He answers on the third ring, sounding half-asleep. “Micah?”
I think I’m going to vomit.
“I’m not doing it,” I whisper to him.
“Not doing what?” His voice is sharp, all traces of sleep obliterated from it.
“Any of it. I… I’m staying with Ilya,” I tell him, gathering every bit of strength I can possibly cling to.
“You called me in the middle of the night to tell me something this stupid?” Adam asks. “Are you drunk? High?”
I wish I was. It would make this easier.
I think about how caring he’d sounded at the aquarium.
I think about how at odds it is with this entire situation. He should care more about me, right? He should be more worried that I’m going to get caught and what would happen if I did.
You deserve a man who makes you cry?
God, I’ve cried so much with Adam.
More than the fleeting moments of joy, I have cried so much and been mocked for those tears.
“No,” I say, staring at the closed door. Ilya is right through there, down the hall, and when I get off the phone, I can go to him. He won’t make me feel stupid for crying. He’ll take care of me. “I’m not doing it, Adam.”
“Stop talking nonsense,” Adam says. “He’s a fucking gangster. ARussiangangster. Just because he knows how to sweet talk you doesn’t mean he likes you.”
“You don’t like me either,” I mutter.
If he did, he wouldn’t have sent me into an impossible situation. He wouldn’t be risking my life.
He wouldn’t have done the things he has to me.
He doesn’t love me.
Hecan’tlove me.
“What are you talking about?” Adam’s voice goes softer. “Babe, of course I like you. Iloveyou. I’m the one who protects you from all the trouble you always get yourself into. Like right now.”
I swallow hard around the lump in my throat.
When I was talking to Ilya, it had all seemed so clear, but now that Adam is talking to me, it feels fuzzier. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe…
But then I think of all the times Adam’s lashed out at me. I think of all the times he’s diminished what little I have to call my own.
I think, too, about the fact that he isn’t protecting me by sending me into this situation.
“I’m not doing it anymore,” I repeat.
I sink down onto the edge of the bed, fighting off a wave of nausea.
“Of course you are,” Adam counters. “You’re tired and sleep deprived right now. Are you scared? Is he doing something to you?”
Nothing I don’t want.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? I want everything Ilya is doing for me, to me, and I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to inform on Ilya. I don’t want to betray him, and it isn’t because I’m scared of what he’ll do to me.
I’m more afraid that he’ll be disappointed in me, which is somehow worse than violence.
