Page 13 of Vegas Baby

Likewise, the apologies get more pathetically sorrowful at how he can’t help himself; this is what he turns into without me.

I set the phone down without listening to the voice messages. I don’t need to hear them. Or maybe I can’t stand his wretched ranting anymore.

Because through reading the sad pile of messages, I shed not a single tear. All I felt was pity for how small his world has become that I’m the only bastion of control left in his life. And I also feel fear because I’m not stupid; Andrei is dangerous. But his vitriol doesn’t have the same effect on me any longer. I’m not going to be manipulated by him for another moment. The rest I’ll worry about later. Because I know this isn’t going to end easily, or well. But it will end.

For now, I think about my response. I think so long that the sun moves over the building, and the bright yellow morning light that streamed through the bedroom window dulls into the golden hues of late afternoon.

When I’m ready, I type my message. Firmly, and with strength in my heart, finally.

I am alive. I am healing. But I have learned you never had any right to my contract, or my money. I am done being controlled by you. I am not coming back. Please do not contact me ever again.

Feeling empowered for the first time possibly ever, I shut off my phone.

* * *

Physical therapy is nothing like I expected it to be. Compared to the grueling training regimen I’ve endured my whole life, moving my head up and down, side to side, and tucking in my chin repeatedly to rebuild the stabilizing muscles of my neck is nothing. Even the dull pain it incites is nothing, not in the grand scheme of things.

“I know this may seem silly,” Peter, my physical therapist, says as he watches me do the exercises. “But today is just about baselining your range of motion and pain levels. When you go home, you’ll do these every day until our next appointment. And every time we meet, we’ll do increasingly difficult exercises.”

“For eight weeks?” I reply.

“That’s the general guideline, yes. But if you need to go slower, we will,” he responds.

“And if I need to go faster?” I ask.

Peter smiles tolerantly. “I know how it’s hard to be patient with your body, but it’s very important you don’t move too fast because it could end up setting you back even further. But if you seem to be progressing more quickly, I’ll meet you where you are with the appropriate exercises,” he promises.

I dip my chin in agreement, even though it hurts. Just to show I can.

He guides me through another set, correcting my form on the chin tucks so my head is fully over my shoulders, before declaring us done for the day and fitting my neck brace back on. I must make a face because he chuckles.

“One more day,” he says. “Wear it through tomorrow, then you’re good to take it off. Keep icing. Keep doing your exercises. And I’ll see you next week.”

I give him a vague smile. “Thank you.” I turn to leave, but Peter’s hand on my shoulder stops me.

Peter drops his voice and says, “For what it’s worth, if you don’t overdo it, and you’re diligent … I think you could be back to work in six weeks.” His hand drops and he gives me a conspiratorial wink.

I beam up at him and thank him one more time before rushing back toward the waiting room to tell Sebastian. Between separating myself from Andrei, finally, and the possibility of getting back to work even sooner, I feel like celebrating. And suddenly I realize the feeling in my tummy isn’t just from excitement. It’s also the realization that I want to see Sebastian’s face light up that has me running to tell him.

10

SEBASTIAN

When Kira walks back into the reception area, she’s beaming. My shoulders sag with relief, alerting me to exactly how tense I’d been. I rise to meet her.

“We need to celebrate,” she says immediately, her eyes filled with life and hope.

I smile down at her. “Well, therapy must’ve gone well,” I tease.

“It did,” she confirms.

“Good. I assume they warned you you’d be a little more tender after, so we can’t go too crazy.” I say it like I’m hesitant, but I’d already been planning something for the rest of the day even before her request, as when we left the apartment for her appointment, I couldn’t help but notice how much being outside affected her. Even though it must’ve hurt, her head turned this way and that, her eyes wide, a smile on her face while she looked at the world around her as if with new eyes.

And it occurred to me she does have new eyes. She survived a fall that could’ve permanently disabled or killed her. That kind of brush with death changes you. And her being alive and on the path to recovery is something to celebrate.

She rolls her eyes. “I promise I’ll take it easy.”

I raise an eyebrow and give her a sly smile. “Good, because I already had something in mind. That is, if you’re up for a drive.”

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