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Once everyone is in, Pavel kicks the van into drive, and we’re off. I can feel Alek watching me as I sit vigil by Saint. He’s so cold. I pull the scratchy gray blanket farther up his body so it sits under his chin. When I do, I notice my necklace is gone.
I suppose God couldn’t save either of us.
With that thought in mind, I tune everything else out and focus on Saint. I can’t stop touching him, and even though Zoey hates me beyond words, she allows me this time with him. I caress his eyebrows, his nose, and down across his lips. Each stroke makes this real.
When we get to the gate, Pavel works his magic, speaking to the guards in Russian. Sara leans over him, her bust on full display as she waves seductively. I now understand why the men weren’t on patrol. They were too busy ogling Zoey and Sara. A perfect distraction.
Everyone has done so much to save Saint and me while I…my lower lip trembles.
When the gate opens and Sara blows the guard a kiss, I know we’re home free. Pavel waves goodbye. I can taste freedom.
No one says anything as we pull out of the driveway with ease, and that silence continues well into the drive. It seems we were all uncertain if we would make it out alive. But now that we have, the question lingers—what happens now?
Saint moans softly, his head moving from side to side. His eyes flicker. I can only hope his dreams give him a reprieve, if only for a while.
I gently run my fingertips down his cheek, his coarse beard thick and long. He looks so different from when we first met. He was confident and strong, but now, he is broken. Although he was my captor, I was never truly scared. But right now, that’s all I am.
I’m scared for what the future holds.
When the listless rhythm of his heart beats under my fingers, a strangled sob tumbles free. Lowering myself toward him, I press my ear over his chest, listening to the cadence. Each slow, hollow beat has me slipping into an abyss, one which doesn’t end.
Wrapping my body around his, I close my eyes, giving him my warmth. It’s the least I can do, but there is something more, something I will do for the rest of my life. With his heartbeat as my metronome, I surrender.
“I’m sorry.” But sorry just isn’t good enough.
HE LOOKS SOsmall.
So helpless.
Once we broke free from hell, Pavel drove us to the orphanage—our sanctuary. The moment Mother Superior saw Saint, she rushed him into the infirmary and shooed us out the door. I waited for her to emerge, but as minutes turned into hours, I succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep, my back pressed to the infirmary wall.
When she finally appeared, she told me what I feared—his injuries would heal, but the damage to his mind, well, only time would tell. I asked if I could see him, but she said that I was to give him some time.
So I waited and waited, but when one day became two, I couldn’t stand it a second longer. I opened the door, and it’s here I’ve stood for countless moments, unbelieving what I see.
He looks so small.
So helpless.
I’ve always known Saint to be unbreakable. Throughout this entire ordeal, he’s been my rock, my savior. But seeing him tucked tight into this single bed with a blanket drawn to his chin, he looks foreign, almost like he wears Saint’s face, but it’s not him.
One of the sisters sits by his side, reading from the Bible. When she sees me by the door, she smiles. “He will be okay,” she reassures me. “He’s just sleeping.”
“I know Mother Superior told me to stay away, but can I sit with him? Just for a few minutes?” My voice barely sounds like my own. It seems we’re all strangers in our skin.
The sister closes her Bible and places it onto the small side table. “Of course. He’s been drifting in and out of sleep, so don’t be alarmed if he doesn’t respond to you. We’ve given him a mild sedative to help him sleep. He needs to heal.”
Nodding quickly, I can’t tear my eyes away from the bed.
Saint’s chest rises and falls, the shallow rhythm almost hypnotic. Unlike the drug-induced state he was once in, this time, these drugs are to help him.
The sister walks past me, gently placing her hand to my shoulder. “He’ll be all right. He just needs time.”
And there is that word again. Time.
They are just being polite, though, because what they’re really trying to say is that he needs time away from me. She leaves me alone, not taking my silence personally.
It’s just Saint and me, what I’ve wanted for so long, but now that my wish has been granted, I don’t know what to do. I want to say so many things, but where do I start?
