Page 47 of Wicked Arrangement

I can sense he’s about to have a full-blown meltdown. I try to keep my voice as soothing as possible. “Hey, it’s okay, we can still see each other, just I have to go home. I have a life, jobs I have to get back to, people who need me. I can’t stay here forever, I have my apartment waiting for me.”

“No, no, no, no,” he starts muttering, rocking back and forth and grabbing his hair in his fists.

“It’s okay, David,” I say soothingly, moving slowly toward him to try to comfort him.

“No!” he yells, “You can’t leave! It’s not fair!”

He balls his fists, lashing out and punching the wall nearest to him, his knuckles splitting and leaving blood on the cream wall. He hits it with such force that the picture on the wall comes crashing down, smashing into a million pieces. Shards of glass scatter all over the floor and he begins to pace, walking through the broken glass not seeming to care or notice the glass cutting into his bare feet.

“David!” I gasp in shock, “You’ve hurt yourself.”

But it’s like he can’t even hear me, instead of being put off by the pain, it seems to spur him on. He starts yelling loudly in Russian, though I have no idea what he’s saying I imagine it’s a string of expletives. He continues his destructive rampage,throwing one of my bedside lamps to the floor and smashing it. Next, his focus falls on the large mirror on the wall. The thing is so big he cannot remove it, struggling to get it down to knock it off, so instead, he proceeds to throw as many heavy objects at it as he can. The flatscreen TV is the next target, he kicks it, knocking it to the ground and shattering the screen.

The commotion brings men running. Two of Yaroslav’s staff, the bodyguards who are often close to David, come rushing in, immediately trying to talk to him and diffuse the situation. David lashes out at them in a flurry of kicks and punches, several of which connect. It seems as though the men are about to get the upper hand, it’s two against one after all, but David manages to wrangle out of their grasp by biting the one restraining him hard enough to draw blood. The man yelps out in pain as David darts out of reach of the second, grabbing a shard of broken glass as he does so.

He barks something in Russian and the two men freeze. I might not speak Russian but it’s pretty damn clear what he’s saying. He’s holding the shard of glass to his neck. If they move one step closer, it’s not them he’s going to hurt or even kill, it’s himself.

A strangled sob escapes my throat at the horror of the situation, I feel completely helpless. I have no idea what to do, what if I do the wrong thing and he hurts himself because of me?

We’re all standing there, at a stalemate unsure of our next moves. The men are talking in Russian to David, but he just ignores them, shaking his head no, causing the glass to nick his skin, a welt of bright red blood blooms and drips down, landing on the cream carpet.

“Stop it you two, can’t you see you’re upsetting him further,” I chastise the men, unable to stop myself from intervening at the sight of David’s blood.

They both fall silent. Then, inspiration strikes, and I start to sing, my voice steady and calming.

“Don’t worry, about a thing, cos every little thing is gonna be alright.”

The men exchange baffled glances, but I keep my focus on David, continuing to sing. Just like when my Gran’s having a particularly bad episode, the singing seems to be calming him. The wild, frantic look in his eyes slowly fades and I start to see the David I know coming back. I slowly move toward him, and he makes no move to stop me or tell me not to. I’m pleased to see his grip on the glass loosening and he isn’t pressing it so tightly to his neck now.

Singing all the while, I get close enough to him to take the glass from him. I toss it out of reach as he sinks down to a sitting position, his back against the wall. He sits with his knees pulled tight to his chest, hugging his arms tight around them, head bowed.

The two goons step forward as though to try to restrain him again, but I shoot them a warning look and shake my head. If they move now, he’s likely to freak out again. Thankfully, they listen to me and stay still, poised and ready to intervene if needed.

I sit down next to David, tentatively putting my arm around his shoulder and he gratefully leans into my embrace, I put the other arm around him and slowly rock side to side, still singing softly as he sobs into my chest.

At that moment, Yaroslav bursts in.

“What the hell happened in here?” he says, looking around before his eyes land on David and me. His voice softens and he approaches David like he’s a startled deer that might balk at the slightest movement. “Hey buddy, what’s got you all upset?”

David doesn’t look up as he replies, his voice muffled. “She’s leaving! You’re making her go!” He sobs like a small child, nuzzling into me.

Yaroslav doesn’t even look my way, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. He blames me. I can’t say I don’t blame myself either.

“I’m not making Kimberly leave, but we can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to go,” Yaroslav replies gently.

David looks up, meeting his brother’s gaze, “We could. You don’t let anyone tell you what to do, you could make her.”

Yaroslav shifts, he looks more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him look before. “That wouldn’t be very nice of us though, would it? I assume you don’t want Kim to go because you like her?” he reasons.

“No,” David concedes grumpily. “And I more than like her, I love her. She’s my best friend. You love her too!” he declares passionately.

My heart aches for poor, broken David who’s so lonely and confused in this world that someone who has only been in it for a few weeks is the most important friend he has. I also can’t help but desperately want to know what Yaroslav is going to say to David’s outright claim that he’s in love with me.

Yaroslav takes a deep breath, “Kim is my friend too. But we have to let her go home if she wants to go. Even if we don’t want her to,” he replies, ignoring David’s claim entirely. Much to my disappointment.

“Kimmy don’t leave me,” he says in a small voice.

I feel torn, the caring side of me wants to say I will stay just to placate him, to make him happy. But the reasons I have for leaving haven’t changed. I choose to take a leaf out of Yaroslav’s book and avoid answering.

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