Page 64 of Corrupted Guilt

He wasn’t going to leave before we talked. Not again.

Leave my room and door in splinters —okay, I can deal. But leave without talking to me? Fuck no.

I looked at the splintered door—kindling for the fireplace—will I be sitting alone on front of the fire or will he be here with me?

I listen closely and from his half of the conversation, I gathered there was an attack on another safehouse, successfully repelled, and they were questioning the men left alive.

That’s important but not as important as this.

He walked out, fully dressed but when his eyes met mine, a startled look came across his face for an instant, as if I caught him sneaking away. He wanted to leave while I was asleep and that made me angrier, but I tried to stay calm and suppress that anger. He would beat me in an anger contest, easily, so I needed a different tactic.

Vulnerability and empathy are the strongest forces in the universe. Bigger than hate and even love. But I had to keep my voice steady and not cry so I just wrung my hands and tried to talk slowly and hold back the tears— I’d have time for them later.

“Yuri, I know you must leave but I must try one more time because I love you. And there’s no changing that for me. You need to stop blaming yourself for Dmitry, it’s so easy to do, and if you do it, we can actually be happy together. We can be better than these last few days—and those have been the best of my life. Don’t you want that?”

Again, that slightly startled look before he turned his face into stone again. “I’m not the only one nursing his pain and guilt. You blame yourself for Dmitry too and refuse to believe you belong anywhere— in the Bratva you were born into, by my side, anywhere. Your guilt has been corrupted by years of living under your father and these feelings, beliefs you don’t belong in your birthright. Your birthright. For what? You did nothingwrong; you yelled at a drunk asshole for being a drunk asshole. He deserved it. Is there any place you do belong, or will you run from everything as long as you can? You’re half the reason I can’t take my eyes off the ball. Worrying about you and if you’ll run away again. Run from your birthright. Run from me.”

He stooped to give me a dry, chaste kiss on the cheek, “I’ll be back tonight. We’ll both think about it, okay?”

And then he was gone. I sat there stunned for a long time.

He was right.

He had thought about me as much as I thought about him.

He knew me better than I knew myself. He was right about me, and both of us really had the same wound, and it formed around Dmitry. I never felt good enough after he passed, and Yuri felt responsible for it. Neither of us had ever really gone past that.

I promised myself to think about it and let that go, as much as possible. But there was more at stake for me now.

I was pregnant and this baby deserved a choice, one that neither I nor Yuri had.

Thinking about this was like staring at the sun—too dangerous so I tried to keep busy and let my subconscious work it out for me. But I will have some sort of answer for Yuri tonight. I had to. He was willing to talk about it and be vulnerable to himself. That was progress.

I felt lighter. It felt possible that both of us would figure this out together. Hope is a wonderful drug.

I kept busy by deciding to move into his bedroom, which had a lovely view of the lake through its sliding glass doors, which also led out onto the porch. Then the layout became strange. Another door led to the master bathroom— which also had access from the hallway, so not really a private master bath. I wanted to ask the architect what he was thinking but it wasjust odd and eccentric and gave the place some character I told myself.

It really was a beautiful room, and I should have taken this one from the start, but I made it Yuri’s recuperation room after the accident.

I should have been more selfish then, like him.

I was still angry at him and seeing the rifle in the corner of the room, decided to try to let off steam with it. I went outside and placed a target on the garage and imagined the silhouette of a man with concentric circles inside him was Yuri.

It helped.

The first shot was way off— about five feet to the left because the rifle kicked my shoulder, and I wasn’t properly braced for it. The second shot I was careful and hit the target. After another half hour, I could hit the thing pretty good, though the half dozen holes in the garage said otherwise. I put it in my bedroom.

A little better every day, I told myself. My mantra. No neighbors showed up to yell at me or see what was happening, which was what I figured— it was out of season for the lake homes and I was basically alone out here, except for Maxim in the apartment over the garage, but he seemed to keep weird hours that weren’t very consistent and only came to see me for the occasional meal, or to raid my refrigerator. Yuri was either gone or a shut-in in that apartment. I pretended not to care most of the time.

I went shopping and Max was curiously gone when I got back and had to unload all the groceries by myself.

I decided on a large, homemade meal of beef stroganoff, but the proper Russian way, with sour cream gravy and light egg noodles. I was sure once the smell was permeating the place, Max would be right along.

I didn’t love cooking, but it would take up the day otherwise occupied by thinking and some dinner company that wasn’t Yuri would be welcomed. If Yuri showed up, I might give him the dog bowl that I bought even though I hadn’t found a dog to go with it yet.

I was in love with the big jerk, but that didn’t mean I would give him endless chances to figure out he loved me too, and this ‘love is the death of duty’ thing he has in his head is wrong.

We can figure it out together.

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