“Tomorrow,” I say once more. “Don’t be late.”
With that, I leave her.
I leave her in that alley. I leave her gasping, shaking, with tears in her eyes and tremors in her thighs.
I leave her and curse myself, over and over, in the car.
Blyat’.I let myself get carried away. I let her lead the game. Even if she doesn’t realize that’s what happened, I know it did.
I lost it. I lost my cool, lost my head.
And I’m still hard as a fucking rock.
21
MIA
I can still feel his lips against my cheek.
I should be repulsed. I should be terrified. I should have taken one look at Yulian’s true face, the way he cornered me in that alley, and ran for dear fucking life.
Instead, here I am one measly day later, waiting for him on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, all dolled up for him.
I can practically feel the feminism leaving my body, along with my hard-won self-respect.Goodbye, my friend! It’s been good knowing ya.
And all the while, I can still feel his lips against my cheek.
Mere steps from me, that alley he cornered me in gapes wide open, like a dark, hungry maw ready to swallow me whole.
But this isn’t about self-respect. That’s for people whose lives aren’t this royally fucked-up, who don’t attract trouble like flies to honey. For those who havechoices.
Me? I’ve run fresh out.
Because the truth is, it doesn’t matter how much of an asshole Yulian is. It doesn’t matter how badly his closeness rattles me, with fear and something else.
I don’t even dare unpack that—I’m terrified it would land me exactly where I was five years ago, at the beck and call of Local Rich Dick who thought he could treat me however he wanted because he bought me nice gifts. When I thought I was in love.
Wow. The Venn diagram of my life really is a circle, isn’t it?
Except that, this time, it’s not about love.
I’m not that delulu little girl anymore, the one who thought slaps were caresses and punches were kisses. The one who believed having her phone checked five times a day was a sign of care. Who hoped that, one day, he’d realize she wasn’t going anywhere and stop trying so hard to keep her. That her body’s bruises would fade, her soul’s scars would heal, and she’d land into the fluffy clouds of “happily ever after.”
No—this is business. Cold, hard business.
Nothing less, nothing more.
I’ve seen enough of Yulian Lozhkin to stay away for the rest of my life.
Six months.It’s such a small price for freedom, but when I count the days in my head, it feels like forever. Three times I’ve met him, and three times I’ve come away burned.
How long before his flames consume me?
How long before I don’t have a life to return to?
But you have Eli. You have your son.
It’s that voice in my head that keeps me going, keeps me steady enough to endure Mr. Choke-Me-Daddy’s knockoff Christian Grey attitude. If swallowing my pride is all I have to do to secure one million dollars—my son’s future—then I’ll open wide and say, “Pretty please.”
