He hesitates before saying, “I can’t.” He grips his hands into fists and looks away, his shoulders stiff with something he refused to say.
The tension inside me cracked.
“I hope you burn in hell, Gleb Romanov.” I whispered, the words trembling on my lips as tears spilled over, no longer held back. My heart shattered into pieces.
I turned away and crawled into bed.
I heard him sigh, and when I felt the mattress dip, I turned sharply. I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking rapidly. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, but I refused to let him see. I wiped my tears aggressively, then glared at him. ‘Can you give me some space, please? Like, get the fuck out or something.’”
His eyes hardened. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Or what? If you don’t leave, I will.”
He exhaled sharply. “I don’t care, Anna. This is my house. I built it with my money. You can’t tell me to leave.”
I threw off the duvet, fuming. I stormed toward the door, but before I could leave, he grabbed my arm.
“Let me go,” I snarled, yanking my arm back. When he didn’t, I slammed my palm against his chest, pushing with everything I had. ‘I fucking hate you!’ I spat, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook.”
I wandered the house aimlessly, my chest aching, my mind racing.
My family is a no.
My husband is a no.
And my life...? I don’t understand it anymore.
I wanted to scream. Maybe sex was a big deal, but what about a fucking kiss?
I finally found myself on the floor where I used to practice dancing.
With tears still streaming down my face, I connected my phone to the speaker and played a classical song.
Then, I danced.
Not a dance of joy. No. A dance of pain.
It was the only thing I could do to drown out my emotions. The only thing that ever made sense.
I pushed my body harder, even when my legs weakened, even when sweat dripped down my skin.
I didn’t stop.
I knew my legs would fail me eventually.
But I didn’t care.
I just kept dancing.
My body ached, my heart heavier than my limbs. I knew I should stop, but stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling. And I didn’t want to feel.
My legs finally betrayed me.
The last thing I remembered was the feeling of falling.
And then, darkness.
Chapter 13
