Aleksandr Petrov.
He keeps calling her, and she can’t—she can’t decline the calls.
Time passes in lurches of his name and her sobs.
Eventually, she hears the creak of the apartment door, followed by the jangle of keys, the clatter of high heels—Jackie, coming home.
A knock at her bedroom, and she tries to hold back her crying. “Lili?” Her door opens a sliver. “Jesus Christ, answer your fucking phone, we were looking everywhere for you, plus Petrov’s downstairs—Lili.” The door swings open, her bed dipping as Jackie sits down. “What’s wrong? Are you alright—did he—did he do something?”
“I’m fine,” she whispers. “I’m fine, I promise—”
“You’re not fine,” Jackie says, brushing a hand over Lili’s wet hair. Lili flinches, and Jackie’s hand stills. “Lili,” she breathes, aghast. “Love, what happened?”
Her phone goes off again, followed by the intercom buzz. Lili clutches her phone tighter, clicking the side button to shut the sound off but letting the call persist.
And then, her name in the street.
“Lili.”A voice, distant, that makes her entire body yearn.
“He’s downstairs,” Jackie repeats, worried.
“Please,” she whispers. “Please, can you tell him—tell him to go?”
“He looks... Lili, he looks really scared.”
“Jackie, please,” she begs, splintering under the heaviness of what she’s done.
Look, see? I can hurt myself, too.
Oh, little one. How well I can see.
A sigh—concern, hesitation—before Jackie stands, then the fall of their apartment door. After a few minutes, she can hear the faint sounds of their voices, several stories down, through her open window.
“She’s here, she’s home.” Jackie. “She just wants you to go.”
“Jackie,please.” The sound of him makes Lili’s chest feel like it’s collapsing, like she can’t breathe, like she won’t ever be able to breathe again. “Just ask her to talk to me, she’s not answering anything, not calls, not texts—I just need to know if she’s okay—”
“I’m sorry, really... She’s fine, but just—it’s best if you go home, she’s not—she can’t see you right now.”
“Let me up, please.”
Lili’s grip tightens in the sheets.
“I can’t—really, just—she’ll be okay, I promise—”
“Jackie—”
“Just give her a few hours, okay? She’ll be okay, I promise—just give her a few hours, I’ll ask her to call you then, really, she—she just needs some space right now.”
“Is she alright?”
Getting up, Lili shuts her window. Unable to listen to him in that much pain, that amount of worry.
It doesn’t fully seal out the sounds of the street, though. Their building is too old, cracks in the window: the sounds of their conversation slip through still, indistinct. Lili holds onto the outline of his voice, the rasp in it, even as she can’t hear his words.
Several long minutes pass—the tension of stupid fucking hope—before the slam of their apartment door, again. Opening and falling shut, and only Jackie’s footfalls.
“He’s gone,” Jackie says, slipping back into her room.
