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Valentin had made me into this person—someone who once had big dreams to someone with…nothing.
I stared at the mirror and imagined the old Valerie.
The one who knew how to laugh. The one who adored and breathed dancing. Someone who belonged on the stage, dancing her heart away to the beautiful rhythmic music.
I had dreams, I had hopes…and then one night, I was stolen away.
I died in the arms of Valentin—and now I was just surviving.
With a final glance at the mirror, I walked away. My room was still empty, no sign of Igor. This time, I chose to shrug away the weird feeling in my chest.
I watched the outside world through my windows, in my room—in my cage. I spent the day knitting, and then I watched the beautiful sunset.
All the time, I was alone. Alone with my thoughts.
Alone with my fantasy—Viktor.
When night fell, leaving only darkness behind, I crawled under my covers and closed my eyes.
And in my dreams, he came for me again. We held each other, his lips pressed against my forehead.
In my dreams—in my fantasyland, he was my husband. And I was his wife.
The dream caused my fragile soul to wail in pain.
***
I opened my eyes, blinking once, twice, my eyelashes fluttering. My room was still dark, the night lamp the only source of light.
I knew it was still night…the dead dark silent night.
But the reason why my eyes had fluttered opened was because of the warmth beside me. A warmth that had seeped into my pores and made me feel warm inside and out.
My vision still clouded with sleep finally adjusted into the darkness to see…him.
Viktor, the man who haunted my dream beautifully, lay on his side. He was facing me, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful, and his face was smooth with no worry lines.
Viktor was a beautiful, exotic man. Beautiful with a rough, hard look that he always wore. There was no mistaking that he was a bad man—not really a hero.
But I liked this villain, because in my dreams, he was my hero.
My eyes traveled down his body. He was under the covers with me, so close to me. He must have put the suit away because he was only wearing a crisp white shirt, which was left unbuttoned on top.
My gaze moved back to his face, and I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t stop looking.
And I couldn’t help but touch him—feel him.
My hand came up, hovering over his face but not touching him yet. My heart thudded, and finally my fingers feathered over his cheek, feeling his rough stubble under my fingertips.
I smiled, still touching his face oh so gently.
Viktor didn’t flinch. He stayed asleep. My fingers moved from his cheeks to his eyebrows, and then his nose, tracing a downward pattern to his lips. They were soft under my fingertips, and I wondered how they would feel on mine—if we kissed in real life.
Moving closer until our bodies were plastered together, I softly placed my lips on his. Just a brief touch, and then I moved away.
It’s a dream. A beautiful dream that I never want to wake up from.
I laid my head on his chest and closed my eyes with a happy sigh.
At least I had this dream.
The next time my eyes opened, I was really awake. No longer in my fantasyland. The bed beside me was cold and empty, just like I knew it would be.
I touched the spot where I had dreamed of Viktor sleeping.
If it weren’t for the words we had shared, it would have been as if he never existed.
As if he was a figment of my imagination.
But I knew it wasn’t. I knew it was real.
Every day, every night, I traced the words he wrote for me.
Trust me, silent myshka.
I held these words close to my heart, and I waited for him to come to me again. The origami was also never far from my reach. I lost count how many times I held it, traced every edge of the paper swan he created with his hands.
It made me weak and naïve—but for a little while longer, I wanted to believe in this dream.
I got out of bed and followed my day. Sarah brought my food. I never saw Igor. After days of worry, I pushed him at the back of my mind. By the time night had fallen once again, I sat on my bed and faced the door.
I waited for Viktor—just like I did the other times.
My face held little makeup; my hair was brushed neatly. I even made two tiny braids on either side of my temple and tied it at the back. It made me look younger—prettier.
Bringing my knees to my chest, I crossed my arms on them and laid my head there.
I waited…and waited…and waited.
In the silence, I waited for my hero.
