Page 57 of Volatile

“I’m still taking the meds.”

Vlad will lock me up if he finds out and Val would bitch enough for me to wish they drilled through my ears instead after my episode a few years ago. I don’t know what I took, if it was a bad batch or if I was fed up but the next day they were both pissed at whatever I’d said and wouldn’t even look at me.

Stasi turns in my arms and smiles up at me. The openness is back, and she traces my features with the tips of her fingers as she asks, “Do you trust me?”

With my life and the future ones we’ll raise together.

Her smile grows as I nod, and she sets a timer before dragging me away from the food. If she needs proof of how fucked I am it’s in my feet moving willingly and my eyes fixed on her rather than the stove.

NINETEEN

Anastasia

Vitali knows part of my dark thoughts and he’s not looking at me any different. His endearing smile is forcing me out of my mind and I’m not anxious or uncomfortable with him having the information. But now it’s his time to let the parts of himself he hides out and I guide him to sit on the sofa before getting the balm I need. He fits in my space as he sits in nothing but his boxers, all his tattoos on show and his hair is messy from my hands pulling at the strands, but he stretches his arms on the back of the sofa and watches my comfort movie.

He tries to pull me to sit on his thigh when I go back to him, but I’m not accustomed to allowing my care for people to show and it makes my voice small.

“Let me do this.”

It’s not a matter of not giving a fuck, I just can’t allow them to know, or my mother will open her mouth and ruin it. He doesn’t make me move and remains silent as I kneel between his thighs, warming the balm between my hands. I’m sure he’s not breathing, but I don’t look up. If we make eye contact that will unbalance us. Right now, we’re just two people who occasionally fuck watching a horror movie while I massage his knee and wait for his pancakes to finish steaming. Totally fucking normal.

The scarring is noticeable, but it’s been stitched perfectly, no inflammation or redness. His reflexes are intact and not dulled by the pain, there’s not even a wince when I press harder into the joint. A groan brushes my neck, filled with frustration not pain, as he dips his head and says, “One day I’m going to fuck you in nothing but this apron.”

We’re still the same and I relax, leaning into his good leg as the psycho on the screen finds who they want to kill. I turn sideways so my spine is pressed against his calf and he absentmindedly plays with my hair.

We don’t look at each as I remain kneeling and massage around his knee. He jerks his leg when I smooth my fingers underneath the joint; I think I’ve hurt him until I try to do it again even softer, and he laughs while trying to deepen his voice.

“The fuck are you doing?”

My own laugh spills free as I copy his words.

“I have a theory.”

His eyes harden as I remove my fingers then test my theory while voicing it.

“Big bad Vitali is ticklish.”

He grabs my wrists to stop me and I keep tickling behind his knee. His laugh comes in bursts as his leg shakes, and he pulls it up out of my hands as he hauls me up. I fall over him, my knee is dangerously close to his balls, but he just stares into my eyes with the softest smile on his lips. The depth settles into his voice, minimizing his threat.

“Don’t tell anyone my secrets, Anastasia.”

My voice lowers as his vulnerability comes out and I massage across his shoulders.

“Never, luchik1.”

The endearment slips out, but it fits him with his sunny disposition. Vitali has always had expressive eyes, but this is more as we just stare at each other. He doesn’t make a stupid joke or tell me a theory; he just stares at me, keeping it all back. The timer goes off, stopping whatever weird intimacy we’ve found.

I wipe my hand of any excess balm and lift off him, my body moves automatically, and my mind is screaming at me to stop, but it’s too late as I watch my lips touch his cheek on some stupid impulse that threatens to ruin everything. I don’t look at him as I walk the fuck away and wash my hands. It’s my brain mistaking the comfort as a new routine, and I stare straight ahead as I fill the awkwardness only I can feel.

“Food’s ready.”

The only person I’ve let taste my cooking is Vanya and she was starving, able to eat anything without a comment.Nerves fill me at Vitali passing comment on my secret hobby, I know it’s good, I allow myself one day a year where my mother’s voice doesn’t exist. He’s someone who enjoys eating and I want more than good, he won’t be swayed because he’s allowed something and his opinion will be formed based on how it actually tastes.

I plate the steamed pancakes with compote and fruit with the same attention as a Michelin-star restaurant and nearly drop it when arms wrap around me from behind. Soft lips touch my neck without lingering and a gentle voice follows it as he says, “Breathe, sweetness.”

I am breathing, but the breaths come easier with him wrapped around me, and he guides us to stand against the island.He doesn’t let me out of the comforting cage of his arms and takes a fork, scooping up each thing on the plate. I expect him to take it to his own lips, but it lands in front of mine. All I can see is sugar, enjoyment not survival.

He mistakes my reason for pausing and keeps the loaded fork suspended at my lips as he lightly teases, “Got to check you’re not trying to poison me.”

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