It’s that unhealthy obsession again, the lack of control I’ve been fighting all my life.
And I did plan to continue fighting it, to reject it and keep this fucked-up fixation under wraps.
But that was before.
Before I stepped into the restaurant and saw her heading to the bathroom, only for her to take a long time to come out.
And that’s when I followed her and witnessed a fucking arsehole grabbing her by the throat and suffocating her. I lied about filming the whole thing, because the moment I saw someone hurting her, my first thought was to release her and punch the two fuckers who are currently glaring at me.
One of them is taller and broader and wears a tailored suit and black-framed glasses. He’s the silent one who didn’t talk or take action during the whole ordeal.
The other one is much smaller, leaner, but still strong, because he effortlessly lifted Anastasia by the collar of her shirt.
He’s also the bloody wanker who has me thinking about the best way to murder. No one touches Anastasia and gets away with it.
No one.
“Who are you?” the leaner one asks with a tinge of an accent. Russian? Eastern European?
“Her attorney.” I tighten my hold on Anastasia, who’s shaking even worse than a few seconds ago. “You just committed physical assault, and not only will I have you arrested for it…”
“This little…” He storms toward me, his face tight with the intention of violence. I swiftly push Anastasia behind me, ready for the impact of his clenched fist.
One more assault to drag this bastard down with.
But before he can reach me, the other man grabs him by the arm and the leaner one immediately comes to a halt. He’s breathing heavily, his fists still clenched, and his glare alone is about to cut me open.
The groomed man with glasses shakes his head at the other one. No words are spoken as he stares at me, then at the hint of Anastasia behind me. I don’t know why I feel the need to hide her from their watchful gaze.
It’s an instinctive feeling that I have no control over, but it turns my whole body rigid. If they want a fight, that’s exactly what they’ll will get.
But the man adjusts his glasses, turns, and leaves.
“Consider yourself lucky.” The leaner man tells me before he follows the other one. His jacket flies behind him and I catch a glimpse of something metallic tucked in his pants.
A gun.
I narrow my eyes on their backs as they disappear down the hall. There’s something about them. What, I don’t know.
Anastasia must’ve felt it, too, when she was cornered by them, because even now that they’re gone, her fingers are digging into my jacket and she’s still behind me, trembling uncontrollably.
I turn around and the scene that greets me makes me pause.
Tears stream down her cheeks, fogging her glasses, and she appears so helpless, so scared and small that I want to find those two men and shoot them with their own guns.
“They’re gone,” I say in a cool voice, trying to make her feel at ease.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Only moisture cascades silently down her cheeks as she stands there like a statue.
“Anastasia…”
“Don’t…don’t…please…please don’t call me that, please, I’m begging you…I’ll do anything…just…just…”
“Hey, relax. It’s fine.”
She stares up at me then, her tears sliding to her chin and neck with the motion. “It’s not…it will not be. Nothing is fine. They’re watching me…that lady from the restaurant was watching me and now, they’re here and it’s never going to be fine.”
A few passers-by watch us questioningly and though I’m not sure if she’s focused on them, I can tell that she’s well and truly on the path of having a breakdown. Otherwise, she wouldn’t let people see her in this state.
So I grab her by the arm and drag her behind me. She doesn’t protest as I guide her out through the restaurant’s back exit and release her against the wall.
We’re in a small alleyway that’s hidden from sight. It’s not so bright and there aren’t people watching her every move.
But she’s still crying silently, her body stiff.
I reach out for her glasses and remove them. She tries to fight me, to keep them in place, because they’re her camouflage from the world. Something she can hide behind and hope no one will see her.
“Give them back,” she whispers.
“So you can return to your bubble?”