Page 56 of Deceitful Vows

It’s cool tonight, so there’s no excuse for my slow pace down the isolated street—except perhaps the realization that I have nothing to race for.

I just walked away from the only people who have ever cared for me.

Nikita and her grandparents are all I have.

And perhaps a rascally faced marshmallow man whose generosity nudged my best friend three months closer to achieving her goal.

Remorse smacks into me when I peer down at Mikhail’s name on my phone for the umpteenth time in the past two weeks. He was nice to me—scheming but still nice—yet anytime I’ve attempted to reach out to him, I’ve let his brother’s actions persuade me against it.

That isn’t fair, and it is time for me to stop acting like a spoiled brat who’s never experienced deceit.

A grin I only ever showcase when spending time with Nikita stretches across my face when the perfect message to send pops into my head. I take a detour down a side alley so I can snap a picture of the Michelin tire plant that closed its doors several months ago.

With my smile as bright as the moon, I attach the marshmallow-looking Micheline mascot to my outgoing message.

Me:

Reminded me of you.

It’s late, so I’m not anticipating for Mikhail to reply. I’m storing my phone away when it buzzes with a message.

Mikhail:

He better have a massive steel rod under all those layers of flab or I’m going to feel insulted.

My fingers fly over the screen of my phone.

Me:

It’s hard to tell from this angle. Want me to check?

Mikhail:

Fuck yes! Unless there is actually a dude under that suit. He might not survive your grope.

With my ego desperate for a firm yet still-friendly stroke, I reply.

Me:

Too much blood deferring from your heart to your dick is dangerous for any man, but I’m sure I will make it worthwhile for him.

Mikhail:

I’m sure you will. But that isn’t what I meant, Sunshine.

Another message pops up before I can demand an explanation for his riddle.

Mikhail:

Though I am glad to learn your confidence didn’t dip in the slightest after… you know.

I do know.

I wish I didn’t, but I do.

That doesn’t mean I want Mikhail to know that, though.

Me:

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