85 Ann's Story

Ann Shumilskaya:

Everything felt like it wasn’t really happening to me, like I was trapped in some kind of fog. I stared at the small stage and couldn’t believe my eyes, and even more so, my ears.

There he was in all his glory, completely satisfied with himself and his life. Denis. The nightmare and biggest regret of my entire life.

The way that bastard practically glowed while proudly talking about HIS CHILDREN pushed me right to the edge. I was falling back into the past again, drowning in the pain I went through because of that asshole.

“We met when I had barely moved up into senior classes. I was sixteen. Just some inexperienced girl who went to ballet classes and dreamed about the big stage. Like a lot of girls my age…”

I fall silent, while Nazar watches me carefully, and I can already see he doesn’t like where this story is going.

Well, he wanted the truth. Let him shovel it in with both hands now.

“He was older, more experienced, all cocky and unattainable, and his bangs fell over his eyes so damn perfectly,” I huff at my own stupid girlish naïveté and how easy it is to make a teenage girl fall for a pretty face. “And he noticed me. Of course he did. My body had developed faster than my classmates’, and by tenth grade I already had full breasts, a pretty face, and insane flexibility on top of it.”

I climb onto the bed and lean against the headboard, wrapping my arms around my bent knees. Nazar does the same, sitting on my left.

“There were nine years between us. He was so handsome, in that leather jacket, all dark and dangerous… kind of like you that day on the playground when I was trying to get rid of you,” I sigh, closing my eyes. “Only I wasn’t trying to get rid of him. I was fucking thrilled and hopelessly in love with such a grown man. The girls envied me…”

“What happened?” Nazar asks softly when my pause drags on too long.

“‘My little jailbait.’ That’s what he always called me. Getting me into bed took him zero effort. We dated, slept together, but kept the relationship hidden. Obviously. He was twenty-five, and I was only sixteen. And things were relatively fine. I was in love, he kept courting me… until I got pregnant at seventeen,” I can’t hold the pain back anymore, and tears burst through again like a broken dam.

“What did he do?” Nazar growls, clenching his fists. I can feel how tense and furious he is.

“I didn’t tell him right away that I was pregnant. I didn’t regret anything. I was happy, excited about becoming a mother with the man I loved. I even quit ballet because that kind of physical strain wasn’t safe for the baby. After a while he noticed. I thought he’d be happy too…” I sob and cover my face with my hands. “He… he talked me into getting an abortion… said he’d take care of everything… He had some doctor friend… Later I found out that doctor was a complete fucking butcher using me to practice on… I almost died in that chair because I was already pretty far along. Now I can’t have children. I can’t, do you understand?!”

I break down into ugly sobbing, and Nazar pulls me tightly against his broad chest. But the pain still isn’t all out. There’s too much of it inside me.

“I never told anyone who got me pregnant, though a lot of people guessed. After everything, one day he came into my hospital room and said… there was no point continuing our relationship anymore because we had no future. What use was I if I couldn’t give him children later in life? His words, ‘there’s no road for us together anymore,’ still echo in my ears like thunder! He never even apologized, never repented, never took even part of the blame on himself! And today he stands there all polished and satisfied, bragging about his children after taking away my chance to become a parent too!”

“Anya, my girl…” Nazar whispers, stroking my back and shoulders. I bury my face in his neck and just cry. “I’m here. I’m with you…”

“It’s my fault! I’m a murderer! I can’t forgive myself for it! I should’ve been stronger, more determined, I should’ve protected my child no matter what! But I didn’t! I let him convince me to go through with that procedure!” I scream out the thing that’s been eating me alive for years. My regret. My guilt. I’ve never regretted anything in my life the way I regret that decision. It’s my fault, and this mountain of grief is something I’ll carry until the day I die.

“No, Anya!” Yartsev growls, turning my face toward him. “None of this is your fault! You were just a child! A lovestruck teenager manipulated by a grown-ass man with a fucked-up obsession for younger girls! That condom could’ve at least used protection properly! You were easy to manipulate and force his will onto!” the brunette tries to get through to me, and I can see my story hurts him too. He’s furious, but not at me. “Tell me… did you want to become a mother?”

That question punches the air out of my lungs, and another wave of sobs tears out of me.

“More than anything in the world… but it’s impossible…”