Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I recall one of the discussions I had with Yev many months ago when he rakes his eyes over my pride and joy while saying, “I still think you should consider becoming a designer.”
“This is close enough.” I shrug like it isn’t a big deal I let my dreams go for a more stable career. “I get to dress the people of Kronstadt in the finest threads.”
“Yeah… but they’re not your designs, Polly.” He pushes off his car and heads my way. His eyes are still moody and temperamental but clear of any type of unnatural sedative.
Visiting the homeless camp healed his heart more effectively than the kiss we shared weeks ago. I would be devastated if I weren’t so relieved. He wants to live. He just needs to merge out of the shadows of his grief to do so.
As he follows me up the stairs, he asks, “How come you haven’t merged your two loves into one? Designing and dressing Barbie dolls.”
I whack him in the gut before my head can warn me it is a bad idea. His stomach is rock hard, and it stings my knuckles. “I’ve never played with Barbie dolls.”
“Oh, believe me. I fucking know. You much prefer controlling every damn aspect of Ken’s life than his pretty little sidekick.” When I can’t deny his claims, he mutters, “That’s why I’m lost as to why you’re putting up with Vasily’s shit.”
“Please, don’t. I…” While shoving my key into the lock of my front door, I speak from the heart for the first time in months. “There’s so much you don’t know.”
“Like you were aware he had my phone, but instead of telling me that, you swapped them back without saying a word?”
“What was I supposed to say, Yev?”
He twists his lips before freeing them to release a heap of taunting words. “How about ‘Hey, Yev, my douchebag of a boyfriend placed a three-thousand-dollar charge on your credit card for a prostitute who looks a fuckton like me’?”
“He what?” His anger confuses me, and I lash out when I’m confused. “Are you angry because he purchased a lap dance or because I asked you to wait in the bathroom?”
He laughs. It isn’t his true laugh. “No one pays three thousand dollars for a lap dance.” He unearths the real cause of his fake chuckles by adding, “And I’m not angry you hid me in the bathroom.” He licks his dry lips as he clenches and unclenches his hands. “I’m fucking pissed I let you.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, that’s right. Because I have no say in anything that occurs in my life—”
“Not with him you don’t!” he interrupts, thrusting his arm at the door like Vasily is on the other side. “He’s using you, Polly.”
He has it all wrong, but before I can announce that, my apartment plunges into darkness and my greatest fear presents itself.
I’m alone in a cold and dark basement, hearing nothing but my mother’s gargling gasps as she fights for air, and the constant dribble of the blood oozing from Alek’s head wound.
As panic rains down on me, I commence hyperventilating.
I can’t get enough air.
I can’t get any until a controlled voice breaks through the screams bombarding me.
“It’s just a brownout. The generator will kick in at any moment.” I notice how badly I’m shaking when Yev gently grips the top of my arms to keep me upright. “Let’s move to the window and open the drapes. The streetlights are still on.”
He won’t forcefully move me since that’s another one of my triggers. Being dragged from the hidey-hole keeping me hidden from the horrid murder-suicide scene that almost claimed more than my mother’s life is as on par as my fear of blackouts.
“I-I-I can’t.”
Yev’s words snap out of his mouth like a whip. “You can, Polly. Don’t give me that shit. One step at a time.”
“Don’t leave me,” I beg when his voice fades at the end of his reply.
“I’m not leaving you. I’m just moving toward the window. If you want to stay with me, you need to come with me.”
I suck in a shaky breath when his voice tapers even more. “Yev, please.” My short, snapped words are incapable of hiding the tremors racking through me.
I am petrified.
“I’m right here. Right by the window. Come to me.”
“I-I—”
“Now, Polly! Get on your fucking knees and crawl to me. Now.”
I fall to my knees before I can comprehend how inane it is that I respond to dominance when I’m scared out of my mind. You would think it would have me recoiling, but it doesn’t because everyone who has ever protected me has always been super dominant. It was the sneaky, soft-spoken men who hurt me the most.
As Yev guides me toward him with barked yet nurturing commands, I slowly crawl across the wooden floor and the Persian rug softening its darkness with some color. When I reach Yev’s thigh, I cling to it before peering out at the streetlight on the far top corner of my street as if it is my only lifeline.