Page 2 of Arseni
It’s fucking up his room that I can’t handle.
Or not being what he needs.Him sleeping in constant discomfort under a roof with yet another person who doesn’t understand him.Me creating the same environment that made me feel so utterly alone.
I don’t tell Angela any of this.I’d never admit my fears aloud.
Angela blinks but says nothing else.She walks to the front door and opens it up for Arseni.I don’t hear what she says when she speaks low into his ear, but I watch his blank expression to see if it’ll break.It doesn’t.Not until she says her goodbyes and leaves.
As soon as the door shuts, Arseni drops his trash bag of stuff by the entrance and tucks his hands into his pockets.He roams the room curiously.
“I’m so happy to have you here,” I say, my awkwardness returning.“I don’t know if Angela told you, but I’m Margot.I’ve heard so much about you.”
His lips lift into a smirk as he turns his head toward me.Like he knows exactly what was said.And not a thing was positive.
I’ve heard so much about you.Why the fuck would I say that?
He wanders over to the standing shelf next to the kitchen entrance.
“Are you hungry?”I ask, fidgeting with my hands.“I could make you something to eat.Or would you like to see your room?I wasn’t sure what you liked decor-wise, so it might not be your taste, but maybe later we could go to the store to?—”
“You said your name is Margot?”he interjects.His voice is perfectly balanced.Smooth.It makes my chest flush from embarrassment at how nervous I am.I’m supposed to be the source of calm, not him.
I take a moment to even my breathing before I respond.“Yes.”
He picks up the framed drawing of my mother’s from the shelf, and I bite my tongue to keep from asking him to be careful.I should’ve put it away before he arrived.
“Mar-got,” he repeats, my name slow and enunciated coming off his tongue.My earlier struggle with his name feels so ridiculous now that my shoulders hunch.It strikes me that he has no trace of a Russian accent becauseduh, he wasn’t raised by Russian parents, but still, I don’t know what I expected.
“Are you an artist?”he asks.
“No, that was my mother’s.I’m an engineer.”
He sets the frame back on the shelf, relaxing tension in my shoulders.
“Can I tell you something personal, Margot?Would that be all right?”His words are timid, but his voice is silk.He has this glint in his chocolate eyes that makes my lungs pause.
“Of course.You can tell me anything.I want…” I shift my weight while thinking of the right words.“I want this to be a safe place for you.”
He looks around and nods.“I’ve never called anyone my mother before, but I don’t know, you seem … different,” he says, his voice low.Nowhe sounds timid.“You just look like youget it, you know?So would it be all right if I called you Mom?”
My mouth drops open, and I stumble on words before answering.“Y-yes.Yes,of course.I’m so happy you can see it because I really do understand what you’re going through.Before I was adopted, I spent years in the system, and I know what it’s like to?—”
“Can I give you a hug?”
A hug?
Already?
Suspicion settles in.This feels too soon.But I still nod.
“Of course.”
When he comes toward me, I get the urge to back up.His strut is a little too confident, his eyes run a little too low.I’m not sure if he’s staring at my breasts or my blouse.I glimpse down at my chest and spot an orange, waxy splotch.Small but noticeable.
When Arseni wraps his arms around me, I stiffen but manage to hug him back.Part of me hopes he feels the discomfort I feel.Hopes this is the last hug for a while.His palms run over my back as he sighs, and when his hands lower to my waist, I try to ease away.Strong arms hold me in place and bring panic to the surface of my mind.I try to pull away more forcefully but then freeze as his full lips press against my cheek in a hot kiss.
“Thanks, Mommy,” he whispers, the word charged with sexual energy.
He lets me go and steps back, a slow, evil smile lighting his face.It feels like our roles have been flipped because it’s me who doesn’t smile back this time.
