Page 65 of Vasily the Nail

“The voices too.No, just the voices. There’s nothing else. And they’re not even real.”

“No, of course not. They’re in his head.”

Dima drops the first pierogi in the oil, the sizzle nearly covering his words when he says, “They’re not even there.”

My fingers freeze on the pierogi I’m shaping. I want the pierogies to be perfect for Vasily, but it takes just those words from Dima to get me wondering if he deserves perfect. If he’s every bit as duplicitous as I am, after all.

“You mean he’s been lying to me this whole time?” I snarl at Dima.

To his credit, he’s not even a little taken aback by my outburst. He’s smooth as anything with his, “No, not lying. He just thinks they’re voices, and they’re not.”

“What does that mean? How would you even know? Cripes, Dima, why would you say something like that? He’s obviously hurting.”

“He is, yeah.” Instead of picking up any of the other prepared pierogies, he takes the one in my hands, stopping me from working it any further. “And he’s entitled to that hurt. I don’t judge him for hurting. I don’t judge him for being self-destructive. But that’s just it. He’s not schizophrenic or whatever label he’s put on himself. He’s self-destructive, and the voices he hears aren’t hallucinations, they’re his . . . bad conscience? I don’t know the word. He’s told me enough of what he’s heard for me to know that. They’re the same thoughts I have. And I’ve done really stupid things because of them. The only difference is that he’s convinced himself they’re something he can’t fight because he thinks he’s too weak to fight them.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s true at all!”

Dima doesn’t ask me what part of that I think is a lie. I don’t think he has to. I see the shadow of a gnarled smile there as he nudges his pierogies over.

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “I didn’t think you liked me.”

“I like you. I just don’t know you.”

“Then why are you telling me this?” I ask again.

“Because you’re making pierogies for Vasily. So whatever lies you’re telling me or him or anyone else, I have to think you believe they’re for the best for him. You’re the sort to want to help, and you want to help Vasily. Now here, try this pierogi. It’s delicious.”

I’m just dozing off when Vasily gets home, another horrifically long day.

The fertility test came back positive, even indicated that I’m at the beginning of my fertility window and I’ve got about six good days, which Camilla said was a lot. I am built for making babies, apparently. So despite the firm lecture Camilla gave me about how small a component this truly is and how even if I could get Vasily tested and his sperm are top notch, I’ve only got a twenty percent chance of this working, I’m hoping he’ll insist on keeping his cock inside me all night again. I feel like that will definitely help the odds, so when I hear him come in through the front door and take off his coat, I work on making myself look as snuggly as possible.

He immediately goes out on the porch, ostensibly to smoke a cigarette. Huh.

He washes his hands in the kitchen, and then there’s a solid minute where I think he’s just standing there. I don’t hear anymovement. No cupboards opening like he’s grabbing a snack or anything. Huh. Maybe he’s responding to texts.

When he comes into the bedroom, I pretend to be sleeping, thinking the best time to ‘wake up’ will be once he gets in bed. If he holds me, I’ll wiggle into him. If he sticks to his side, I’ll pull the yawnoh hey did you just get homething. I got this. I can seduce Vasily.

He goes straight to his closet, closing the door most of the way so the light doesn’t disturb me. I can hear the rustling of clothes and opening of drawers, which is weirder because that means he’s not just undressing, he’s changing into something else. Lame, he’s probably going back out.

When he walks up to my side of the bed, I consider reaching out and pulling him down, hoping I can convince him to stay home. But before I commit to it, Vasily announces, “We’re making another video.”

I’m surprised enough that I jerk myself up. “Oh? When?”

“Now,” he says gruffly, scooping me up and throwing me over his shoulder. “No safe word this time. We do this right.”

“How does that make it right?” I cry out. I wouldn’t have used it, but that doesn’t make any sense.

“Because you wanted to show everyone that there’s no point in trying to negotiate with Tony for you, right? You want to make sure that Tony knows he’s not getting anything for you so he may as well let you go. And so far, all you’ve done is shown all his boys that you’ll suck a dick like your life depends on it even if you’re being forced to do it and that you’ll come as readily as anything all over your rapist’s cock.”

“We didn’t do that video right at all, did we?” I huff. All the boys are going to be lining up around the block after that.

“Nope. So I’m going to ruin you. And you don’t need a safe word, because if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. That’s it.”

He carries me back to the gym. This time there’s no rope, no hook on the ceiling, nothing except the foam mats with two cameras pointed toward the ground and a computer on a bench. He sets me on my knees on the mat, so the cameras aren’t even catching my face. I don’t understand what he’s planning other than to lay me down and pump into me — which, awesome, that gets his sperm in me, which is really a better basket for me to put all my eggs in than the sex tape ruination — but then he picks up another camera and stands in front of me, pointing the lens right at my face.

“Smile for camera,zvyozdochka,” he says as he strokes my chin with his free hand.

I give it a great big smile, but only because it’s directly between my face and his.

---