Page 48 of His to Own

“Like what?”

“She doesn’t like to speak in public. Be kinder to her.”

“I am not torturing your sister,” he replies cooly. “It’s good for her to learn to speak in public. Right now, Elena’s shyness is hurting her. But I can help her.”

“By embarrassing her in front of others? That’s not helping her.”

“Enabling her is not helping either.”

Watching my sister and husband fight is too much. I wobble on my feet. I can’t stand any of this. I can’t breathe. Too much. Too much. Too…

Next thing I know, I’m on the ground.

“Elena,” Lana gasps.

Darkness over takes me.

When I wake back up, I’m in a bed with Maxim hovering over me. It’s not the bedroom I chose for myself. It’s a bedroom I haven’t been in before. Maxim’s. I know it’s his bedroom.

“Good. You’re awake. I was worried. A dead wife is an inconvenient one.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Why did you pass out? Do I need to get you to the hospital? I remember you also passed out at your birthday party.”

“I’m not sick.”

“I should get you to the hospital to make sure. I sent all the other guests home. It was getting too crowded in here anyway.”

I relax slightly into the mattress. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Passing out isn’t normal, Elena.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. I told you that everything you’re holding inside of yourself is going to come to the surface.”

“I’m sorry I’m not normal,” I grumble.

His eyes narrow. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Give yourself a pity party. Don’t do it. I won’t allow it.”

“Because you control every part of me now, is that it?”

He sits down beside me and grips my chin. “What is wrong? Tell me.”

“Nothing is wrong.” I try to rip my chin from his grasp but he doesn’t let me go. “Nothing. I just want to go to school. I just want to be writer. That’s it.”

“Your poetry. What are you keeping in that head of yours? Shall I find out?” He lets me go and storms out of the room.

“Maxim?” I follow behind, even though my body feels weak. I find him in my bedroom… with my journal in his hands. “I told you not to read that!” I reach for it but he’s too tall for me and holds it up high.

“What are you hiding from me?” He reads through page after page of my poetry. The personal, most inner working thoughts I’ve ever had. He flips to the last page and I know he’s reading the one I wrote about him.

“Why are you being so cruel to me?” I whisper. “I told you that’s personal.”