11. Anastasia

ELEVEN

Anastasia

I think I’ve broken Vitali. He isn’t stuffing his face and he keeps sighing in between holding his breath. He comes to life as I lay him on his bed. Now that he’s showered and there’s no traces of blood left on his body, and he pulls me down on top of him. His arms circle my waist, and his voice is low as he asks, “Did I hurt you, Stasi?”

No, he scared the fucking shit out of me. I’ve seen Vlad, Dima, and Vanya kill but this was different. He wasn’t human or Vitali, there was no dumbass jokes or stupid smiles, he shut down and didn’t come up for air in over six hours. Which isn’t natural for someone like him and if his light and goodness isn’t in the world it all becomes so much darker.

I press my lips to his chest over his heart that’s beating way too calmly, and I don’t need to try to put conviction into my voice.

“No, you didn’t hurt me. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Or anyone.

I’m inviting conversation, knowing he’s a chatterbox that won’t shut up, but I need that Vitali back and not the fiery depths of hell that reside in him. He exhales relief and strokes my hair back as he kisses my crown and slowly fills the room with his voice.

“Dima used to say I have a vivid imagination when I was a kid, I can see fine details in my head and it’s why I like the fights. The anticipation of finding out if it will match the image in my head.” My body moves up as he takes a deep breath with a silent ‘but’. “All I could see is what he described he was going to do.”

It’s the first rule Vlad gave me — never read their messages. Dima would skim them to build his rage and who knows what Vlad’s psychotic brain does with information. But Vitali is a playful puppy, he loves and cares for people too deeply, and he cares too much about his appearance to consciously allow his face to be covered in blood. My fingertips stroke across his cheek, it’s like satin and he’s got the poreless skin models would die for, he even has naturally long, dark lashes. He doesn’t need them and I’m envious, knowing he doesn’t have to spend time tinting his, or curling them, handsome fool.

There’s no compliment on my tongue, you don’t tell a masterpiece how beautiful it is, they just know, but intrigue needles me and I ask, “Were your parents attractive? Physically.”

They were shitty people, and I can’t remember ever seeing his father but whatever was in their genetics managed to make incredibly beautiful offspring. Vitali smirks, trying to hide his laugh, and he combs my hair behind my ear as he lowers his tone, pretending to be secretive.

“To some but, I have a theory.” I’m leaning into him when I’ve heard the bullshit theories countless times, yet this feels different, and he has my full attention. “The uglier the parents the cuter the kid, it’s God’s way of balancing the scales.”

He says it so seriously and then ruins everything as he speaks normally again.

“Our kids would be ugly as fuck.”

My mouth opens and I argue the wrong point.

“Don’t call my kid ugly.”

I’ve fucked up and it’s evident in the wide smile staring at me as I fumble to claw it back.

“Not that I’d have a kid with you.”

Why the fuck is that the second thing I say, it should have been the first through ten. He’s energized from my slip up and stops me from getting as far away from him as possible.One foot hits the ground when he springs up, wrapping his arms around my hips before locking my legs in between his. Nuzzling into my nape, he asks, “You want to have my babies, sweetness?”

He’s an idiot.

I push all of my body weight down to counteract his hold, but he hauls me back. And groans. You don’t fucking groan when picking someone up, you don’t even breathe or make a single sound, it’s the polite thing to do. One little sound that probably has nothing to do with me brings back every stupid comment from my mother’s tongue.

I revert back to my fourteen-year-old self, hating who I am and desperate to destroy myself so my mother wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. I stood at the very bridge my life was supposed to have ended on because of those thoughts and I still have the same voice in my head telling me I don’t have to die.

Soft lips press into my cheek, his ridiculously soft skin rubbing against mine as he coos, “It’s okay, Stasi, I’ll give you them if you ask me real nice.”

Dickhead.

But it manages to pull me out of the dark space in my head.

I can imagine Vitali as a dad, he’d be the kids’ world and manage to easily communicate with them due to them having the same mental maturity. I lean back against his chest and rest my hands on his thighs to massage down, he never lets me touch his scarred knee. It’s dumb when we’ve literally had each other’s asses in our faces, but I want to ease his pain and he won’t let me. I owe him my second chance at life; if rubbing his knee allows me to feel like I’ve paid him back then he should let me.

His movements are smooth, and he positions his hands under each of mine, threading our fingers together until I can’t touch him. If he didn’t covertly move me away from him every time that I got close to his knee I could convince myself it’s his usual clingy behavior, but I look at him over my shoulder and softly ask, “Does it hurt?”

He’s an asshole and has to deflect with some lame-ass attempt at flirting. “Being so close to you? Yeah, sweetness, fix it by putting me in.”

We use the same tactics of avoidance and my frustration rises now that I’m on the opposite end of it for once.

I’m still sore between my thighs after his peacocking last night and I’m sure there’s going to be an imprint of his body between my thighs, so I use my mouth in the opposite of him. Pressing my lips to his jaw has his arms loosening enough for me to turn and I move down his body. When I reach his abs, he stops me and tilts my face up.

“If you put your mouth on me, you’re agreeing to stay here every night. I won’t be a whore for you, Anastasia.”

I don’t do relationships, not when they all leave through one of two exits. My mother or Marta. Sleeping in the same bed and waking up together without anything sexual is the lead up to a relationship and I’m not ready for Vitali to leave yet.

He strokes my bottom lip and smirks as he lowers his voice.

“Well, I will but you don’t get to leave me like one. If you want my dick, you’ll take it every night and when this beautiful face is covered in my cum, I’ll hold you until the sun comes up. Open your mouth if you’re going to stop running for me.”

Forcing myself up, I jump over the edge of the bed away from his grabby hands and change out of his T-shirt I stole and into my wet clothes that I forget to take off before I helped him shower. The guards will think I’m doing the walk of shame either way, but I’d prefer not to have my ass out in front of them. He grabs my hand when I go to get my shoes, and the playful-puppy act doesn’t hide his disappointment.

“Don’t you need to make sure I’m not going to kill everyone?”

I don’t try to pull away and my other arm develops a mind of its own as I stroke my fingers through his hair.

What in the fuck am I doing?

I can’t pull it back, I have to commit to the act while searching for an excuse to leave for both of our sakes.

“I need to check the phone,” I whisper as his eyes droop. “She won’t be in the area for long.”

It’s not a full lie, Genevieve’s pattern means she’ll leave in a month, and I keep that part of the timescale to myself.He wraps his arms around my hips, his cheek pressed flat against my stomach, and he just breathes as I continue massaging his scalp. It’s funny that I used to hate it when Inessa would force me to do the same to her after she’d been forced to have braids in her hair. I’d always end up pulling her hair to get out of doing it and she’d force Mischa to take over, but I don’t now.

Even stranger, I have the urge to kiss the top of Vitali’s head and wrap my arms around him. Instead, I settle for asking, “Are you okay?”

“Hmmm,” he nods, rubbing his cheek against my stomach, “I care about you, Stas, and I don’t want you to leave me yet.”

Fuck.

I’ve fucked up and I knew I shouldn’t have continued our arrangement; it’s become too frequent and he’s tricking himself into thinking that it can be anything more than physical. So, I step back, ignoring the way it hurts to watch him slip forward from the abrupt movement and I walk out of his room.

I should have bought a dog. Then Vitali would have something to keep him company other than gluing himself to my side since I left his house and he decided to break into mine. I give him my back in hopes he understands social cues and stops breathing on me, but it doesn’t have the intended impact, and he turns me so I’m against his chest. I don’t look up from the screen as the horror movie plays in the background and my tone is as bored as I feel.

“Have you heard of personal space?”

Also known as fuck off.

He’s an overgrown toddler with a bag of snacks at his feet and rests his chin on my shoulder. “You’ve sat on my face, it doesn’t get more personal than that.”

I can’t form a good argument and my body stiffens, seeing the images of the upcoming auction. No children. That’s the highlight of what I’ve found, proving everything is fucked. My laptop is pulled from me, and he nearly smacks me in the face with the screen as he studies the photo. The girl must be in her early twenties and she’s not someone I recognize, but he does, and his phone is at his ear before I can even blink.

The anger on his face doesn’t match his tone as he says, “Wake up, sleepyhead, what’s that shit tattoo you got with Becca?”

Discomfort swirls in my gut at the familiarity in his tone and I walk away in my own house. I’m still within earshot and I hate their conversation.

“Is your mom home?”

I stand behind him, hoping to pick up what the other person says but it’s too low and I just hover with one side of the conversation.

“I’ll be there in fifteen, don’t leave the door unlocked for some little prick to get in. I’ll ring you when I’m outside.”

The discomfort turn to indigestion at his protectiveness.

Vitali doesn’t protect anyone other than his family and he’d make a dumbass comment if it was Val. It settles when he tells me to put my shoes on and he doesn’t shut me out. He chooses the worst time to learn when to shut up as we leave and I’m itching to know what’s happened, who the other person on the phone is that he called sleepyhead at 7am and why he doesn’t want anyone near.

Rather than ask him like a grown up, I stare out of the window watching the world wake up as we drive. He doesn’t strike me as a cheater so it can’t be anyone he’s in a relationship with. Unless they’re in an open relationship. It all makes sense when he pulls into a coffee shop drive thru, he has the owner on speed dial, but my laptop is on the backseat, and he deposits an obscene amount of donuts beside it before driving again. I’m stuck in a car with someone hell bent on giving himself diabetes. The smell of sugar, chocolate, and caramel is making my mouth water and I’d rather be standing opposite his partner than sitting here.

We pull up outside of a rundown house with weeds cracking the path. Vitali doesn’t pause and gets out with his phone back to his ear. Curiosity killed the cat and I’m going to be next if it’s actually someone he’s involved with. Fuck it, there are worse ways to die, and I might steal a donut before they kill me. I turn into the puppy and follow after him as he holds my laptop flat with the donuts stacked on top of them. He moves his other arm around me and holds my hip as we walk down the path and there are so many questions at the sight of a teenage girl glaring at him.

Someone should have taught the Vartanovs about contraception, they all seem to have random kids dotted about, but there’s no resemblance in their features. She has dark eyes and hair, warm brown skin and a lazy attitude that could have been inherited from Vitali. Looking me up and down, she stops us entering and he says, “Don’t be a bitch, move.”

My fist connects with his arms as she does the same to his chest. It seems to soften her, and she smiles as she steps aside and gives me her approval.

“I like you already.”

The inside of the house doesn’t match the outside, there’s care put into maintaining the kitchen and living room, but there’s not a single adult in the place. She can’t be older than sixteen or seventeen. Who just leaves their kid home alone? My heart cracks when she involuntarily flinches away from Vitali as he drops the donuts and iced coffee on the table beside her.

They have an unorthodox friendship, but she’s comfortable around him and he gives her shit as he looks around the room.

“Have you been stealing again?”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, “It wasn’t stealing, I was bored.”

“You’re lucky I like you or you’d be in a cell.”

He examines her, particularly her long sleeves, and she quickly tugs on them as he flicks his eyes back up to her face. This version of Vitali is new; he’s protective and serious as he clenches his jaw while staring at her eyes, then sleeves, and back. Since he’s busy examining her, I introduce myself.

“I’m Stasi, he clearly has no manners, what’s your name?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty dumb. I’m Kristi.”

“Did you just call me pretty?” Tali asks and drops down to sit on the armchair.

“ Pretty dumb,” she seethes and rolls her eyes. “Like very dumb, the dumbest of the dumb, King Dumbass of Idiotic Island.”

“Oh, so you think I’m royalty too?”

The girl, Kristi, sighs and looks up at me. “Hit him again.”

My hand doesn’t move to strike him and he’s a dopey idiot as he smiles up at me. I don’t want to hurt him, but that doesn’t stop me pushing his face away.