by Monica James
I drive impassively for minutes until I come to a stop at a red light. Peering over at the bag, I feel my stomach fill with dread. To get what I want, I need to sacrifice the life of yet another innocent human being. But that’s the life I live.
Sighing, I dial the cell I gave to Renata. It once belonged to a man I killed. She picks up on the third ring. “Hello, малышка,” I say, using the nickname which has stuck.
“Hi,” she replies. Before I ask, she opens the oven door. It whines loudly, and I smile. This is to show me she has obeyed me and has stayed at home.
I didn’t tie her up, so it was a gamble. I’m glad she listened.
“I have to drop in and see someone. Can I get you anything while I’m out?”
Silence.
I acknowledge playing civil is a strange concept, but I think she is coming to see I’m not the enemy here.
“Can you get some orange juice? You have a lot of vodka, but nothing to mix it with.”
Scoffing, I playfully shake my head at her audacity. “That’s because you don’t mix vodka with anything. But very well. Anything else?”
“No. Thank you,” she adds before hanging up.
That was progress. For starters, she hasn’t run, so that’s definitely a plus. However, remembering the way Renata looked on her knees when she was submitting to me has me wondering what’s ahead for us. I can’t imagine it’s anything good.
I drive to the orphanage as I want to give Mother Superior twenty thousand dollars. It’ll help her immensely as I know times are tough. Once I get more money, I’ll ensure she gets at least half.
The prospect of seeing Sister Arabella again stirs a passion deep in my loins. I know I promised to stay away from her, but I can’t help the excitement I feel. After our last encounter, she most likely will not want to be in the same room as me, but just seeing her from afar is more than enough.
I realize I have two very different women in my life. Both interest me for varied reasons. Over the past eighteen months, no one has caught my eye, but that’s because I wasn’t looking. I’m still not, but I can’t deny that Renata and Sister Arabella have awoken something inside me.
Like night and day, both have one thing in common.
They’re both trouble.
The kids are playing happily behind the gates, and when they see my SUV, they run toward the steel fence, looping their small fingers through the links. They’re happy here, but most are looking for their forever home.
They want a family to call their own.
I park my car and grab the plastic bag. When I exit, I wave to the children as they scream out their hellos. Sister Yali lightly shoos them away from the fence. I walk up the front stairs, smiling at Sister Robin as I sign in at reception.
“Is Mother Superior in?”
“Yes. Should I page her?”
“It’s okay. If I don’t say hello to Irina first, she’ll ensure I read her favorite story three times instead of the standard two times.” Sister Robin grins and buzzes me through the security door.
With my bag in hand, I walk down the hallway. A sense of peace always falls over me when I walk these halls. It’s changed quite a lot since the refurb, but I still remember like it was yesterday when Willow, Saint, and Zoey were here.
It’s a strange memory to have—it’s bittersweet, I suppose you can say. Although we were fighting for our lives, it was a time when I felt I wasn’t alone. Zoey emerged a phoenix, and the sight was truly beautiful. I squashed that fire in her all because I was a selfish asshole who got off on power and control.
Sara and Ingrid also suffered. I wonder what life Sara and Max would have lived if her life hadn’t been cut tragically short. Max has long gone, the memory of seeing me too brutal to deal with. I reminded him of his lover’s death. I wish I could go too.
But I can’t. Living with this on my conscience is punishment for what I’ve done.
“Aleksei,” Mother Superior says, almost bumping into me as she exits the library. “What a lovely surprise.”
She looks beyond exhausted, which is why I decide to give her thirty thousand instead of twenty. “May I speak with you in your office?”
She peers down at the plastic bag in my hand, then walks down the hallway. I follow, certain she knows the contents of the bag. Once inside her office, I close the door behind me before taking a seat.
She sits behind her desk, steepling her fingers, waiting for me to speak. In this circumstance, actions speak a lot louder than words.
Digging into the bag, I retrieve three piles of money and place them neatly on her desk. “There is thirty thousand dollars here,” I start before she can object. “This isn’t negotiable. Take it.”
“Aleksei,” she says, shaking her head. She never asks where the money comes from because she knows I would never lie to her. She’d rather not know because, in this case, doesn’t the greater good win out?
“Please, Mother Superior. You need this, now more than ever. The orphanage is struggling. I know you’d rather I—”
But she doesn’t allow me to finish. “I wouldn’t rather anything, my child. Your generosity is just too much. I know you seek penance for all that you’ve done, but He sees everything. We’re not perfect. Even the Lord himself made mistakes.”
All that I’ve done and all that I plan to do are hardly comparable to the Lord’s minor misdemeanors.
“You’re a good man, Aleksei.”
“That all depends on who you speak to.” I push the stacks of money toward her, not wanting praise. “I will have more soon. And then no more begging to the rich ass—”
Mother Superior purses her lips, interrupting my curse.
“You know what I mean,” I settle on saying. “I don’t want you to struggle. The kids deserve this. You deserve this.”
Mother Superior has always grappled with accepting money. She isn’t stupid. She knows it’s dirty. But most money is. Whether one threw someone under the bus to get the promotion or lied to get extra shifts, we do what’s necessary to survive.
And if Mother Superior doesn’t accept this money, it’ll make surviving here at full capacity very difficult.
She eventually concedes, leaning forward and drawing the money toward her. She opens the desk drawer and places it inside. “Thank you. This orphanage would be nothing without you.”
I appreciate her kindness, but it does nothing to erase the horrible things I’ve done.
“I better go see Irina.” When Mother Superior toys with the large cross around her neck, I arch a brow. “What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t want to say anything, but Sister Arabella found cuts on her legs.”
“On whose legs?” I don’t understand what she’s saying, so she clarifies.
“Irina. We believe she is self-harming. Sister Arabella found a paring knife she stole from the kitchen under her pillow.”
“She’s seven years old.” I voice my horror, my disbelief aloud.
“I know, Aleksei. I didn’t want to worry you.”
Running a hand through my hair, I exhale, sickened. It’s too late. I am worried. “What can I do?”
“Just being here for her does more than you know. She needs stability. A family who won’t return her because she is hard work.”
In no way is Mother Superior trying to drop a hint, but we both know that if my life was completely different, I would adopt Irina without a second thought. But truth be told, I would never do that to her. What do I know about raising a child?
I would screw her up more than she already is.
“I sometimes wish life was different for us all, Mother Superior.”
She nods in understanding.
Needing to see Irina, I stand and bid farewell to Mother Superior.
What I just heard makes me feel sickened beyond words. I can’t shift this heavy weight in the pit of my stomach. I want to find Irina’s family and murder them with my bare hands. Needing a moment to calm down before I seek Irina out, I shove op
en the door leading to the gardens. Thankfully, I’m alone.
Tossing the bag across the lawn, I begin to pace, interlacing my fingers behind my neck, unsure what to do with this emotion inside me. Before Willow, I was so detached from my feelings. It was easier this way. I want to go back there because I don’t know how to deal with, with…this.
Midpace, someone gently grips my elbow, but I don’t see their touch as gentle. It’s an attack, and I spring into action, ready to take down whoever is before me. I’m blinded by the rage currently animating me. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m basking in a dark fruity floral scent.
“Al-Aleksei?” Her soft voice washes away the anger, and I realize what I’ve done.
I have Sister Arabella pinned to the brick wall with my forearm pressed over her throat. I don’t even remember doing this.
“What’s wrong?” she gasps as I feel her swallow beneath my grip. Instantly, I release the hold on her throat, but I don’t let her go. I enjoy the feel of her pressed against me as I cage her in by placing my hands on either side of her head.
“What’s right, Sister? That’s the better question here,” I counter, looking deeply into her expressive eyes. “I am so…fucking angry. The urge to hurt someone is almost unbearable. Before I knew I had a conscience, life was so much easier. I did what I wanted, when I wanted.”
She allows me this purge. Yet another confession, it seems.
“I did who I wanted. But now, I’m a prisoner to this thing called life. My manacles are invisible because I’m a prisoner to caring when quite frankly, I wish I didn’t.”
“What has made you so upset?”
Bless her for caring because after our last encounter, she shouldn’t be trying to console me. But that’s the type of woman she is.
“How can a seven-year-old even think about self-harming? This should be the best time of her life. But instead, she’s been returned countless times like some dog at a shelter,” I share, not needing to clarify who I speak of.
Her face expresses her sadness. “I understand. It’s not fair, it really isn’t. But He—”
“Oh, fuck Him!” I snarl, not wanting to hear about God’s plan. What exactly is His plan for Irina if He believes this is the right path a seven-year-old should be on?
Sister Arabella flinches as I’ve just insulted her Almighty, but He can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. “Alek, please calm down. Irina is safe here. She has friends. She has you.”
“Me?” I question, shaking my head with an angry, lopsided smirk. “And what good am I to her, Sister? I read her a story every so often, ask her how she’s been, but then I go back to my life, leaving her here, wondering when I will be back.”
My anger won’t subside. My body vibrates with it. Sister Arabella can feel the rage pulsating through me. She should push me away, but she doesn’t.
“What can I do?” she asks, reaching up slowly and wrapping her cold fingers around my wrist. “Let me help you.”
“Be careful what you ask. You may not like the answer,” I warn, the touch of her dancing with my demons. “Why do you care? Why can’t you seem to leave me alone?”
She licks her lips but doesn’t back down. Surely, she knows I want her the way I shouldn’t.
“Tell me what you want,” she softly says, her breaths quickening.
Once again, Sister Arabella has shocked me.
After our encounter in the chapel, it seems she wants more. “I want these…feelings to go away. Usually, I would find solace in a woman or two and lose myself to the Utopia of being connected in the most primeval way there is. But I don’t want that now.”
“Why not?” she dares to ask, and like the desperate man I am, I submit.
Lowering my lips to her ear, I savor her sweet scent as I confess, “Because I want you, Sister. All ways. Any way I can get you.”
The gasp that escapes her feeds me. I want her on all fours while I lift her habit and spank that magnificent ass. I want her bound while I fuck her brutally, and the only thing she wears is the crucifix around her neck, swaying between her beautiful breasts.
“What do you think about that? Still want to help?”
Slowly pulling away, I ensure our lips are mere inches apart. I could close the distance and give in to temptation, but I don’t. The chase, the game of cat and mouse is what I want for now. But what she says next throws me on my ass.
“I give you a blowjob or allow you to…fuck me, and what then?” Those filthy words spilling from her ruby lips leaves me speechless. “You may feel better for a small fraction of time, but the pain will always return. These are quick fixes, Alek. You need to find the root of the problem and deal with it.
“I think it’s time you stopped running. Don’t you think? Face your problems or, rather, problem.” How can she read me so well? But more importantly, why does she care?
She speaks of Willow, and she’s right. I can’t get over her. I don’t know how. She was the first person in my entire life who actually cared about me, really cared. She came back for me when no one, no one else ever did, and I wanted her. I still want her, but she doesn’t want me.
I’m truly happy for her and Saint, but that doesn’t lessen my pain. She is everywhere I look. And I don’t know how to make it stop.
“You know nothing of my problems, Sister,” I bark, my walls standing firmly in place.
“Then tell me,” she counters, squeezing my wrist. “Because all I see is a desperate, lonely man begging for help.”
In other words, she sees me as weak and pathetic, things I promised myself I would never be again.
“We’re done,” I state, still invading her personal space. I knew Sister Arabella would be dangerous, but I just never anticipated how much.
“Alek, it’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re a good person. I know that you are. I just want to be your friend.”
Snarling, I push away, hating that she can read me so clearly. “Enough! You can’t give me what I need, so I will find it elsewhere. And trust me when I say you don’t want to be my friend. They all die.”
“Why are you so cruel?” she asks, looking at me like I’m a puzzle she desperately wants to decipher.
“Because that’s all I know to be.” She watches me as I retrieve the bag and make my way toward the door. I don’t look back. I won’t make the same mistake again.
As I’m charging through the hallway, blinded by my rage, I bump into Sister Margaret. “Oh, excuse me, Sister,” I say, gripping her biceps to stop her from falling.
“That’s okay, Alek. The Lord does work in mysterious ways.”
I smile, tamping down my need to express what I think of her Lord, and His ways as I let her go.
“I wanted to speak to you about Mother Superior’s birthday. We know she doesn’t want anything, but it’s her seventieth birthday. A milestone. Don’t tell her I told you her age,” she adds nervously.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply lightly.
She sighs, thankful. “We were thinking of organizing something here. A dinner maybe? What do you think? You’re her closest confidant.”
“I think she will hate every second of it, which is why I think it’s a marvelous idea. You only turn”—she pales while I chuckle—“twenty-one once.”
Sister Margaret’s lips lift into a grin. “That’s what we thought. The sisters and I are putting some money together to—”
But I shake my head. “You will do nothing of the sort. Here.” Offering her the bag, I place my hand over hers to stop her from looking inside. “This should cover everything. Please put what’s left into the orphanage fund.”
“Oh, Aleksei, you are most generous. Thank you so much.”
“Good day, Sister,” I say, not wanting praise. She wouldn’t be so grateful if she knew what I was doing minutes ago.
I’m too worked up to see Irina, so I’ll come back tomorrow. Now, I have to get away from the one place which provided comfort.
But nothing lasts forever
.
I forgot the damn orange juice, but Renata didn’t seem to mind. I was surprised to see her sitting on the sofa, watching TV. I half thought she’d have run by now. Without a word, I opened the freezer, grabbed the bottle of vodka, and then picked up two glasses.
That was three hours ago.
The vodka has helped loosen Renata up. She is sitting cross-legged on the sofa watching some American TV show, which is utterly ridiculous. She sips her drink, talking aloud to the characters as if they can hear her. Her slurred words hint that she’s drunk.
If only I was that lucky. No matter how much I drink, it only seems to sober me up.
My phone sounds. It’s a text from Pavel informing me that he’ll drop off the money he owes me tomorrow. I don’t know how much Santo gave him, but seeing as I gave fifty grand to the orphanage today, I’ll settle for anything.
I answer, letting him know I want to run something by him tomorrow. He replies with a thumbs-up. Seems so harmless in light of what I want to discuss.
I have a lot of money coming to me soon, which will help with my grand plan of climbing my way back to the top. At least one thing is working in my favor.
I’m so restless. I desperately need to burn off this stagnant weight pressing down on my chest. I could go for a run. I thought the vodka would help, but it hasn’t. I really miss my piano at times such as these. It was the one thing that calmed the roaring demons within.
I don’t understand why Sister Arabella won’t back down. Her tenacity reminds me of Willow. When she looked at me, it was evident she was desperately trying to work me out. I notice the same look in the Sister’s eyes.
She cares, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
Without a word, I stand, aware of Renata watching me. “Where’re you going?”
“Outside for a smoke,” I reply, snatching the gold cigar case from the coffee table. I can’t remember who I stole this from.
“Can I come?”
I don’t sense any malice in her request, so I nod.
She stands unsteadily, giggling when she realizes she’s drunk. Her carefree nature must be a nice thing to have. She follows me outside, her bare feet sounding lightly on the floor. When we step out onto the small balcony, I open the case, offering her a thin Cuban.