“You have no idea what you’re getting into. You’re done going to Misha for things. This is very serious, and I am very disappointed in you.”
Might as well have been a gut punch. The tears warmed behind my eyes, but I wasn’t going to be a crybaby about it—Katya makes choices and she stands by them. “She’s my best friend, Vitali.”
“I don’t care if it’s Mama—you don’t get involved unless it’s through me. And you’re not going to speak to anyone about this. The police come asking questions, you tell them the truth—you haven’t seen her, and you haven’t spoken to her, and that’s the end of it. No more Misha.”
This time, I really was going to cry. “Why are you being like this?”
He fingered the shirt in his hands, wrinkling the collar, but remained quiet for a few moments. I could almost see the dialogue scrolling through his mind.
“Because when girls like her disappear, it’s not on vacation. She’s not a kid who ran away from their parents or a drunk uncle who froze to death in a sewer drain. She kept ‘company.’ Leave this until I tellyou different, Katya.”
I spent the entire day prior in the presence of horrific things, saw two men get shot, and Sergei eat fried chicken, and yet Vitali’s words were the reality that cleaved through a haze of what seemed like watching myself on TV.
“Kotik,” he said, more gently, and sat down beside me, pulling my face into his chest. Letting me crumble. “I’ll take care of it. I always take care of you—don’t I? Come here.”
He lifted me, settling me on his knees like a crying child with his arms holding me flush against his body. The dam inside me somehow held, cracks and everything, until right then. Now, the ugly, shaking, snot-nosed grief poured out of me into the crook of his shoulder. Into the space of his heart he’d reserved just for me.
The warmth of his hand on my back made firm, soothing circles, and he leaned a cheek against my sleep-frizzed hair. I emptied into him as he held me, until there was nothing left but dry sobs. Still, he didn’t let go.
“I’ll take care of it,” he repeated, and pressed a slow kiss to my forehead.
He spent some time making calls, but they were all done on the balcony where I couldn’t hear. He paced the small enclosure and rubbed his chin a few times, looking out into the distance at nothing in particular. I wasn’t sure if that should have inspired hope or fear.
We had coffee, and then we didn’t mention it for what I’d call (mostly) the rest of the day. What wedidspeak about was the vodka.
“I would like to revisit you drinking after I explicitly told you not to.”
I stopped brushing my teeth and peeked out of the bathroom, already in pajamas and in no mood to do any revisiting. Hestood at the closet, going through his jacket pockets. The vodka hadn’t been my choice, but I couldn’t say that out loud. Lying to him wasn’t an option either.Bad Katya.
He pulled my gold necklace out, and my breath caught, the mint toothpaste pooling in my mouth. He found it…
“This is a privilege,” he said, letting it dangle off his fingers. “And you broke your promise, so you can’t have it back until you earn it.”
So it wasbad Kotik…
Oh… I was going to earn it. The thought of how I was going to earn it made me salivate and I had to spit in the sink. But, when I came out to do my earning, there was something else in his hands.
A thick, black, leather dog leash complete with a collar.
He’d never had a pet…
I mouthed an‘oh’and he grinned.
So it was areallybad Kotik…
My bruised throat gave me pause, but not one long enough to call me smart.
“Come here. We’re going to play a game.” He unclipped the back made up of thick, steel rings. The kind you’d use on very large guard dogs. I held back a giddy smile and took a step forward. “Hold up your hair.”
I did, turning my back to him so he could fasten the collar. He adjusted it until a part of it constantly touched my flesh without rubbing. A light test tug let me know there was no use fighting, and the next one sent me backwards and pressed against his chest with his arm like a steel bar across my collarbones.
“And now you’re going to tell me where you went.”
My eyes grew wide as I realized my mistake, and I tried reaching back for him, but he was already leading me to thebed. I crashed down on it face-first, and the mattress squeaked as he knelt above me, a knee on each side of my hips.
He slowly began to coil the excess leather, wrapping it around his palm and drawing himself closer with each loop. The pressure against my throat grew rigid.
“Why did you call Misha?” he asked, near enough to send tingles down my spine.
