“It’s your mistake to make, Kristopher,” he says ominously.
I say nothing, because there’s no point engaging.
But once he’s gone, I’m left with a sickening knot in the pit of my stomach.
He was too calm.
Chapter 2 - Georgie
My book bag thunks as I drop it to the floor next to the door of my dorm room. I have an hour before my next class, and I’m dying for a cup of tea. I kick the door closed behind me and rub my hand over my shoulder. Those textbooks weigh a ton. Even in my last year, I still hate lugging those books around. I never got used to it.
I moved from San Diego to complete my Undergrad at Arizona State University. There was a specific program I wanted to focus on, and Arizona was the right choice for me.
And I’m very happy here.
My dorm room is small, but comfortable, and I’m lucky enough to have it all to myself, while some of the other dorms are shared. I like having my own space and peace and quiet in order to study.
It’s an open-plan studio with a comfy L-shaped corner couch and a double bed. A tiny kitchenette sits just off the living room, and a very cramped bathroom with a shower is tucked away behind a door next to the bed. That means I don’t have to use the communal bathrooms on campus, and while I can’t cook a full-on gourmet meal in the kitchen, I can make snacks and my beloved lavender or peppermint tea.
Some of my friends at university, back in San Diego and here in Arizona, got stuck with the worst roommates, partying every weekend, bringing random guys in at night. I guess it’s normal for some students not to take it seriously.
Thank goodness I don’t have to deal with any of that.
I’m pretty sure Jessa pulled some strings for me to get me my own room when I transferred—her, or more specifically, herbrother, Kristopher. A name that often slips into my thoughts and has pestered me for years. 'Pestered' might not be the right word. Haunted? Taunted? Influenced?
Jess is my best friend. I met her in my first few years of studying for my psych degree. As part of the course, I was required to offer counseling to other students on campus, and Jess was one of the people who signed up.
Her brother didn’t really want her to go to counseling in the city, but she needed someone to talk to, someone who was sworn to keep the stories she told private.
And that someone turned out to be me.
I flick the kettle on and grab my pink and blue polka dot mug from the sink, running hot water over it to rinse it because I’d rushed out so fast this morning, I’d just dumped it there unwashed.
As the water slowly churns to a boil, I stand lost in thought, staring at the glowing light of the kettle.
Jess is a few years older than me.
We clicked almost instantly. At first, in our sessions, she spoke in loose metaphors, but after a few weeks, she started loosening up and speaking freely. Until meeting her, I was just an innocent all-American girl who had no idea about the mafia, other than what I’d seen in movies.
I learned about her life and her ties to Bratva, a world that was somewhat shocking to me, terrifyingly unknown. Of course, I knew itexisted, somewhere in the underbelly of the city. But it was beneath a veil, a mystery that didn’t impact any part of my life until she opened my eyes to it.
She told me about her brother, an incredibly powerful Pakhan, a Bratva king. She spoke about her childhood, her lifewith security following her around, and how she always had to watch her back. She was haunted by so many things, things that affected her daily life in ways normal people could never understand. And the more she spoke, the closer we became.
It was a strange friendship at first, because my moral stance was always black and white. Right or wrong. There was never an in-between. Not until I realized what an amazing person she is, and how good people can live in dangerous, criminal worlds. Suddenly, there was gray. Things weren’t as simple as I’d always believed.
It’s not like she chose that life. She was born into it, like so many others.
Jess is incredible. She’s strong, funny, beautiful, caring and gentle.
She introduced me to Bratva life, and while I did start becoming a little entangled in it—not directly, but knowing things I probably didn’t want to know—I never, ever regretted meeting her. And to this day, she is the best friend I’ve ever had.
The kettle clicks, and I open the pale lilac ceramic jar sitting next to it. It’s shaped like a rabbit, and I lift its cute little head up to grab a lavender tea bag from inside its tummy.
I drop the tea bag into the mug and slowly pour hot water over it, watching the colors swirl into the water as flavors soak from the herbs locked inside it.
As I set the kettle back into its stand, my phone rings, and I pat my back pocket to find it, then pull it out and smile broadly when I see Jess’s name on the screen.
“I was just thinking about you,” I grin as I answer, holding the phone between my cheek and my shoulder while I stir my tea.
