Page 58 of Crowned

“Don’t be so fucking naïve,” I spit at her.

“Then tell me! What did they do to poor Kirill? Tell me what gives you the right to act the way you do.”

“They took everything from me,” I shout, hitting the wall with my fist, and she flinches. She’s going to fucking make me say it.

I take her belly in my hands. “This baby? I’m keeping this baby, and you with it. This time, I will rip the throat out of anyone who tries to take either of you from me.”

“This time?” She blinks up at me in surprise. “You had a child?”

Could she sound more scathing? “You can say whatever you want. Anyone can say what they want, but it counts. It still fucking counts.”

“Why wouldn’t it…” She trails off. “Oh.”

She’s remembering her miscarriage.

If only it was a fucking miscarriage.

Behind me, I feel Elyah come into the room. Konstantin is watching us from the sofa.

My hands find Lilia’s swollen belly and I hold her tight. I don’t want to speak a word of this, but it’s driving me out of my goddamn mind.

In a softer tone, Lilia says, “If you want to tell me, I’ll listen.”

* * *

Eight yearsearlier

Hot sunshine melts my ice-cream cone all over my hand into a pink, glorious mess. Belkal Park is hot and dusty in the midsummer heat. Just about everyone from high school has congregated on the limp grass or is splashing about in the fountain. An ice-cream truck is parked beneath a tree, and people wait for lemonade and soft serve.

I’m staring so hard at Kristina among her pack of squawking, flapping friends that I barely notice as ice cream runs over my hand. When her gaze flits over me, I smile hesitantly at her.

Kristina takes in my frayed, hand-me-down jeans, the lurid black eye decorating my cheek, and the ice cream melting all over my hand, then turns away with a disgusted sneer. I watch as she talks animatedly to the other girls and points over her shoulder. All Kristina’s friends turn to look at me, and one by one, they laugh and jeer at me.

Kirill, the class weirdo.

Loser, loser.

Where are your friends, Kirill? Don’t you have any?

As a pack, they move off with a final,Go drown yourself, Kirillfloating back to me.

They think they can make a fool of me and then walk away?

I throw my ice cream to the ground and follow them. It takes them a good five minutes to realize I’m walking behind them. When one of them nudges the others and they turn around to look at me, I put my forefinger and middle finger on either side of my mouth and lick the air.

The girls scream in outrage and cuss me out. My blood sparkles through my veins.

I can’t make them like me, but I can make them hate me.

After a while it gets boring wandering after the girls, and I walk the long way around the village. Anything to delay the moment when I have to go home.

As soon as I walk in, I know it’s going to be another shitty evening. There’s an empty vodka bottle laying on the floor by my father’s chair and a fresh one open by his elbow.

Dad glances up with yellow eyes, sees it’s me, and his face transforms with hatred. “Where have you been? Lazy shit. Good for nothing.”

He’s still furious with me for barricading myself in the attic last night, denying him the pleasure of beating the shit out of me. He got his workout every other night this week. Bruises have bloomed all over my body.

Mom is washing the dishes and she looks into my blackened eyes, but her gaze quickly slides off me as if I’m not there.

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