19. Anastasia

NINETEEN

Anastasia

V itali knows part of my dark thoughts and he’s not looking at me any different. His endearing smile is forcing me out of my mind and I’m not anxious or uncomfortable with him having the information. But now it’s his time to let the parts of himself he hides out and I guide him to sit on the sofa before getting the balm I need. He fits in my space as he sits in nothing but his boxers, all his tattoos on show and his hair is messy from my hands pulling at the strands, but he stretches his arms on the back of the sofa and watches my comfort movie.

He tries to pull me to sit on his thigh when I go back to him, but I’m not accustomed to allowing my care for people to show and it makes my voice small.

“Let me do this.”

It’s not a matter of not giving a fuck, I just can’t allow them to know, or my mother will open her mouth and ruin it. He doesn’t make me move and remains silent as I kneel between his thighs, warming the balm between my hands. I’m sure he’s not breathing, but I don’t look up. If we make eye contact that will unbalance us. Right now, we’re just two people who occasionally fuck watching a horror movie while I massage his knee and wait for his pancakes to finish steaming. Totally fucking normal.

The scarring is noticeable, but it’s been stitched perfectly, no inflammation or redness. His reflexes are intact and not dulled by the pain, there’s not even a wince when I press harder into the joint. A groan brushes my neck, filled with frustration not pain, as he dips his head and says, “One day I’m going to fuck you in nothing but this apron.”

We’re still the same and I relax, leaning into his good leg as the psycho on the screen finds who they want to kill. I turn sideways so my spine is pressed against his calf and he absentmindedly plays with my hair.

We don’t look at each as I remain kneeling and massage around his knee. He jerks his leg when I smooth my fingers underneath the joint; I think I’ve hurt him until I try to do it again even softer, and he laughs while trying to deepen his voice.

“The fuck are you doing?”

My own laugh spills free as I copy his words.

“I have a theory.”

His eyes harden as I remove my fingers then test my theory while voicing it.

“Big bad Vitali is ticklish.”

He grabs my wrists to stop me and I keep tickling behind his knee. His laugh comes in bursts as his leg shakes, and he pulls it up out of my hands as he hauls me up. I fall over him, my knee is dangerously close to his balls, but he just stares into my eyes with the softest smile on his lips. The depth settles into his voice, minimizing his threat.

“Don’t tell anyone my secrets, Anastasia.”

My voice lowers as his vulnerability comes out and I massage across his shoulders.

“Never, luchik 1 .”

The endearment slips out, but it fits him with his sunny disposition. Vitali has always had expressive eyes, but this is more as we just stare at each other. He doesn’t make a stupid joke or tell me a theory; he just stares at me, keeping it all back. The timer goes off, stopping whatever weird intimacy we’ve found.

I wipe my hand of any excess balm and lift off him, my body moves automatically, and my mind is screaming at me to stop, but it’s too late as I watch my lips touch his cheek on some stupid impulse that threatens to ruin everything. I don’t look at him as I walk the fuck away and wash my hands. It’s my brain mistaking the comfort as a new routine, and I stare straight ahead as I fill the awkwardness only I can feel.

“Food’s ready.”

The only person I’ve let taste my cooking is Vanya and she was starving, able to eat anything without a comment.Nerves fill me at Vitali passing comment on my secret hobby, I know it’s good, I allow myself one day a year where my mother’s voice doesn’t exist. He’s someone who enjoys eating and I want more than good, he won’t be swayed because he’s allowed something and his opinion will be formed based on how it actually tastes.

I plate the steamed pancakes with compote and fruit with the same attention as a Michelin-star restaurant and nearly drop it when arms wrap around me from behind. Soft lips touch my neck without lingering and a gentle voice follows it as he says, “Breathe, sweetness.”

I am breathing, but the breaths come easier with him wrapped around me, and he guides us to stand against the island.He doesn’t let me out of the comforting cage of his arms and takes a fork, scooping up each thing on the plate. I expect him to take it to his own lips, but it lands in front of mine. All I can see is sugar, enjoyment not survival.

He mistakes my reason for pausing and keeps the loaded fork suspended at my lips as he lightly teases, “Got to check you’re not trying to poison me.”

Asshole.

Opening my mouth, I ignore my mother’s voice admonishing me for something small from my own head. It’s her voice that has implanted itself as the one who tells me everything is going to fuck, she’s still pointing out my flaws, but I don’t live there anymore so she can’t pull me out of bed and force me to step on the scale. It still sours the taste in my mouth, it’s not fluffy pancakes and sweet compote with cream but everything I’m not supposed to have.

Vitali doesn’t notice and stuffs his face in between trying to force me to eat. I peel his arm off me to escape and my voice doesn’t betray the panic inside of me.

“I need to get my laptop.”

Old habits are hard to break, sweat dots my hairline like the nights I’d sneak food up to my room only to be found out in the morning. I’m an adult for fuck’s sake, I don’t have her close to my life but she’s still in my head. The bitch could die, and she’d always win.

My puppy follows me, holding the plate in one hand and shoveling food into his mouth. He doesn’t pause or ask questions as we sit in the room I’ve designated for my research. I sit cross legged in the middle of the floor while I wait for the screens to come to life, and Tali swaps his now empty plate for me. His hands come under my thighs, and he positions me to sit between his legs with his chin on my shoulder. I can smell sugar on him, it’s what forced me to move and there’s nothing sour about his mouth on mine.

It turns bitter when he breaks the connection to ask, “What did they do to you, Anastasia?”

Why does he have to say my name like that, as though he knows me enough to feel comfortable calling me what no one else does. He gently cups my jaw, his thumb strokes against my cheek and I’m exhausted. I want someone to know me, but I can’t let him see how pathetic it is, that some childish bullshit has followed me into adulthood.

“Tell me who hurt you so I can make sure they never get the chance again,” he says softly, so softly that I can feel him swaying with every brush of his lips against my ear.

I can tell him about one night, he already knows a part of it and my eyes close, hating how fucking weak I am.

“Borya found out his daughter was selling my panties in school, I wasn’t even allowed to explain that it wasn’t me.”

I can still remember the impact of his fist splitting my cheek. It didn’t hurt as much as my mother cheering him on and calling me every derogatory name she could think of. He was upset that something was taken from him, and my mother was upset about her image, no one ever gave a fuck about me.

Vitali takes a deep breath to control his anger, but I’m wrapped in his body, and it comforts me. The same question I ignored earlier comes back with a vengeance.

“Did he touch you?”

Not hit me, beat me, or anything on that spectrum of violence. He says touch in the way society knows means more, a touch can be gentle or rough, but this context is deeper.

My eyes are closed and I’m fourteen again, talking to myself to rationalize my life.

“He tried but I woke up and started screaming.”

Fuck, my heart is beating too fast.

I need that memory rewritten. Waking up to someone I want touching me, knowing they actually give a fuck about me and not lusting after a child. Maybe then I won’t freak out at the thought of someone sleeping beside me. A soft kiss touches my cheek with urgency and Vitali’s warmth is removed from my body as he abruptly stands. There’s the slightest limp in his gait as he storms out of the room and I’m too slow following him.

I fucked it up. Borya was right, he’s a fucking Vor, no one would believe the shit I say when they’d already labelled me a whore. I straighten my shoulders, so I don’t crumble as I stand in the hallway to watch the only person who hasn’t used the rumors against me walk away. I’ll be fine, I still have Vitali’s voice in my head when my mind tries to go to war with me. It’s kept me going this long and I’ll be fucking fine.

But my throat is dry, and swallowing is audible as he comes back out of my room fully dressed and pauses in front of me. His hands are warm as he cups my face with both hands, but his tone is deadly, and it mentally knocks me off balance.

“Did your mother know?”

She called me a whore with every sentence and accused me of trying to steal her husband, so who fucking knows what’s in her head. I’ve already said too much, and if I tell him the full extent of the truth it will just prove what they always said. So, I force myself to remain still.

Vitali hardens and presses his lips to my forehead as he says, “Lock up and wait for me.”

He’s not pushing me away, calling me a liar, this is worse, and I grab his arms because the hierarchy will get him killed.I don’t give a fuck about seeming clingy or needy as I wrap my arms around his middle so he can’t leave. He can’t go to New York without starting a chain of events that will fuck things up on multiple fronts due the Vartanovs’ agreement with the Albanians and then attacking a Vor would get him killed, neither of which am I worth.

He presses his palms to my shoulders to push me away and I lock my fingers together when he tries to get me off him. When pushing against my shoulders doesn’t work, he reaches behind him and tries to pry my arms off him. He can do what he wants, it won’t achieve anything because I’m holding on for a life. Not my own, his.

His hand lands on my nape, squeezing, trying to pull me back and forcing my tongue to move.

“He’s a Vor.”

I look up to meet his eyes, the blue is violent and tumultuous with anger as he leans into me and grits, “And I’m a fucking Vartanov, I’ll take the punishment. You need to let me go, sweetness.”

Emotion chokes me at his conviction, his dad beat the shit out of him and he’s used to violent hands, that doesn’t mean it’s okay, Vitali is the puppy. He’s sunshine and sugar.If that fucker touches him, I’ll end up dying alongside him.

I plant my feet and push my full body weight into him to move him away from the front door as he drags me with him. As long as he’s here I can do whatever I need to keep him safe. I don’t look away from his eyes as I force a smile I don’t feel and lust that’s dropped below the surface of the earth and offer myself up.

“I thought you wanted to fuck me in nothing but the apron?”

It has the opposite effect and his jaw clenches, his eyes go beside my head, and he wraps his hand around my throat. I’m holding on to him and can’t get myself free quick enough as he walks me back and presses me against the wall. His voice is deadly, eyes wild, as he pushes me harder, and all his playfulness has disappeared.

“I’ll fuck you with my dying breath. But you will never try to use your body against me. You want me because it’s me, not because of anything fucking else.” Squeezing the sides of my neck, he leans into me until our noses brush. “Do you understand, Anastasia?”

I nod and squeak, “Okay.”

I’m not afraid of him, it’s for him. This version is more volatile, he’ll do something stupidly reckless and not give a fuck about himself. He wants everything and I promise it in exchange for his lack of action.

“Promise me you won’t go after him, and I’ll stay with you tonight.” Repeating his words is easy and there’s no hesitance. “Not to fuck, I’ll wake up beside you.”

The puppy slowly comes back, and his smile has me relaxing.People talk about the curve of a woman’s body but that one curve on his face has control over me.

His hand loosens around my neck, thumb stroking my skin as he softens and adds more to the offer.

“You’ll eat with me, sleep in my bed and stay there all week.”

It’s not a question but an order. The thought of moving in with him doesn’t turn my stomach as much as I thought it would, but I shake my head and flatten my palms on his chest.

“One night.”

I can do that; it won’t be difficult. We’ve slept beside each other for a few hours until I leave before the sun comes up, it’s just a few more hours than normal and he’ll be safe this way.

1 ? Endearment: sweetheart, masc