Page 23

She left.

Seven days and eight hours ago.

She left.

I squint at the digital clock projector, splashing red numbers onto the wall. It’s one in the morning.

I groan loudly and clutch my hand against my spinning head.

I didn’t want to wake up. I thought I drank enough this afternoon to keep myself in that blissful state of oblivion I’ve come to enjoy so much over this past week.

Except the oblivion isn’t deep enough because I still think about her. Every moment of every day. Drunk or not. Sleeping or awake. She’s on my mind.

Reaching over in the dark, I run my hand across the bedside table and find the glass of whisky I remember leaving there.

But instead of picking it up, I knock it over and with a loud crash it hits the wooden floors and shatters.

“Fuck,” I huff and my head aches at the effort of it all.

Sitting up in bed my head swims in all directions and I almost throw up. Squinting around the room I spot what I’m looking for. It’s on the dresser, catching shards of moonlight through the crystal bottle.

Swinging my legs off the bed, I stagger over to the bottle of whisky and snatch it up, then stagger out of the bedroom as I take a long swig straight from the bottle.

I gag.

Then swig again.

Clutching onto the railing of the staircase I make my way downstairs. I was considering eating the three-day-old pizza in the fridge—but instead I turn away from the kitchen and flop down onto the sofa.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I sigh and say to no one at all.

My fingers lose their grip on the bottle and it tilts onto its side on the carpet. I can hear the alcohol splashing out of it, but I don’t care enough to move.

Alyona is gone.

I wanted to drive her away from me. I wanted to make her hate me—and it worked. My plan worked so why the hell am I so angry. So hurt. So fucking lost.

I got what I wanted.

I snort a dry, unamused laugh. I always get what I want, don’t I?

I reach out and feel around for a sofa pillow and bunch it behind my head. Trying to make things stop spinning so much, but it doesn’t help.

Staring at the white ceiling and clear crystal chandelier overhead I watch it move in an unseen breeze, glittering across my blurred vision—making me even more nauseous.

I think—I’m not upset about Alyona leaving—because I planned that, so I can’t be upset about that—no—I’m upset because Avraam won. That’s all.

That’s it. He won and I don’t like to lose.

I growl loudly. Deep agitation rumbling through my chest.

I don’t give a fuck about Avraam or whether he won or lost.

I’m trying to lie to myself now.

I forgot about hating Avraam ages ago.

All I want is Alyona. She is everything, and she is gone.

I pushed her hard enough to make her leave—she left, it worked, yay me—and now she wants absolutely nothing to do with me. Can I blame her? After what I showed her? I threw her right into the heart of our prison and made her look at something so vile and ugly—

Fuck.

Sitting up to stop the wave of vomit threatening to leave my body, I lean my head forward into my hands.

When the horrible sick feeling has passed, I lean my head against the back of the sofa and close my eyes.

“I got what I wanted,” I say to the darkness.

***

A loud thump wakes me up and the pain registers before anything else.

Pain—everywhere.

My head, my stomach—my heart.

Dammit. I’m awake again. Not where I want to be.

Bright, intrusive morning light is piercing like daggers into my eyes.

I’m sitting on the sofa, my head pounding and too heavy to lift.

But I lift it anyway because I have to find that whisky.

Leaning forward, resting my elbow on my knee I feel around in front of the sofa until my fingers wrap around the neck of the fallen bottle.

I hoist it up and sigh.

There’s still a few gulps that didn’t spill out.

Lifting the bottle to my lips, I tilt my head back.

“Don’t you dare,” Ruslana cries out, hurrying towards me and grabbing the bottle away.

“What the fuck—“ I say in fright, squinting at her. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I groan, slumping back against the sofa, covering my face with my hands, ashamed and yes—in pain.

“I’m making you some breakfast. And hopefully convincing you to take a shower. You stink of sweat and booze. Have you been drinking for three days straight?” she says in horror.

“Five or six actually,” I chuckle, even though it isn’t funny.

She pushes her hands against her hips and glares at me.

“Ruslana, just give that bottle back, and make your happy little way out of the house.”

“No, Rigor. You look like shit. We’re all worried about you.”

“Yeah, yeah—I listened to Rodion’s voice note. All worried. Whatever. Just go—ok.”

She sighs, heavy and sad.

I can’t look into her eyes.

“Please go, Ruslana,” I mumble.

“Rigor—you know me better than that. Now get your ass off the chair and into a shower. Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes and you are not sitting at the table looking or smelling like that.”

I groan, louder than before, “My head hurts.”

Ruslana marches out of the living room, taking that precious bottle of whisky with her, and returns with a glass of water and two Tylenol.

“Water?” I say sarcastically. She glares at me.

I toss the Tylenol down my throat and wash it away with the water. Honestly, I don’t think anything is going to kill this headache. It’s everywhere in my body. It’s taken over.

“Get up,” she demands.

And because I don’t have the energy to fight her on anything, I do get up—and head to the shower.

The bacon smells fucking incredible.

Showered, in a fresh pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt, smelling and feeling a lot better on the outside—I carry my heavy heart downstairs to deal with Ruslana.

The dry powdery feeling of my mouth reminding me that I’m still horribly dehydrated and in all honestly still drunk.

Ruslana has dished up a massive plate of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, toast and fried tomatoes. She pushes it towards me as I sit down at the kitchen counter.

“Eat,” she demands.

I pick up the fork and start rhythmically pushing food into my body. My stomach muscles twitch and churn a little, but overall I can tell my body desperately wants this sustenance.

Ruslana doesn’t say a word until I’m half way through the plate of food.

Then as she leans forward to put more bacon on my plate she asks.

“Why aren’t you answering anyone’s calls, Rigor?”

“How is Alyona? Is she ok?”

“She’s ok. I guess. Why aren’t you answering anyone’s calls?”

“Is she staying with you guys?”

Ruslana gives me the look. The one I know pretty well. The one that says I’m getting annoyed with you—answer the damn question.

“Alyona is staying with us. Now answer me, Rigor,” she huffs.

“Did Alyona say anything about—”

“No, you’ve had your turn, you asked your question—now answer mine,” she snaps angrily.

I roll my eyes but regret it because it aches all the way to the back of my skull.

I don’t want to tell Ruslana what’s going on with me because saying it out loud to her will make it real and I’m not ready to accept it.

I don’t want it to be true.

I shove another piece of bacon into my mouth and chew slowly, stalling for time.

“I’ve got all day,” Ruslana says, seeing straight through me.

Sighing, I set my fork down. “You know—I took her because I wanted to save you from Avraam. It was my only goal, the only purpose for any of this. I was going to use her as a tool, a means to an end. Then I found out she didn’t even know he was Bratva. Her own brother—she had no idea who he was—she was completely innocent in everything and I dragged her into this fucking psychotic mess.”

I glance up to see Ruslana’s gentle eyes on me.

She doesn’t say a word, so I carry on, a weight seems to be lifting off me the more I speak, so I continue.

“She was innocent, and I was responsible for dragging her into it all so I promised myself that I would still use her to get you back—but I would also keep her safe from the world I exposed her to. And I did my best. I tried really hard to help her understand, while protecting her but she wanted to know everything.” I sigh, pressing my fingers into my temples. I need another four Tylenol. Or maybe the pain is in my heart and not my head.

“And then what happened?” she gently persuades me.

“I fell in love.”

The words slip from my mouth, sending a current through my body that shivers down my spine. I fell in love.

“Rigor?” she says, and I realize I haven’t spoken in a long time.

“I fell in love and I realized that she doesn’t belong in this world—this violent, cold world—so it would be cruel of me to keep her here—so I made sure she didn’t want to stay. I showed her the truth—and I pushed her so fucking far from me that she hates me now.”

The lump in my throat is pressing against my words and making it hard to speak. I swallow hard. Pushing it away.

Ruslana picks up her coffee and takes a slow sip, then she stands with her hip leaning against the kitchen counter and speaks without looking at me.

“Right in the beginning, I was furious with Avraam,” she says and my curiosity peaks. I look at her with my brows knotted.

“I was so angry I thought I hated him. But the truth is that I never hated him. Even when he was being bad—he still had that same gentle heart that I came to know so well. And over time his mask slipped—the mask he tried to hide behind—to be the villain, the kidnapper, the dark force—it slipped and all I could see was the real him.”

I am staring straight at my sister. “The real him?”

She nods, a soft smile painted over her lips. “Yes, Rigor. The good man that he is. The man that I fell in love with. I saw in him what I see in all of my brothers, including you—good, kind men with gentle hearts. Men who want to do good in the world, but grew up in darkness, forced to do things that aren’t good. But all of you—are still good men.”

For a long moment I don’t say anything. The way she speaks about Avraam is so genuine. It’s so deep and soft and caring. The look in her eyes is nothing but authentic and for the first time since I’ve seen them together—I believe her.

I believe that they are truly in love.

“Is it so hard to believe that a girl can fall in love with a Bratva guy?” Ruslana laughs lightheartedly. “Or that a Bratva guy can truly love and care for a woman?” She shrugs.

“I guess—“ I shrug. “I guess it isn’t impossible.”

My head is aching with too many thoughts. But at least these thoughts aren’t dragging me down a dark hole into hopelessness. These thoughts seem to be helping me climb out of the hole.

Maybe I am allowed to fall in love with Alyona.

Maybe she is allowed to fall in love with me.

But—that’s asking too much, isn’t it?

I might be able to come to terms with and accept the fact that I am in love with her—but hoping for her to love me back just the same—that is asking too much.

I groan loudly and set my elbows on the table, resting my head in my hands.

“Rigor, there is no reason why you aren’t allowed to be loved.”

Ruslana says, hitting the exact fear that is gorging itself into my heart.

Can anyone really love the real me?

At least through all of this, one thing has become clear to me.

Avraam does love my sister. I can see why he didn’t want to give her up—why he did everything he could to keep her—but he got lucky. She loved him in return. They found each other in a unique and unconventional way—but it is one in a million.

I don’t have to worry about Ruslana anymore though.

I look up at her and smile.

“I’m—happy for you,” I say, struggling to find the words at first.

“Rigor—“ she sighs, reaching across the kitchen counter to take my hand. “You can have happiness too—but wallowing in self-pity and drowning yourself in whisky and vodka isn’t going to help you find it.” She pulls her mouth to the side and raises her brows at me.

“I know,” I sigh.

Ruslana smiles that wise smile of hers. She sets her empty coffee cup down on the counter.

“I’m going to head home. But you—stop drinking—decide what you really want—and whatever that is—make an effort to win it back into your life. You never know until you try.”

Her cryptic advice seems specific yet broad at the same time.

But I know what I need to do. If I don’t at least try—I will never be able to live with myself.