Even when we’re both dressed again—and she begs me to go open the door to let the baristas back in and explain why the café randomly got closed in the middle of the day—I can’t stop thinking about my wife.
Specifically, my wife beneath me. And potentially on top of me.
All around me.
God, I’m so fucked.
***
I tell myself the space is best for both of us. This way, she gets to live her life, and I get to focus on mine. I have to focus. Neither of us needs to be losing our heads.
It’s for the best, right?
After what happened at the coffee shop. After I devoured her on top of a table like a fucking beast. Just because she’s never had someone treat her half-decently doesn’t mean it’s what she should settle for. I didn’t rescue her to damn her to that fate.
So, I stay away. Mostly.
“She’s doing great,” Nadya tells me over the phone the week after. “She and Gela are working on a website or something. They’re both nerding out over it. It’s fucking cute.”
A part of me is disappointed that she isn’t curled up in bed, moping about my avoidance. But I ignore that part.
At least Nadya’s nicer about being my source than the rest of my siblings, who mostly just mock me and ask questions I don’t have answers for.
Exhibit A:
“Earth to Iosif.”
I realize I’m still sitting at my brother’s table, my half-finished steak in front of me. He’s staring at me, looking deeply amused.
Well, that teaches me to come check on my convalescing brother.
“Sorry,” I sigh and cut into the meat.
Leonid nods and pours more wine into my glass. His other hand tosses cut-up pieces of his steak, one each, to his Dobermanns. “Sure,” he allows. “But if you were going to ignore me, couldn’t we have done this at yours?”
He knows exactly why we couldn’t have done this at mine. But I’m not going to humor him with that conversation tonight.
I narrow my eyes at him. “We could. But Oksana hates that you bring the dog smell into my apartment, remember?”
It’s a running joke at this point.
“Oksana can fuck off,” Leo snorts without malice. “Besides, I knowJanellawouldn’t let her be mean to me.”
There it is.
He says her name with too much relish. And I know exactly why he does. He found a button to press when I told him to check on her for me the other night. When she made him fucking dinner.
I know what he’s doing. It makes it twice as annoying when it works.
“Not falling for it.”
“For what?” Leonid blinks, feigning innocence. “I’m just pointing out that Janella is a friendly woman. Warm. Pretty fucking easy on the eyes…”
I stare at my brother and twirl my steak knife pointedly between my fingers.
But I take it, because it’s an alternative to him asking me again why I’m avoiding her. Telling him why, if I can even fucking articulate it, would make it real. I’m not ready for it to be real. It’s haunting me enough, as it is.
“You’re an idiot.”
