Page 20

MARGOT

W hen the basement door opens, I stare with hopeful anticipation.

Hard, even steps creek the floorboards until Arseni steps into the basement, his face a blank mask.

For days, I’ve avoided his eyes, always turned away when he’s come in. But now I peer into them with a plea for understanding that he hasn’t even asked for. He carries the newspaper under his arm and tosses it down when he reaches the bed.

“Was this his doing?” Arseni asks, his voice ice.

My gaze on him unrelenting, I nod. My mouth twists with the urge to cry, but I manage to speak a cracked word through it. “Yes.”

Arseni runs a thumb over his strong jaw. “Was this what he had on you?”

He doesn’t sound judgmental or scolding—as much as he should—nor does he sound intrigued like the other man. Still, the question makes me flinch.

“No.” I shake my head so many times, it’s pathetic. Like I’m hoping to remove all doubt. “No, I would never?—”

“So he planted them?”

I nod.

With a sigh, Arseni drops his hand and sits next to me on the mattress, his foot brushing the chain locking my raw ankle. “Are you surprised?”

I look down at my lap. “No… He told me he would do this.”

“Why?”

Again, I flinch. And again, it has nothing to do with Arseni’s tone.

My reflex is to lie and say that I don’t know. That the man is a maniac who has no rhyme or reason for his actions. But it’s a lie. After seven years, the weight of this secret has my head underwater.

Will he judge me? Will he…

No, he won’t. Arseni, of all people, will understand. And I need that right now more than anything.

I suck in a deep breath. “So that he could show the world who I am without having to come forward himself.”

I feel Arseni’s head turn to me, his eyes scrutinizing. My hands shake with fear of letting this lodge free. Even when the whole world hates me for a lie, it’s still terrifying to admit the truth.

“What?” Arseni asks, sounding genuinely confused.

I close my eyes and hug my knees. There aren’t any chemicals in this basement. I’m certain of it. For days, it’s smelled like mildew and death, and Arseni didn’t spontaneously bathe in Pine Sol.

But still, I smell the lemony scent of fear. It quickens my heartrate and threatens to paralyze me. I speak before my mouth can numb.

“When I was thirty, I met a boy who told me he was eighteen. I… I was attracted to him. At one point, I even thought I might be falling for him. But after a month passed of us … dating … he started acting crazy. He would call me during meetings then leave violent, raging voicemails when I didn’t answer.

He begged me to quit my job so we could run away together, and when I broke things off with him, he threatened to kill me and then off himself just like… ”

I clench my eyes shut and bite my tongue.

“Your parents,” Arseni mercifully finishes for me when I can’t. I nod.

“He was sixteen years old,” I whisper, my head lowered so I can’t see anything but the frills on my skirt and a curtain of hair. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know.”

I squeeze my arms around my knees while my stomach twists into a tight knot, though it isn’t due to Arseni’s judgement. He doesn’t care. He can’t care. It wouldn’t even make sense for him to.

But I care. I’ve cared every day since He told me he loved me.

I knew then what a horrible mistake I’d made, even before knowing he was a minor.

He was a boy who looked at me like I was beautiful, and I was eager to let him.

He reminded me of… He reminded me of my foster kid, and I was sick enough to use him as a replacement for my fantasy.

I made the greatest mistake of my life. And it all started with becoming a foster parent.

“You were thirty when I met you,” Arseni says, obviously putting the pieces together.

I bite my lip.

“Was I before or after this guy?”

“Before… You left just before it started.”

He huffs out an angry ball of air like he’s breathing fire. I’m not watching him, but I know he’s tense. His tension puts me in a headlock.

“You were adamant about kicking me out because of my ‘inappropriate sexual advances.’ The social worker wouldn’t place me with another woman because of you.”

“That’s the reason you had to go,” I say, my voice small. “I didn’t lie.”

He laughs dryly. “Was I seriously not attractive enough for you?”

“No.”

“ No ?”

“No, I…” I raise my head and let out a shaky breath, wiping my palms on my thighs. “You were too attractive.”

My mouth is dry, but I still swallow as I get the urge, not looking at Arseni. “I was having dreams about you. I was… I was afraid of what would happen if you stayed.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He pauses like he’s waiting for me to explain, but I don’t. I don’t have words to.

“If you wanted to fuck me, you should’ve fucked me. I wasn’t psychotic. I wasn’t going to rat on you or stash child porn in your house as revenge for not loving me.”

Finally, I turn to him with my jaw dropped. “You’ve kidnapped me.”

His brow furrowing, he waves that away. “It’s different. I had a job to do, and you were conveniently?—”

My bitter laugh cuts him off, and he stares at me as his lips thin. “The only difference between the two of you is your denial about who you are and why you’re doing this. Seven years ago, I didn’t want either of you. And you’re both punishing me for it.”

He opens his mouth, his face red, but freezes without releasing words. His body slouches with a sigh as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Fine. We’re the same… But why not me ?”

When his eyes flicker with pain, I have to look away. I know exactly what he’s asking, and it isn’t why I chose to fuck the other guy instead of him.

Why didn’t you want me?

But really… What’s wrong with me?

I know he’s asking this because I’ve wondered that same thing about myself a thousand times.

It never goes away. No matter how many years pass, no matter how many flattering looks you receive, you never forget that the woman who bothered to carry you to term looked at you and walked away.

In my case, my mother walked to Heaven. In Arseni’s…

who the fuck knows. But he asks himself why every day of his life, to each person he comes across.

I know because I feel it too. I know because I spoke to his counselor when he was seventeen.

He’s the same as the boy who’s heart I not only broke but warped into a black hole. He’s also the same as me.

“Because I loved you,” I whisper. “Not… Not like that. But I loved you. I saw you as a wounded manipular trying desperately to push everyone who tried to care for you away. I saw how scared you were that they would leave. I… I saw you, Arseni.

“And I knew the one thing you needed most in the world was someone who would reject all of your efforts to sabotage their love for you. And for someone to see you as the scared child that you were. I wanted so badly to be that person. So badly… But I couldn’t stop seeing you as a man, and I was not going to be just another person who used you before throwing you away. ”

I pause, biting my lip against a stomach cramp. “I hate that I couldn’t see how broken the other boy was… But I’m glad I didn’t do to you what I did to him.”

“Still?” he asks, his body turning my way. “You’re still glad?”

There’s disbelief in his voice that I can’t help but validate. I know I should hate him, and a part of me does. There’s just so much more of me that hates myself.

“Yes,” I breathe out, feeling smaller sitting next to Arseni. I brace for a laugh. For him to degrade me, tell me what a fool I am.

Instead, he smooths a hand over my jaw and turns me toward him. His lips press to mine gently, his fingers brushing my cheek.

For a moment, I just stay still and play the part of unwilling participant. But it feels like such an act now, and his touch is lighter than I knew he was capable of, and his cologne smells like safety, and it all just feels like exactly what I need it to be.

I kiss him back, my body twisting to face him. When my hands move to his hard chest. It’s the signal he needs to deepen our kiss, his mouth opening to invade mine. And I let him. I meet his tongue and stretch my neck when he chooses to claim it, hungry lips devouring me.

I don’t know what his touch means. I don’t know if he’s telling me everything’s going to be okay or that he finally forgives me or if maybe he just wants to fuck me again.

But I pretend. When his hands work the buttons of my blouse, I pretend he’s saying he understands. When he rips his shirt over his head, I pretend he’s saying he sees me too. He sees that I don’t have evil in my heart, despite my poor decisions. That I’m good . That I…

That I try. That I really fucking try.

His tongue licks the valley between my breasts while he works my blouse over my arms. I shrug the material off and let it lie behind me. The soft cotton flattens under my back as Arseni guides me to the mattress.

I arch for him when one of his hands slides around to unclasp my bra, his other tugging the skirt down my waist. The material is filthy with his crusted cum and my sweat, but it feels unbearably hot too. No one could ever accuse Arseni of being cold blooded.

He roars like an inferno on top of me, his lips latching onto my nipple while he yanks my bra free of my arms. It’s so sexy, I squirm from my clit throbbing.

He moves onto the other nipple before rising up and unbuckling his belt, his pants sagged low enough that a well-defined V juts from his waist. I could lick the valleys the way he did my breasts and get off just the same as if he fucked me.

“I want you on top,” he says, his eyes blazing with lust. It makes me feel alive. It makes me feel desirable, lust-worthy, and like I wouldn’t dare do anything other than what he wanted, just to keep those fiery eyes on me.

I balance myself on my knees when he yanks me up by my arm, pulling me against his chest. I cling to his sides and peer up at him with my clit so full, it aches.