Page 46 of Vasily the Nail

“Tony is an alcoholic,” she reminds me. “And you still drink kiddie wine at holidays. It’s kind of embarrassing, honestly, but in an endearing way.”

“Is that why Vasily never came home? Because I’m embarrassing?”

Camilla sighs. “Laces, sweetheart, love of my life. I know you wereverydrunk last night, but do you remember what we talked about?”

I set the phone on the counter, as much to free up my hands to get one of Vasily’s big plastic cups from a higher shelf up from the glassware as to keep the camera off me as I whisper, “That he raped me and then imprisoned me and so no matter how nice he is to me, I shouldn’t blame any of his actions on how embarrassing I am?”

Camilla groans. “You were so close. That he did all those things, so regardless of how good of a person he seems to be most of the time, the bad stuff he does? He does because he’s a bad person.”

“And I’m an embarrassing person,” I whisper so faintly under my breath that Camilla doesn’t respond. She probably didn’t hear it. Hopefully.

The fridge has a water dispenser built into it, but it’s loud and I’m scared of loud noises. There’s also a filter pitcher inside — I have no idea why, but I learned my lesson about askingquestions last night — so I shut my eyes as tightly as possible, open the fridge, and then the crack them open as slowly as I can.

This is not last night’s fridge.

Last night, there were two boxes of restaurant take-out, three reusable containers of leftovers from my cooking experiments, four packages of cheese, two crisper drawers stuffed full of fruits, veggies, and meat, coffee creamer, and the usual condiments. There’d been some really old containers in there that I threw out after I opened one and thought I was going to perish from the stench, but it’s fairly empty. Or, it was yesterday. Now, there’s a case of cola, several loose energy drinks, a bag of Taco Bell, and a partially-eaten fruit salad.

Vasily came home.

Did he come home after I fell asleep and leave again? Was I smelly from barfing even though I brushed my teeth and took a shower afterward? I look over my shoulder to see if there’s any other proof he’s been here and gone already and notice the guest room door is closed.

He slept in the guest room. He hates me so much he won’t even share a bed with me anymore.

I burst into tears again.

“Talk to me, Laces,” Camilla calls from the counter.

Between hiccups and sobs, I ask, “Who even keeps Taco Bell overnight?” I whine at the end as I pick through the fruit salad. It has blueberries, blackberries, and pineapple in it, a nice blend. I toss it around, looking for telltale red patches in case there’d been sliced strawberries in it, but it looks good. I nibble on first a blueberry and then a blackberry. I gotta work up to thepineapple. “Do you reheat it? Is that even safe? Or do you eat it cold? I was going to marry a man who saves Taco Bell leftovers!”

“You’re not marrying him. You were just cum drunk.”

“I was vodka drunk,” I mumble. “I think I’m still vodka drunk.”

“Yeah, probably. Seriously, Laces, this guy is the definition of red flag. You know what the old Russia flag was? A great big red flag. That’s him. You’re just not used to guys being nice to you, and he’s got that real good dick.”

“Ulk. He does. I think. But maybe not, right?”

“I mean, not to keep reiterating the fact that I watched you get absolutely railed in what turned out to be a homemade porno and coming like his dick was made of solid gold and fairy dust, but . . . I’m pretty sure that was some top-notch dick.”

Ugggh. I scoop the phone off the counter and stomp over to the recliner I know that top-notch dick favors, which happens to also be nearest to the guest room. I can sit here and glare at the door until he comes out and I can start a fight with him.

Yeah, that’s the plan right there. I wasn’t trying to start a fight last night, but this morning? I’m starting a freaking fight.

“Is anyone else freaking about the video?” I ask as worry settles in. If Gino was ready to rescue me, are others? Do I need to do some damage control? I really don’t want to have to personally call every person who saw the video and tell them that not only was I not being forced to do that, I asked for it and loved every second of it. But I also don’t want to start the stupidest gang war ever. I’ve readRomeo and Juliet.I played Anybodys inmy high school’s production of West Side Story. I know how this ends.

“Everyone’s been quiet,” Camilla says as I finally brave the pineapple, taking it to the dramatic level of sandwiching it between my lips to suck the juice out of it as it burns the ever-loving heck out of my mouth and lips. “I had Gino call your brother to see if he needed anything. Vasily set the feed up so we could see who was watching it, or who had opened it, at least. So we know Tony did, but Gino didn’t want to just up and say he’d seen it, you know? So he was subtle-like, just checking in, seeing if there was anything big coming up. I think he actually said he was planning a vacation for us,” she laughs, although the sound seems far away. “So now I’m making him take me on vacation.”

I nod and tell her that sounds nice. I think? Weirdly, as soon as I think I say it, I don’t recall if I actually opened my mouth.

“And Tony acted like nothing was going on. He even told Gino you were on a trip and having phone issues so he should let me know not to worry.”

That jerk, I say. Except I don’t. I’m positive I didn’t make a sound this time. And Camilla’s not just shattered, she’s going blurry.

“Which of course had us really worried that there was serious trouble happening.”

I try to wave my hand in a vague shooing gesture to tell her I’m fine, but I tip the plastic container right off my lap onto the carpet I just vacuumed yesterday. Or no? Where did I vacuum yesterday?

“I dropped my fruit salad,” I mumble, and none of the words make sense.

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