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“No, when they choose to—” I’m sure that’s not a thing.
“Why am I breathing if we’re not together?” I ask, genuinely confounded by the stupidity of this conversation.
“Sergei…” She lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Elara.” I murmur, gripping her thighs tighter until I have her full attention. “You think I survived losing my fucking mind over you just to leave because we disagree on hypothetical children?”
A small crease forms between her brows. “It seems like you really want kids.”
“I want whatever you want.” And it’s the truth.
“And if I don’t want them?” She starts carefully. My lips press in a thin line before I nod.
“Then we won’t have them.” I reply, despite the slight pang of pain in my chest.
Kids are overrated anyway, they’re noisy and unhygienic. Yeah, I don’t fucking like kids.
I shrug.
“S-Sergei…” she licks her lips nervously, her hand lifting off on my shoulder as she settles them on her lap next to mine. “It’s just that I-I’m scared.”
“…of the pain?”
“Of the pain I might cause them.” She digs her nails into her thighs and I have to forcefully grab her hand to stop her from hurting herself.
“Baby.” I cup her cheek gently. “You taught me what love is, how can you hurt your own children?” I kiss her eyelids, then her nose and give her a small smile.
“Aren’t we the living proof of that?” She whispers brokenly.
I rest my forehead against hers, keeping my voice low and steady. “No, malyshka.” I murmur. “We’re the living proof of what happens when people refuse to love their children properly.”
Her breath trembles softly against my lips.
“But us?” I slide my hand over hers, intertwining our fingers carefully. “We would break the chain.”
She blinks up at me silently.
“I would spend every single day making sure our children never question if they’re loved.” I tell her. “They would never fear us. Never beg for affection. Never feel unwanted for even a second.”
My thumb brushes across her knuckles.
“And if one day we realise we’re too damaged for that…” I kiss her forehead gently. “Then we choose not to have them. But not because we think we’re monsters.”
I hold her gaze firmly.
“Because monsters never worry about becoming monsters in the first place.”
She nods. “Do you promise?” her voice stutters. “Because this world was horrible to us.”
“It won’t be horrible to our children.” I murmur, brushing my lips softly against hers. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Just like I made sure no one would ever hurt her again.
The night I came home to her; my hands were stained crimson, my clothes drenched in the blood of the man who violated my woman, who took advantage of Elara.
Arthur Doyle hadn’t been nearly as eager to die as he’d been to prey on a vulnerable girl.
Elara never managed to say his name out loud. Every time she tried, the words died in her throat, swallowed by fear and shame that never should’ve belonged to her in the first place.
