Roman

I didn't answer. Not at first. Not for a long time. Not until I parked the car in a dark, fenced-off alleyway, tossed a mildewed blue tarpaulin over it and indicated for Ellie to follow me back into the safe house. My home. The only place that linked me to this city, a house without possessions, a house without memories, the closest thing to a home that I'd ever had, and simultaneously the furthest away.

She didn't resist. Her eyes followed me, wary as a beaten dog. I couldn't blame her. I wouldn't trust me, either. Besides, it wasn't like she had a whole lot of choice. This deep in the industrial district, nobody would hear her scream. Not that I had any plans of doing anything to hurt her. I've seen enough pain and caused enough suffering to last a lifetime, and to know that if I keep doing it, my soul will burn, if my mind doesn't fracture first. I pulled up a section of chain-link fencing, just high enough to duck underneath, and waved my hand. Ellie passed through, and I couldn't keep my eyes off her perky ass –. Not now, I thought, shaking my head in disgust at myself. Not while I needed to convince her that I wasn't the worst person who'd ever walked the earth, not while her life hinged on whether or not she accepted my help. Not while our child's future was on the line…

I gulped, the enormity of my task becoming ever more apparent, and ever more unmanageable. I had no idea how I was going to break the news to her, or how she would take it. I couldn't imagine it going well. After all, I'd misled her, lied to her, lived a lie even as I saved her life. Baby steps… I almost snorted with laughter at my brain's entirely accidental pun. I covered my humor up as best I could, forcing a steely calm over my facial muscles.

I gestured at the couch, but Ellie declined my offer as politely as anyone could, with a single, negative shake of the head. I shrugged. Fair enough. The fact that she was listening to me in the first place was more than I had expected, and more than I deserved, especially after tackling her against a concrete pillar. I suspected that if she found it in her heart to forgive me, I'd be living that one down for a long time. But thoughts like that were skipping way ahead of myself. I slumped back onto the forgiving piece of furniture and kneaded my eyelids, trying to figure out how to put into words what I knew I needed to say. I had to give the most convincing speech of my life, but the truth was, I knew I was no wordsmith. Words, with all their double, forked meanings and unanticipated ways of biting you in the ass – they aren't my thing. I'm a man of action, not persuasion.

Shut up and say something!

"I have a brother," I said. "Had a brother, I should say. It's still hard, even now. I wake up sometimes and the first thing I think of is telling him what happened in my dream." Ellie didn't say a word, stayed perfectly still, staring at me. I thought I saw her eyes soften, if only a fraction, but perhaps I imagined it. Perhaps I was just seeing what I wanted to see. A man in my line of work is like a rock, buffeted every day by guilt and conscience and fear of judgment in the after. But for a long time, it was easy to shut all of that out. Easy to ignore it, to hide from it, to drink and smoke and fuck the guilt away. Maybe there comes a time when that doesn't work anymore. Maybe I had reached my line in the sand. Or maybe I'd needed someone to draw that line for me.

Maybe that person was Ellie.

I carried on, fighting back hot, angry tears that were threatening to prickle the corners of my eyes. "We were the same age. Same height. Same eye color. Same everything. We did everything together. My mother died, and my father," I spat the word out, "died to me. He was an animal. No, not even an animal, because animals aren't cruel, they just hunt to survive." A bit like myself.

"What happened?" Ellie asked, her voice barely audible.

I'd never told anyone any of this before. Not the disinterested state social workers back in Russia, who only cared enough to pick up their paycheck. Not since the death of my brother, and never to a lover. But that's not what Ellie was to me. Not now, anyway. She was more, and less all at once. The words began to spill out, heedless of the dam that had held them back for so many years.

"He was an angry man before mama died. But he kept a lid on things, drank himself to sleep in an armchair every night. He didn't work. Of course he didn't work. But she kept him quiet. Of course, everything changed when she passed." I paused, a succession of painful memories flashing across the backs of my eyelids. Mama kissing us to sleep at night. Taking us to school. Letting us help pack lunches. And darker ones, too. Taking a punch to the gut one night for standing up to her husband. Cowering in fear as he drained another handle of vodka. The bumps and thumps on the other side of our locked bedroom door…

"He fell in with a dangerous crowd. The kind of crowd that doesn't need you to turn up at eight every morning to do a day's hard work. The kind of crowd that doesn't care when you turn up to work nursing a two bottle hangover. The kind of crowd that doesn't care that you beat your wife… Organized crime."

"Didn't you do the same?" Ellie's question hung in the air between us, pregnant with meaning.

I couldn't deny it. I nodded. Once, slowly. "You're right. Back then, I didn't know what else I could do. The one thing dad taught me," I laughed, the harsh sound seeming to make Ellie's features wince. "Was how to fight. How to hurt. How to kill… Oh, I learned that lesson very well. But I always swore I'd never have kids. Swore that I couldn't bring them into this world. Swore that I wouldn't ever put myself into a situation where my problems could hurt anyone who didn't deserve it."

I stared at Ellie's face, desperately searching for the slightest hint of understanding. I was struggling to find the words for what I needed to tell her. I wanted her to figure out what I was saying without actually having to articulate it. "He beat us. Made us fight each other for scraps of food, Tim and me. We worked together, most of the time. But sometimes, when we hadn't eaten for days, it's hard to do that, to trust. When there's a scrap of food, and you know it's all you'll eat that day…" I squeezed my eyes shut, reliving every moment. "Hunger makes you do terrible things." The implication hung between us. I let myself wallow in the darkness, believing with every fiber of my being that Ellie must. I didn't deserve her, didn't deserve life, for that matter.

I didn't dare open my eyes. In fact, I kept them squeezed as tightly shut as I could manage. I ran my hand through my hair, brushing my forehead first, and I noticed with surprise that every crease and line on my face had disappeared, the intensity of holding back a wave of emotion that I hadn't allowed myself to confront for years smoothing it until it was as calm as the glassy surface of a lake.

Ellie asked the question that must have been dancing on her lips, the question that I'd been willing her to ask. She said it softly, reserving all judgment, her voice as sweet as a summer's breeze. But it was a question that needed asking, because the truth was, nothing I'd said made the slightest bit of difference to her life, or changed any of what I had done. Not yet.

Except the truth was, my past had everything to do with her future. Her child's future. Our child's future.

"Why," her voice broke, and I heard the sound of footsteps gently padding across the carpet. "Are you telling me this?"

Ellie took my hand in hers, and I opened my eyes, feeling a hundred pounds of tension streaming out of my body. She knew. I could tell she knew what I was saying, even if it was deep down, in some secret, hidden compartment of her brain.

She knew.