Page 8

stassi

I dashed into the kitchen the moment Dimitri left. He’d decided it was easier to go out and get drunk with his teammates than it was to try to get me to fit the mold of whatever sexual desires he had.

I grabbed a can of soup and poured it into a large pot to heat up.

While it simmered, I hurried into my room and threw on my favorite pair of black joggers and a crop top.

The bruise on my side, inflicted by Dimitri the day before, had turned an unpleasant shade of purple.

With all my sweatshirts in the wash, I hastily grabbed a hoodie to conceal the bruise before applying some mascara.

I reassured myself that the mascara was simply to freshen up my tired appearance, not because I was trying to impress my new friend. It had been a few days since I last saw him, when I brought him cookies, so I wanted to look somewhat presentable.

Once the pot was finished heating up, I grabbed it with some oven mitts and then headed to the elevator, making sure that I locked the door behind me. When I reached his door, I set the pot on the floor and leaned in to listen. Sure enough, I heard the sound of feet shuffling inside.

“Shit,” I whispered.

Maybe I heard two pairs of feet? Why was I doing this? Aside from the incredible loneliness, and the fact my husband liked to hurt me when we had sex every day, I was exhausted and desperate for someone to be my friend, to share a space with me...softly.

“You forget that I can see you,” a deep voice said as the door opened.

I bent over to grab the pot, and as it swung open, I already knew I was in a compromising position with my ass in the air. The only redeeming thought was that he was much taller than me, so it wasn’t right in his face.

“Oh,” he uttered as my cheeks flushed crimson.

Hastily, I thrust the pot of soup toward him, practically pushing it into his chest.

“Damn, this is hot.”

I realized I was still clutching the pot holders and felt the blush spreading down my neck.

“Here,” I mumbled, thrusting the pot holders into his hand as he expertly balanced the soup without spilling a drop.

“God, I’ve messed up again. The other day, I made a mess everywhere, and now I probably burned you. ”

He chuckled. “No, it’s fine. Thank you for this.” He nodded toward the pot. “So, what’s on the menu tonight?”

I followed him into his kitchen as if it were the most natural thing in the world, not waiting for an invitation.

“I attempted to make chicken noodle soup.” I lied.

How could I tell him I wanted to spend time with him?

“This is impressive,” he said as he looked down at the pot, and I wondered if he somehow could smell the fact it was a grocery store brand and not homemade.

“It may taste like shit,” I confessed as I took the pot from him, set it down and instinctively reached up to the cupboards to grab the bowls.

I knew where he’d kept them from when I brought the soup from the other night.

I stood on my tiptoes, stretching to reach without climbing onto the counter, when he moved around me. He was going to pull the bowls out effortlessly, which was going to piss me off because I really wanted to get them... for him.

My hoodie rode up as I stretched upward. I managed to reach the top before my clothes exposed my entire back.

Suddenly, his hand came to my wrist, pulling me back down and forcing me to slam back on my feet. I stumbled backward.

“What is this?” he demanded, his eyes fixated on something on my back.

Fuck. My bruise from Dimitri.

I needed to defuse the situation. This was my husband’s teammate. I couldn’t get Dimitri in trouble because then he’d divorce me. I was so close to finding a new partner, and I couldn’t let it all go now.

“I tripped,” I responded, the lie slipping easily off my tongue.

“On what? A fucking refrigerator?”

I narrowed my eyes at his question.

I twisted so his hands let go of my hoodie and then pulled it down, concealing the bruise again.

“What? Maybe.” I balked. “I just fell. It’s really no big deal.”

I shrugged, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, but inwardly, I was in full panic mode.

If Alex said anything, then Dimitri would get in trouble with work, and this would only get worse for me.

I really needed a friend after Dimitri took Layla away from me and limited my phone access.

I yearned for a soft moment with someone, like when we sat and watched a movie together.

“I know he has a temper,” Alex added as if testing me to tell him something other than the refrigerator. He brought his hands toward me. “Let me see that again. I can see if you need a doctor...”

“Stop.” I pushed him away. “Seriously.”

“It’s him, isn’t it?” he demanded, taking a step away from me, giving me space.

“Why would you assume that? I’m clumsy.”

“I-I’ve seen it before. I know. I...” Alex shook his head.

“I’m fine, Alex,” I said, trying not to lie to him. I needed to change the subject. I didn’t want this taken away from me. “Who’s to say it wasn’t from practice?”

“I thought it was from a refrigerator?” He narrowed his eyes at me as he caught me in the lie.

“It was,” I snapped. “But I’m an ice-skater, Alex. It could’ve happened from that, too.”

“I can get Coach invol—” he started to say, but I took three steps backward, feeling the bile rising in my throat.

“No,” I screeched. “Please don’t,” I said softer.

That would make things worse—so much worse, and he had no idea.

“He won’t know. If he did this?—”

“Please stop.” I held up my hand, feeling backed into the corner as my back smushed against the edge of the wall. “Please,” I begged.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, the pulse in his neck quickening. I wanted to reassure him that I was okay and capable of handling this.

“Tell me why you don’t want to. Let me understand your reasoning.”

I thought about walking away from this guy. I didn’t know him, nor did I owe him an explanation for anything. I didn’t need to tell him that I didn’t know how to leave or how to disappoint my parents.

But I craved friendship. I was so alone, and somehow, being here was the first time I didn’t feel so isolated in my thoughts, in my world. Alex’s presence provided a warmth I hadn’t realized I was missing.

“I have expectations,” I said, fumbling with my cuticles, slowly ripping them apart. “My parents expect me?—”

“Fuck them. If you’re getting hurt, then you need to make this stop.” He walked toward me.

“I promise,” I whispered. “It’s from the refrigerator.”

I tried to back away, but the wall was behind me, so I dropped down to my knees, hugging my body, hoping that if I could make myself small enough, I would float away from this.

As he approached, I expected him to pull me up and talk to me, but instead, he met me down on the floor, pulling back, making sure there was space between us.

My mind raced with a jumble of thoughts.

How did I get myself into this situation?

How could I explain the truth without delving into the tangled web of my personal life?

“F-fuck,” I stammered, feeling trapped.

My darkest secret—the bruises hidden beneath my clothes, Dimitri’s violent temper—felt like it was slipping from my grasp. I’d clung to it so tightly, knowing my survival depended on keeping it buried.

The familiar sense of powerlessness crept in again. I had to stay in control; if the truth about my marriage surfaced, everything would fall apart. My heart pounded in my chest, and I struggled to find the right words to convey the complexity of my circumstances.

“I-I can’t...” The weight of my secrets pressed down on me, rendering me speechless.

How could I explain the depth of the torment I endured without exposing the raw truth of my marriage?

When I finally looked up at him, his expression softened. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured gently, reaching out a hand in a gesture of comfort.

I didn’t take it. Instead, I stared into his beautiful green eyes as he held my gaze. But even his disposition couldn’t dispel the suffocating sense of helplessness that engulfed me.

“I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone to appease my parents.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. My parents had a strong marriage, unlike yours. I’ve always admired their relationship and looked to them for guidance.”

As the words left my mouth, guilt panged me.

It was a low blow, dredging up something he confided in me.

But his relentless probing and criticism had pushed me to retaliate, to lash out in an attempt to protect myself.

I preferred to keep my vulnerabilities submerged, hidden beneath the surface, and his insistence on bringing them to light was unsettling.

“Anastasia, please don’t bring what you don’t know about my parents into this situation,” he begged.

“I-I-I can’t fucking do this.” My chest tightened.

I’d lashed out and hurt him, like Dimitri did to me. I was no better, no different, and the thought was suffocating. Not knowing how to fix this, I did the only thing that felt possible—I ran.

I stood up and fled, his concerned voice echoing behind me. “I don’t even know you,” I yelled back from the hallway, frantically jabbing the elevator button.

I needed to get out, to disappear into the night, where I could face the mess I’d become in solitude. My emotions swirled in chaos, threatening to swallow me whole, and all I could do was grapple with the tangled threads of my shattered life, desperate to find a way out.