Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
It has been a day. I have not spoken to Talia. Not fixed anything the way that I should.
Because everything Nikolai said was correct. It should have been me there to comfort her. Instead, I was the cause of those tears. He believes it is a game to me. That I do not care for her and simply wish to make Katya jealous.
When I went to Katya that night, it was with one intention in mind. To embarrass Talia the way she had done to me. With Nikolai.
It was too soon. To take her to that party. To expect so much from her.
To believe that I could trust her with Nikolai. It still burns me.
I want another drink. But since Magda has taken it, I have only one choice.
I walk down the hall and into her room. She is on the bed, curled on her side. Awake, but despondent. As though not a day has passed since her arrival. She has retreated to the identity she knows. The one that she believes will protect her. But it cannot protect her from me.
I am angry with her, still. And I want to claim her.
It’s exactly what I set out to do when I reach for her ankle and pull her slight body towards me on the bed. I spread her legs apart and lay myself between them, pressing her into the mattress as my fingers grab her face.
“You need to give me a baby,” I demand of her. “You need to take my come inside of you every day until you are swollen with my child.”
She meets my gaze, and there is nothing on her face. No emotion. No expression at all.
“I don’t want you.”
She could have said anything to me. Anything at all. Except for those words.
The effect is immediate, and I cannot contain the honest emotion on my face. I move off of her, and she flinches. Her hand reaches out to me, but it is too late. I am already gone.
I move downstairs and lock myself in the gym with a fresh bottle of cognac. I take to the bag, directing my aggression towards the leather. But it does not temper the feeling inside of me.
Neither does the drink, this time.
And when I glance in the mirror, it is my father’s voice I hear.
He is defective. And I do not want him. I don’t want either of you.
For all the days of my life, I will never forget the vacant expression on my mother’s face when he cast us out. And when I look in the mirror now, it is that same vacant expression staring back at me.
I tried to fix what I had done. With crayons and paper and gifts that promised her things I could not deliver at the age of ten. But that I someday would.
I did not get the chance.
I do not want your gifts, Lyoshka. I want nothing from you. You are my greatest shame.
My fist sails into the mirror. Over and over again. The blood pouring down my arm only serves to remind me of her too. Of that day. Of the last gift I tried to give her. Which she rejected. And then bowed out of my life completely.
The door opens, and when I look up, I am not surprised to find Franco standing there. He is always watching me. Looking out for me.
I don’t know why.
I don’t know what I ever did to earn his loyalty, besides paying off his debts in exchange for a job. One which, he returns to faithfully. Every day, he is by my side. Looking out for me.
He sighs at the sight before him although it is not a shock to him. This is not the first time my temper has bested me. The first time the memories have come back.
But this time is worse. Because it involves her.
Franco shuts the door behind him and retrieves the first aid kit from a cabinet by the door. I watch through bleary eyes as he stitches me up and then helps me stumble upstairs to my room to pass out. Which is exactly what I do when my head hits the pillow.
A warm hand moves over my arm, rousing me from my sleep.
When I open my eyes, I’m not sure if it is an angel or devil I see.
“You’re hurt,” she says, her fingers tracing over the stitches on my swollen hand.
I pull her closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and trapping her body against mine.
“What are you doing in my bed?”
“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight,” she says.
Her eyes flutter shut as though it pains her to admit it. I know the feeling well.
She is still angry with me, and I with her. But I need to be inside of her. I need her to…