Christ, what’s wrong with me?
From one bad decision to the next bad decision. That’s my specialty, isn’t it? Fall for a man who’ll never want me. Vomit up birth control because I’m disgusted with myself. Stand here crying over someone who sees me as convenient pussy.
Where’s my self-respect? Did I ever have any?
I push away from the sink and stumble back into the bedroom. My legs feel unsteady, like they’re not quite mine. The roomlooks the same as it did an hour ago, but everything feels different now. Smaller. Temporary.
I walk to the closet, stare at the clothes hanging there. Dresses I picked out, thinking I might need them for dinners, for events, for a life that isn’t real. When did I start hanging things up like I was staying? Like this was my home and not just another stop before everything falls apart?
Nothing here is permanent. Nothing here is mine.
I could be dead tomorrow. Friday could go wrong, and Anton could decide I’m more liability than I’m worth. He could put a bullet in my head and throw me in the desert, and no one would even look for me.
The thought should scare me. Instead, it feels almost… practical. Clean.
Outside, I hear them move—voices, low and familiar, footsteps getting closer.
A knock on the door.
Fuck.
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, try to scrub away the evidence of my breakdown. My eyes are probably swollen. Puffy. Ugly.
Stupid Mary.
The knock comes again, softer this time.
I open the door.
Dima stands there, huge frame filling the doorway. Behind him, I can see Boris in the kitchen, eating pasta straight from the pan. My pasta. The pasta I made for Anton.
My eyes sweep the space. No Anton.
My heart drops into my stomach, and I hate myself for it. Hate that I’m looking for him. Hate that his absence hits me so hard.
“Boss had to go,” Dima informs me. His voice is quiet, careful. “Meeting with Lev. Business.”
Of course. Business. Because that’s what matters. Not me standing here looking like I’ve been hit by a truck.
He shifts his weight, hands sliding into his pockets.
“Boss wants me to continue training with you tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at 6 AM.”
“Great,” I manage. My voice comes out flat.
Silence stretches between us. Boris’s fork scrapes against the pan in the kitchen. The sound makes my skin crawl.
Dima’s jaw works like he’s chewing on gravel. He takes a breath, then another, like he’s buying time. His eyes flick down to his hands before coming back to me.
I wait. There’s something there I can’t read.
“Boss…” he starts, then cuts himself off. Tries again. “Boss isn’t angry at you.”
My chest tightens. “Then what is he?”
Another pause. His shoulders shift, restless.
“He’s never loved anyone before,” Dima says finally, voice low. “Doesn’t know what to do with it. And it scares him. What you make him feel.”
