I never imagined Vitali underneath me in such a vulnerable way. Only I would ever look down and see the tight meeting of two bodies thrumming, and know it was with him, because this was mine. To keep. He belonged to me, and I reveled in that thought as I panted, mindful not to go too fast as the pain pulsed through me. I moved to get off.
He grunted, sucking in a deep breath. “Slow, Kotik.”
I should have listened, because the sudden emptiness quickly turned to a weakening ache, and my knees buckled, but he had me. It was laughable, standing there like that. Whoever made the music videos with lace veils and a red backdrop clearlynever had sex on a cold bathroom floor with cracking tiles.
His cum dripped down my slickened thighs, and I braced myself against the sink, grabbing for toilet paper to clean up.
“Shit…” Vitali knelt beside me and took it from my hands, carefully wiping off… blood.
“Oh…”
I had heard of spotting after your first time, but this was more than I expected. It flowed. It wasn’t supposed to flow.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No… I think this might be natural.” I didn’t want to make him feel worse after being so cautious. The only thing I could presume to have done this was his size.
A chill crept up my spine at the image of his empty eyes above me.
Beg me to fuck you, or I’ll do it anyway.
That Vitali wouldn’t have been as gentle, and I had to remember that. I had to check if there were stains on the bedsheets…
“Wash up,” he told me, tossing the bloody paper in the trash. “I’ll see if I’ve got a hot water bottle somewhere; if not, I’ll warm up a bag of rice.”
I didn’t want to think of why he knew to get that.
“Vitali,” I called as he balled up the blanket we left on the floor and headed out of the bathroom. “You’ll sleep here, with me, right?”
“For the rest of our lives,Kotik.”
* * *
About Russia,
Buterbrod- sandwich, sometimes open-faced (also butter bread)
fortochka- a little ventilation window at the top of a regular window
33
Gone
Afternoon light reflected softly off the dust particles floating without fuss through the room scented with yesterday’s perfume, sex, and old plaster. The pipes groaned in the bathroom with no door where I lost my virginity the night before to a man who cooked a gangster in front of me as a birthday present.
Despite everything that led to it, at that moment, feeling the debilitating ache between my legs, and the bend of the mattress under the heavy, naked body still asleep beside me, I had never been happier.
It was already past noon, but I didn’t want to look at how far past. These minutes were my own, and I could bask in them forever. Or at least until the thoughts I’d been pushing away floated to the top of my mind.
There were things I needed to know. More than I found out last night. I couldn’t ignore Misha’s words. He was a friend—a true friend, even if rough around the edges. But jumping to conclusions never worked out well, so I tried to keep mycomposure until I could bring it up with Vitali. Up to that point, he’d been upfront about things I asked… but I didn’t know what questions to ask, did I?
I also hadn’t expected him to do what he did the night prior… and it would take some time to work my way through what happened. I didn’t blame him, but that didn’t make it alright. It seemed that with each new day, a spotlight shone on Vitali Konstantinov from an entirely different angle, and all of them were blinding me rather than revealing truths. For now, I had to focus on what was in his control.
He didn’t have to. That’s what it came down to.
He didn’t have to do what he did last night, and didn’t have to break the man’s hand on the bus.
But he did both. For me.
