13. Anastasia

THIRTEEN

Anastasia

M y mother has her wish as I stand amongst the guests, looking out of place. The dress is beautiful and short, exactly what she wanted in a sea of creepy fucking perverts. This isn’t what I picked out and the embroidery is scratching my skin as I keep my back to the wall, so I don’t show anyone my ass. I cross one ankle over the other and it takes zero effort to appear bored. It’s the same forced bullshit: kiss this person’s cheek while his wife glares at me and digs her nails into my arm while paying me a fake compliment.

Stupid cunts. They don’t realize that I hate the attention more than they do and I’d rather cut their husband’s dick off than touch them.

I can’t even escape into the bathroom with the rumor mill already staking their claim on that space. It’s fitting considering they’re full of shit and the bathroom door is in my periphery. One of the Bratva princesses steps into the hallway and she quickly rushes back inside when she sees me. I’m not a teenager anymore, I’m a fucking adult, a grown woman, yet they still have the power to make me small and insecure all over again.

Marta can’t hide her giddiness as she walks over. She pointedly looks beside me to highlight that I’m alone, and I think peaceful thoughts so I don’t punch her in the fucking face.

“Did he leave you already?” she asks. “Mama thought you’d be smarter this time and manage to get one of them to stick around.”

I drain my champagne and look around the room while she steps closer and says, “Whores are for the night, not for life.”

Fuck her. Stupid fucking bitch. I hate her and I hate myself more because she can get under my skin. But I refuse to show her that she does or give her the satisfaction of having any power over me, so I fire back, “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your husband instead of another man?”

Or me .

She’s been obsessed since I was seven years old and every second word out of her mouth is my name. Back then it was stupid things like pulling my hair in the playground, it progressed to cutting it when I wasn’t looking during class, but the incessant fucking bullying got worse when I was forced to live with the bitch. Her need to torment me isn’t something she’s grown out of now that we’re adults either. It’s got stronger with each passing year and her preferred tactics are psychological which is why I leave all the assholes to their dick-measuring contest and swap my empty flute for a full one before I go into the garden.

The darkness is good; it’s never fully black with the city pollution and the external lights are dim, making it perfect to be alone. I lived here from twelve to eighteen, but it’s never been home. I hate the atmosphere and the air in the place as much as the people.

A group of men disturb my peace as I step onto the terrace. They’re standing with my stepfather. I turn right, hiding at the side of the building so he can’t touch me. The stupid fucking dress rides up and pulling it down is pointless, but I still try as though I can magically find more fabric to cover myself.

It’s all a game of showing me that my only worth is in my body, and it’s made to be an accessory for my mother. Pawn me off on some rich fuck in the hopes he beats me to death as she so lovingly told me growing up. No man will tolerate your disobedience, he’ll beat it out of you, and I hope you realize then that I’m doing this because I love you enough .

Stupid fucking cunt.

Marta isn’t even my first bully and I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother criticized my sonogram since I can never do anything right in her eyes. I was probably fucking born wrong too and came out of her sideways.

Dress shoes tap against the slabs, and I can breathe as they move further towards the doors, until my stepfather’s voice reaches my ears.

“She always dresses that way then blames me for looking.”

I didn’t fucking choose this dress, your wife did.

My mother knows what he’s like and she’s sick enough to hope he can manage to get his dick up so she can use it while staring at me. His brother’s voice forces a shiver to work up my spine and I flatten against the wall.

“I regret not taking her before she allowed every suka to get a taste.”

I’m going to throw up. My eyes close as I slow my breathing, and the brick scrapes against my shoulders with my attempts to get smaller physically while they do reduce me to nothing verbally.

“She was a whore before she came into my house,” Borya laughs and his brother joins in. It tapers off into a whistle as my step-uncle finds humor in tormenting a fucking child.

“You should have heard her on your wedding day.” He takes a deep drag of his cigar and I pray he chokes. I’m not fortunate enough because he says, “She started screaming, playing the innocent and scared little girl after teasing me during the dance.”

I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been the same perverted bullshit since I was twelve. Comments on my body, eyes lingering too long, standing too close, and coming into my bedroom when I was on the opposite end of the house. But I want to scream and hot pressure builds behind my eyes with the urge to scream. I wasn’t fucking teasing him, I was trying to escape while a grown fucking man was grinding his dick into my twelve-year-old body and my mother slapped me instead of fucking listening to me.

When they finally shut the fuck up and bore themselves recounting everything they want to do to me and how I’d enjoy it, I can breathe again. Their steps don’t linger as they go back inside, and I sink into the wall. My hand trembles as I bring the champagne flute to my lips and little droplets cling to the crystals on the awful dress I’m wearing. It’s cold and dark, isolating, and I want to run to…someone, anyone. Just have someone who sees me as a person rather than the constant objectification. There’s never been anyone who has, but my stupid mind argues that Tali does. He wants to know things about me, but I shut him down; I trade my body before he can request it.

There are no sounds of anyone talking on the terrace and I tell myself that Vitali will be able to take this away. That it’s fine because it’s my choice to fuck him and we’re both trading parts of ourselves. I give him a release and he allows me to soak up his goodness as I push away from the wall.

I make it one step out into the dim external lights when my entire body goes rigid at Borya’s eyes on me. Straightening my shoulders, I tilt my chin in the air and walk with steady legs I don’t feel. He’s between me and the door and there’s nowhere for me to run, but I’m not a kid now and I’ll be fine. The ugly fuck moves into my path and his cologne is enough for bile to move up my throat. His hair is fully gray now, not just his head, but his mustache is all white too, and his eyes have lightened with old age.

None of that makes him less disgusting as he picks up a piece of my hair between his first two fingers. He rubs the strands together as though he’ll get his fucking wish granted as he gives his unwanted, unneeded opinion. “You looked better blonde.”

And you’d look better under six feet of dirt, but we don’t get what we want .

I can’t control my tongue with the knowledge that there’s no one around to hear me and slap his hand away.

“Don’t you mean as a child?”

His hand whips out, grabbing my face as he shakes in fear of someone overhearing. The stupid fuck doesn’t have a holster, there’s no weapon for me to use, and I push my hands into his jaw to create distance, but it has him jolting my body as he roughly slams me against the shadowed wall.

His fingers dig in even harden to the point that I can feel my teeth creaking under the pressure and I kick out at him. But he slams me against the wall again with more force and my brain rattles as my arms fall to steady myself.

I can shoot perfectly fucking fine, but I never fight hand to hand, and now my body has frozen and become useless.

His disgusting breath touches my cheek as he snarls into my ear, “You may be the Vartanov whore, but opening your legs for them doesn’t mean they’ll believe you. You have always been a whore and that will never change.”

I didn’t even mention Vitali, the dumb fuck, he’s scared of an association rather than judgment over being a predator. His hold on my face tightens and I can’t move as he gets closer, his eyes lining up with mine and I revert back to being a child wishing I was sharing a room with Marta again.

Fight.

Scream.

Yet, I don’t.

I forget everything; all the training with Dima and Vanya has left my memory as he pulls me forward with a threat.

“There’s nothing to break now, Stasya.”

My fight comes back to my tongue only and I spit out, “I’ll cut it off if you even try.”

It’s mumbled as his fingers dig into my cheeks and all the air is knocked out of me as I’m roughly slammed into the wall. My heels scrape against the floor, turning my ankle, and he presses into me. He’s hard and acid burns up my throat to my sinuses. The dark violent whisper touching my cheek adds to my need to throw up.

“You are a filthy whore, like your mother.”

The last part pisses me off more than anything he’s said but my body doesn’t fucking move, and he drops me like I’m nothing. My eyes burn as I force my body to remain still and plastered to wall so I don’t fall, and he looks me up and down before dripping his venom.

“You should be glad your father died before he saw what you became.”

“Don’t you dare speak about my dad,” I grit with a lump building in my throat. My fist quakes with the urge to hit him or to stop the tears, but he laughs and shakes his head.

“You’re the reason Maskim died, do you not enjoy being reminded of him?”

“Fuck you,” is the only thing I’m capable of spitting out as I fight the guilt and tears. He just fucking laughs and turns with his hand on the door handle. “Chuski mudak.”

The sounds of the revelry spill through the door when he opens it and then there’s silence. I don’t need to lick my wounds or fucking cry, I need to forget and cause as much fucking issues for them as possible. The relief of no one having any expectations for me holds hands with never having to worry about who I am. Every fucking cunt in this house formed their opinion before I could even develop a personality.

I check my face in the window to make sure Borya’s dirty hands haven’t left a mark, then blow out a breath containing the parts of myself I like so they don’t spend a second around these assholes and turn. My heels will leave little pock marks against the hardwood with the force of my steps and my ankle burns but my face is a mask as I pull the door open and rejoin the celebrations.

My father’s favorite saying rings in my head.

Glazah bayatsa, a ruki dyelayut .

My eyes don’t betray, they’re bored and fed up despite the discomfort hiding at the base of my spine as I go to bar and drink. It’s not because of a celebration, it’s to dull my senses enough to make my family fucking bearable. Weddings are supposed to be joyous, a time to come together and be happy, but one of their funerals would be better. I’d celebrate having one less person berating me.

An inked hand lands beside me as a warm body fits itself to my back. Vitali even has pretty hands; there’s no dirt under his nails or blood staining them anymore. Keeping my body rigid so I’m not called his whore again, I focus on the mirrored wall of the bar in front of me.

The Bratva is filled with gossips and whoever stands beside a Vartanov is shared between the three brothers in their warped minds. It doesn’t mean shit that two of them are married, incredibly happy and beyond in love with their wives married, the cunts around me will still pump out the rumors. Vitali is an annoying asshole and wraps his fingers around my tumbler to stop me. His lips brush my shoulder, and he speaks low and deadly as he asks, “They run their mouth or touch you?” He hardens behind me when he reaches my neck, and his face pinches with the accusation. “You smell like smoke.”

The prick spoke too loudly, and Marta’s smirk is beside us.I turn and hook two fingers through the gaps between the button of his shirt and pull him with me before she can open her mouth. The world and their dog can guess it’s going end in calling me a slut; I was a slut before I had even been kissed or held hands with anyone, for fuck’s sake. The puppy comes out when we reach the hallway, and he wraps his arms around me, abruptly diverting us to the right as he curses under his breath, “Fuck, the parents are here.”

He’s crazy, lost his hold on reality with all the theories he comes up with because he’s an orphan. The lucky bastard. There’s no one standing behind us as I look over my shoulder, and he pushes us into Borya’s office. My lips curve into a genuine smile when he pushes me against the door and there’s no tie. Straightening the lapels of his suit jacket, I look up and step into his body, away from the shit in my head.

“How often do you see ghosts?”

His brows come together at my question until he remembers his muttering.He knocks everything other than him away when he loops his arms around my lower back and his dopey grin lifts his face.

“I was talking about Vlad and Inessa,” he says with that smile getting closer. He’s always so happy and warm that I want to hide him away from the world, but he ruins it as he says, “My turn, why do you smell like smoke?”

I shrug and bring our faces closer together. “Why don’t I smell like you?”

It’s like waving a red rag in front of a bull and he grabs my ass in both hands before sealing our lips together.I can allow myself to get lost in Vitali when the alternative is having to step out of this room and into the bullshit. He’s always hard and grinds into me as he walks us back towards the desk, it will be the biggest fuck you to Borya when he sees that wood as a symbol of his power.

Vitali kisses across my jaw and his voice hardens when he reaches my neck.

“We’re going to talk about this, Anastasia.”

He’s a dumbass focusing on conversation when we do so many other things a lot better.I reach into his back pocket for a condom, but there’s nothing there, and he deflates as he rests his forehead on my collar bone.

“Didn’t bring any, sweetness.”

I should know better, not be reckless and impulsive, but I don’t and press my lips to his pulse point under his ear as I ask, “Have you been tested?”

I’m on birth control and I know he wouldn’t lie to me, Vitali is the one person I can trust with my body wholeheartedly, he’s an asshole with a big mouth, but never a liar.

He moves faster and pushes me into the desk with his hips pinning me in place. His kiss is urgent, and he speaks into my mouth with his words rushing together.

“Last month. Haven’t fucked anyone other than you since.”

We’ve had our causal arrangement for over a year, and we never said anything about exclusivity, he doesn’t ask me the same question, so I offer it myself.

“Me too.” He moves back and looks at me with hope that I shatter with a lie. “Been tested, I mean.”

He nods and kisses me again. His hands work around my body, squeezing my thighs as he grinds into me.

My fingers automatically go to his belt and my back arches when he swirls his tongue on that hidden spot behind my ear. I have just enough sense to stop him removing the little fabric covering me as I bury my face in the crook of Vitali’s neck to stop any sound being picked up and give him a warning.

“There are cameras.”

In every fucking inch of the house including the bathrooms.

His hands move away from the zip, and he holds my hips to pick me up and sits me on the edge of the desk before he steps between my thighs. There’s nothing more of my body on show, he’s doing it purposefully the sweet little puppy. He gives me enough space to take him out and drops his head back with a groan as I stroke his dick from base to tip. A gasp leaves my mouth when he grabs my throat and pulls me forward to ask against my lips. “Last chance, sweetness. I come in you, I claim you.”

His ego is ridiculous, and I don’t respond to the empty threat as I pull my panties to the side and use his dick to get myself off.