The Prophecy Series: Pinespoint

IVY

I was sprawled out on a mattress that was plopped right in the center of the bedroom. I knew I needed to buy a bed frame and a dresser for the room, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. The thought of spending the money my father had given me left a sour taste in my mouth. It was blood money, or more accurately, ‘sorry your husband I forced you to marry beat the hell out of you, so take this and keep quiet’ money.

I groaned at the thought, trying to steady my breathing. If things were really bad, it would be my father who would call, not my mother. But somehow, talking to my mother always made me feel worse.

Was it because I blamed her? If she hadn’t been there, I would be dead. Maybe that would have been better. I sighed, feeling my phone buzz beside me.

I picked it up, albeit reluctantly.

“Hello, mother,” I said, answering the call. I switched it to speakerphone, rolling onto my back and resting the phone on my stomach.

“Ivanna, please join us in the Virgin Islands for Christmas!” my mother’s voice echoed from the speaker.

Hell no.

I hadn’t seen either of them since I left California, but every Christmas my mother would call and invite me to spend the holiday with her. I always had to come up with some lame excuse as to why I couldn’t.

Last year they went to Russia. I knew the Pavlov family would be there—maybe not Maxim—but the answer was a resounding no, and my father agreed it was a bad idea.

The year before that they stayed in California, so she didn’t even bother inviting me. I wasn’t surprised.

“Mother, I can’t,” I said, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see me.

I racked my brain for a solid excuse. A simple ‘no’ never worked with my mother. No one ever said ‘no’ to my mother.

“Why not?” She sounded disappointed, and I rolled my eyes.

Why she couldn’t understand, I had no idea. She should have known the answer was no before she even dialed my number. Part of me thought she might be doing this out of pity. That seemed the most likely explanation.

“I just moved to Texas…I’m still settling in. Maybe next year?” I suggested, hoping she would buy it.

But I knew damn well I wouldn’t be spending next Christmas with them either. She didn’t need to know that, at least not yet.

“Okay, but you better call me on Thanksgiving and Christmas or I will come there myself!” She threatened.

“I will,” I promised, knowing she would make good on her threat even if my father objected.

“Leah, we are going to be late for the Pavlov’s anniversary party!” I heard my father yell in the background.

I tensed up immediately. How they could still be friends with that family after everything, I couldn’t fathom. I heard my mother whisper-shout something at my father before he grumbled in response. I felt tears welling up, but I forced the emotions back down.

No. Not anymore.

“Well, I have to go, dear. I love you,” she cooed softly.

“You too,” I replied just before she hung up.

A memory washed over me as I lay there motionless. The last anniversary party we attended before everything went to hell.

“Ivanna, stop stuffing your face,” Master Pavlov hissed in my ear.

I put the small plate down on the high-top table we were standing at and took a sip of my red wine.

“You’re so fucking fat it’s revolting,” he sneered, taking a sip of his amber-colored drink.

Bourbon. One of his favorites. I despised the smell of it. I knew once we got home, I was in for a rough night. Especially since that was his fourth glass that I had seen him drink.

“You need to lose weight, I won’t be seen with a fat wife. I don’t need the embarrassment,” he spat, shooting me a frosty glare.

“Sorry, master,” I murmured, keeping my gaze fixed on the red tablecloth. I knew better than to meet his eyes.

“Just wait until we get home,” he whispered ominously, gripping my upper arm tightly. I was grateful for the sweater dress that covered my arms. I knew his grip would leave a bruise almost instantly.

I looked up when I saw Father Pavlov approaching our table. Master Pavlov planted a soft kiss on my cheek, a signal that he had noticed his father’s approach. I forced a smile, knowing that if I didn’t play along, the punishment would be much worse.

The memory consumed me before I could stop it. My breaths were short and shaky, and I shook my head, trying to dispel the memory.

I got up from the bed and pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie, stuffing my phone and house key into my pants pocket. I slipped on a pair of Nikes and bolted out the front door.

I needed air. Despite the setting sun, I sprinted down the old gravel road. I knew it was a bad idea, but I didn’t care…not at that moment. My mind kept replaying the memory of the last Pavlov Anniversary party Maxim and I attended.

He murdered another woman in front of me that night and said her death was my fault. If I hadn’t been a fat wife, he wouldn’t have needed other women for pleasure. But I wasn’t fat…I had always been thin. I just wasn’t thin enough or pretty enough for him.

I pushed the thoughts away as I ran. Running had become a form of release for me in Hawaii. It wasn’t as effective as cutting, but it was a decent substitute for the moments in between.

My heart was pounding in my chest, and I knew I had pushed myself too far. Between the panic attacks, the blood loss, and now the running, I was teetering on the edge of death.

I just didn’t care anymore. I had nothing left to live for.