I keep my smile in check, but my precious Stella just gave herself away.
Kira. Kira is her friend.
“And don’t give me that bullshit about not knowing because I know that you do. Why else would you have lied to us if you didn’t?”
“Very well. What would you like to know?” I counter, picking up my lighter to keep my hands busy.
“Everything.”
Yeah, that’s not happening.
“I’m not sure of its exact origins,” I start smoothly, my thumb working the Zippo open and shut, “but I can confirm that it’s an old family heirloom.”
“What family?”
“An old forgotten one. One that no longer exists.”
“What do you mean?” she asks with furrowed brows.
“I remember seeing that bracelet once, years ago… on the wrist of an old blind woman. One who’d lost a great deal more than just her sight.”
“A blind woman? What woman?” she interrogates, inching closer to me, needing to get to the bottom of the tale.
Unfortunately for her, this tale is one she will only get in parts, if that.
“Those are a lot of questions,milaya. If you want answers, I’m afraid you’ll have to give me something in return.”
I put down my lighter and start to gather the cards, trying to suggest another game, but the breath is knocked clean from my lungs when she suddenly shifts even closer toward me, lifting herself up and sliding into my lap. Her arms wrap around my neck, her scent invading every corner of my mind, leaving no room for anything but her.
“Happy now?”
Am I happy? I’m not sure what I’m feeling is happiness or confusion. This was supposed to be just a game. But now with her body pressed up to mine, thought and reason have officially abandoned me.
“Very,” I croak, my voice rougher than I intend.
“Tell me about this woman,” she whispers, her face so close I can feel her breath fan across my skin. She smells sweet at first, then a darker note curls behind it, like she’s hiding fire under silk.
“She had one daughter,” I manage to croak out. “But that daughter was… unfortunately taken from her too soon.”
“Why?” she asks, her voice soft, curiosity threaded with the intensity in her gaze.
“Back then, heroin was crawling through the streets of Moscow like a disease. People didn’t have food, couldn’t afford heat, and barely had the strength or will to survive. When you’ve got nothing, you reach for anything to numb your suffering. For most, heroin was the drug of choice,” I explain, while getting lost in the dark green of her eyes. “The old woman’s daughter fell into the trap of chasing escape through a needle. To feed herhabit, she consorted with the worst of the worst—her beauty the only currency she had to bargain with. She used it without care, getting pregnant by men who used her up and threw her away without batting an eye,” I add, my chest becoming constricted with the memories of the past. “It broke the old woman’s heart, but she found solace in raising the children her daughter left behind. Until one day, her daughter was nothing more than a thin, frail corpse found in a gutter—no longer a mother, barely even a human being.”
Stella’s body molds itself into mine as the words leave my lips, my tone softening with every sentence.
“What happened to her?” she asks quietly. “To the blind woman, I mean?”
“What happens to all of us in the end. Time has its way with us, whether we want it to or not. But unlike her daughter, she went peacefully in the night since death’s kiss was merciful in finding her when she slept.”
I run my thumb along her chin as she takes in my words, trying to piece together her own meaning.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, unaware of the story’s true weight or what it means to me and mine.
“Don’t be. She’s just one of many sad tales I saw growing up.”
“I’m still sorry,” she insists, her eyes locking with mine—piercing, genuine, incandescent.
I inhale slowly, not wanting to break the connection and greedily taking her all in. My hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer until her breath mingles with mine.
