The Last Hope

16

My hand keeps trembling, my breath quickens, and I feel my heart racing as my vision starts to darken. I know what it is; I've experienced it thousands of times hiding in the dark corners of my gilded cage. A panic attack.

I place my hand against the cool marble wall, trying to calm down, but it's no use. My head starts spinning as I slide down against the wall, gripping the marble counter with all my strength, clinging to something tangible, something real, as hundreds of nightmarish memories rush through my mind – screams, my screams, blood, mine, tears, mine, but most importantly, my son's. Everything mixes, everything jumbles up, my vision becomes completely blurry, and nausea rises sharply. I'm going to vomit, no, I'm going to die.

The hundreds of times I repeated those words to myself flash in my mind. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult, water – I feel water in my nose, mouth, lungs.

I'm going to die.

—
I'm going to die.

"So, mia cara, are you going to try to escape again?" Antonio screams, holding my head underwater in the filled bathtub. I struggle, grabbing his hand to free my hair, kicking, but I can't break free. His body, like deadweight, presses on my back, pinning me against the bathtub's edge, I feel myself weakening, my limbs numb, and that's when he pulls on my hair, lifting me.

I take a deep breath, coughing, almost spitting out my lungs. I inhale large gulps of air, trying to fill my lungs, but the water still present in my throat prevents it, making me cough again.

"Answer me when I ask you a question!" he screams, pulling my hair, making me cry out. Large sobs escape me when I hear my son's voice behind the door, trying to enter, calling for me.

Unable to utter words, I shake my head, clenching my trembling lips, he starts laughing behind me, a joyless, cold laughter, like a madman. "Little liar," he murmurs against my ear before leaning me forward into the bathtub again, I scream but am quickly silenced by the water that suffocates me.

I'm going to die.

—
I'm going to die.

Something warm suddenly envelops my hand, prying it from its grip on the marble counter, and my fingers close around it, squeezing with all my strength, digging in my nails. The same warmth wraps around my waist, pulling me against something firm but warm as I gasp, unable to breathe.

Antonio's voice is gently replaced by a deeper one with a slight accent as a scent slowly infiltrates my nostrils – sea and pine. "Selina, everything is okay. Breathe," says the voice near my ear, gradually piercing through the fog that surrounds me.

"You're safe; he will never touch you again, Selina, never again," says the man, his grip tightening around my waist. "But you need to breathe, Solnychko. Don't let him win, don't let him break you, not when you've resisted all these years, Selina. Come on, breathe," Nikolaï whispers softly as his lips touch my throat where my pulse races.

I startle at the warm contact against my skin covered in cold sweat, slowly fluttering my eyelids, focusing on the bulb above the mirror, inhaling deeply as I tremble. The hand around mine pulls it against my belly, embracing me tighter, burying his face deeper into my neck. "That's it, Solynchko, breathe, fight."

My vision gradually stabilizes, calm returning to my mind, leaving me weak and tired as another emotion triggers, and I feel my lips trembling, my eyes welling up as a sob escapes me. I start to cry, cry like I haven't in eight years, too busy fighting, surviving.
The fatigue that washes over me is so heavy and painful – it's been so long, all those nights sleeping with one eye open, all those long days hiding in dark corners so he could forget about me.

I sob so hard, tears flowing freely, and I don't react when Nikolaï leans against the wall, pulling me onto his lap, his arm wraps around my shoulders while his other hand gently massages my neck, it will be okay.

My eyes widen as I quickly lift my head to look at his face, surprised. "Rafael explained a bit of your secret language to me," he murmurs, pressing his lips against my forehead, making me cry even harder. I bury my face in his chest, clinging to his black T-shirt he must have put on to sleep. He continues to cradle me, his hand never leaving my neck, his lips occasionally kissing my hair.

I calm down slowly, hiccuping and sniffing as I lift my eyes slowly to his face, feeling embarrassed now. My God, did I really just cry like a baby in the arms of a Russian mobster? Our eyes meet as I bite my lip, his eyes analyze my face gradually – first my reddened and swollen eyes, then my damp cheeks, and finally, my probably red nose that I keep sniffing to avoid any mishaps.

His lips stretch into a smile as he wipes my damp cheek with his thumb before leaning down, lightly brushing the tip of my nose with his lips, "you are beautiful, solnychko," he murmurs, pulling back, running his fingers through the damp hair at the top of my head. "What does it mean?" I ask with a hoarse voice, trying to keep my eyes from drifting to his lips near my face.
His smile widens as his fingers slide deeper into my hair, massaging the back of my head, making me unintentionally moan as I close my eyes. I feel him stop and take a deep breath, forcing me to open my eyes to look at him.

"It means 'sun' or 'little sun', that the person called that shines like a sun in our life. The first time I saw you in that reception hall, I couldn't take my eyes off you. You were like a captivating and very attractive sun," he says, causing my tears to well up again.
"Shh, you've cried enough for tonight and even for the rest of your life," he says, sliding his nose into my hair, kissing my temple. Faced with this tender gesture, I can't help but let the tears flow again and pout, which makes him laugh – a sound that vibrates through my entire being, warming my heart.