Page 54 of His to Own

“I…” I stare down at my journal. Open it, I tell myself. Fight. You need to do this. I flip through my book of poems and land on one I wrote a few months ago. It’s about the desire for freedom and peace from my family. It’s a simple poem but one I’m very proud of. Not everything has to be complicated, I remind myself.

“This one,” I whisper, pointing at it.

The man nods and finishes fixing the microphone before stepping away. It’s then that I have no choice but to look out at the audience. The darkness in the room helps hide some of the people from me but I know they’re all there. A person coughs. Someone shifts around in their seat. All their eyes are on me. And Maxim at the back, just watching. Trying to help me but I’m not sure I want his help. I’m not sure of anything.

“Um… hi,” I say into the mic. “I’m Elena. Um… this is my… poem…” I swallow hard. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Fight. I have to fight. Otherwise, I’ll never be able to achieve any of my dreams.

“Go on,” the young man encourages me.

“My poem is called…” I wince when the feedback from the mic echoes through the room. It’s so loud. My voice has never sounded this loud. “My poem is called…”

Get it out, I tell myself. Do this. Fight.

But all I can see is the darkness encroaching on my vision. I’m going to pass out again. I can’t handle this. I just can’t.

With a gasp, I run off the stage and out of the dark room. I can sense the awkwardness of the audience members but I leave the room before I can linger on it too long. Once I’m outside, I suck in a huge breath to calm myself.

I can sense Maxim behind me even though I don’t look.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can. Get back in there and read your poem.”

“I can’t do it,” I sob, bending over and bracing myself on my knees. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it. I’m not like Lana. I don’t love the spotlight. I don’t want it.”

He steps in front of me. The only thing I can see is his black, leather shoes. “It’s ok to not want to be in the spotlight if that’s what you truly want. But you were scared. And I don’t want you to be so scared. So get back in there and read your poem.”

I push myself upright. “Stop telling me what to do,” I snap. “You tried to tell me who I could be friends with and now you’re trying to tell me to read my poetry – my personal, private poetry – out loud for other people when I didn’t ask you to do this. You’re overstepping your boundaries.”

“Interesting that you can speak to me like this but not other people. You’re capable of speaking out, Elena. So speak out. Speak up. Read your poetry for that room full of people.”

“You can’t just demand I do things and expect me to listen.”

“But you want to listen. I can tell. You need me to take your pain away. If you just did what I told you to do, you’d be happier right now.”

I huff. “How do you know?”

“Because you would have felt proud of yourself for reading one of your poems out loud for the first time… ever. That’s a feeling you’ll never get tired of. Pushing through the fear to get what you want and then coming out successful on the other side. There’s nothing else like it in the world. I know I’m being tough with you, Elena. But it’s because you only respond to tough love.”

“You sound like my father.”

His face hardens. No longer the easy going fun Maxim. Instead, this is the Bratva boss Maxim. The kind of man you’re not supposed to mess with. “If I have to be like your father to help you, then I will. He broke you down but I will raise you up. Now get back in there and do as I say.”

“I can’t!” I sob. “I can’t read my poetry out loud. It’s too personal. What if those people laugh at me? What if they hate what I wrote?”

“Then that’s life. When you make art, not everyone will like it. But you still do it. You still go for it. How else do you find happiness in life? You are miserable, Elena. It’s written all over you.”

“How do you know what’s best for me? You haven’t know me all my life.”

“Sometimes it takes a new perspective to notice these things. You need a firm hand. I am not letting you leave until you go back in there and read one of your poems.”

My chest squeezes. The vise around my throat is tightening and tightening. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.”

He walks behind me. There’s no one else on the street, making everything feel eerie. In one fast motion, Maxim bends me over and spanks me hard across my backside. I yelp and stumble away from him.

“What are you doing?” I ask. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”