So why do I run to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me and locking the door? I bring the phone to my ear and whisper, “Ilya? I’m so?—”
The door handle rattles, and I stare at it, aware that when Adam gets through, I’m going to pay for this.
I’m so tired of paying for tiny infractions.
No, not even infractions at all. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Do I ever?
“Ilya,” I say again, even as Adam starts pounding on the door to the bathroom. “Ilya, I’m so sorry. I need you to know that, okay?”
“Mishka? What’s happening? Is he hurting you?” Ilya demands. “Where are you? I’ll come right now.”
“No,” I tell him, staring at the door. “No, I’m fine. I need you to…” I should tell him to stay away. I should tell him not tobother with me. But I’m terrified, and beyond that, I’m tired of being the scapegoat for everything that happens in Adam’s life. I sob as the sound of the pounding ends.
He’s not gone.
He’s going to get into the bathroom one way or another.
When he does…
“Please come,” I say, tears making it impossible to see anything at all as the thin door splinters open. I screech at the loud sound, almost dropping the phone entirely.
“Who thefuckis calling you?” Adam seethes. He kicks the door the rest of the way open.
I have never seen him this mad before.
The features I once considered handsome are warped and marred into those of a monster. His entire face is flushed red in rage.
He’s also holding his gun.
“A-Adam,” I stammer. “I?—”
I’m paralyzed by fear, unable to do anything but stare at the gun.
“You don’t need that,” I tell him, my breathing quick, labored. “Adam, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Who,” Adam repeats, “is calling you?”
I can’t tell him it’s a wrong number.
I can’t lie to him.
“It’s Ilya,” I tell him, blinded by my tears now. “I was just telling him not to call me again.”
Adam snarls and grabs the phone right out of my hands. “You stay the fuck away from Micah!” he shouts. “And you might have gotten lucky this time, but I’m going to fucking nail you. Russia isn’t the only country with police brutality.”
I can’t hear Ilya’s reply, but whatever he says has Adam raging.
Adam throws the phone hard against the shower stall tile. The phone cracks and lands in several pieces on the floor of the shower stall.
“Adam,” I whisper again, stunned andterrified. “Please, Adam, leave him alone. I’m here with you. I’m not with him. I’m—” I scramble to think of what to say. I shouldn’t have told Ilya to come.
I hadn’t expected Adam to take out his gun.
Adam aims the gun at me. “Get up.”
I tremble, staring at the barrel of the gun.
