Anastasia stopped, her food halfway to her mouth, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, stop it,” Mikhail groaned, leaning back in his chair and letting his head drop back, “Everything isn’t an insult.”
“That sure sounded like one.”
“It’s the truth!” He sat up, “You can’t control your magic, Anastasia. That’s it. Stop acting like I’m attacking you every time I mention that.”
“Well, maybe if you were a better tutor…,” she rolled her eyes, digging back into her food.
“I’m going to let that pass for the sake of finishing my dinner in peace,” Mikhail grunted, both of them refusing to meet each other’s gaze, wondering how their camaraderie had descended so quickly. It never took long. Anytime they seemed to be getting along, one of them would perceive a slight, and fireworks followed.
“Eat this last piece,” Mikhail broke the silence several minutes later.
Anastasia nodded, reaching for it from across the table and grabbing it off of his plate. Except Mikhail had other ideas — he dropped the spoon he was holding and grabbed her wrist.
“Mikhail!” She squeaked, trying to pull away from him. Mikhail stood up and leaned over the table, his other hand going and tugging the sleeve of her dress up higher. “Stop it!”
Anastasia writhed to try and escape his grip, but he held firm. She felt her face flush with heat and embarrassment, tears springing to her eyes.
“Please,”she hissed while Mikhail stood stoically above her. He finally released her wrist, and she retracted her hand, cradling it against her chest. One heartbeat. Two. “Don’t say anything.”
“Anastasia,” Mikhail’s voice was cold, sharp — a tone she had never heard before. “Whothe fuckdid that to you?”
Anastasia’s arms were riddled with scars, going down to her knuckles, which had taken the brunt of the force. They had been hit with switches, rulers, or even pens so many times over the years… she’d lost count.
She despised looking at them. Every single mark that had been left by one of her mother’s tutors over the years made her relive the moments of pain over and over again. She had broken the mirror in her bathroom years ago.
“Anastasia,” Mikhail said again, pulling her from her wretched memories, “I asked you a question.” He sat down at the table, his gaze searing through her.
“I forget who started it,” she shrugged, turning away from his eyes. “It was from all of mylessonsover the years.”
Mikhail let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. He stared at her, neither of them able to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, reaching a hand across the table and holding it out to her, palm up. “It shouldn’t have happened to you, Anya.”
Anastasia blinked a few of her tears away, sliding her hands into his. “It’s in the past,” she shrugged. “I’m just glad I don’t have to stare at the ones on my back. They’re worse, but at least I can’t see them.” She watched her hand in Mikhail’s, how his palm completely enveloped hers.
“…What?” Mikhail’s voice had dropped an octave and made her shiver as if a single word could lick her skin. Anastasia glanced up, seeing the fury had returned to his eyes, an unrivaled expression that made her believe he might kill anyone who tried to even glance at her sideways.
“Fuck,” Anastasia cursed, quickly pulling her hand from his. “Forget I said anything.”
“Forget?” Mikhail hissed.
“They’re all dead now; it doesn’t matter,” Anastasia looked away and waved her hand dismissively.
“If they weren’t, I’d kill them.”
Anastasia’s eyes went wide, and her gaze snapped back to him — both of them flushed now, the tension settling over the room in a palpable way that made her want to throw open a window for a reprieve.
Every muscle in his body was tense. Anastasia said nothing and absentmindedly ran her thumb over some of the scars underneath her sleeve.
“Let me see them,” Mikhail said quietly, his voice coaxing. “All of them.”
“What?” Anastasia’s voice was muted, her heart beating in her chest as she looked up at him in an intense exchange across the table.
“You heard me,” he said, standing up — his head nearly brushing the ceiling of the cramped room. She stood up, shaking her head and backing away from him.
“No, you can’t — they’re not…,” she shook her head, stepping backward until she hit the wall. “They’re ugly.”
