest.

After a moment, I sigh heavily, pack away the first aid kit and head up to my room. That didn’t go well at all, in fact, I think I made it worse between us. But I’m angry about how he handles things.

Is that fair of me? Am Ithe one to blame for all of this?

I am the one who was so off in the beginning.

Maybe it’s time for me to suck up my own pride and make an effort to let him know that I do actually want to be with him.

Dammit.

This sexual tension is fogging my thoughts. Maybe it’s better if I just leave it alone and don’t do anything at all.