Page 77 of Volatile

“Got a theory, everyone hurt her,” he sighs. “Not just hurt her, they destroyed her. So now she doesn’t trust herself to be happy and she needs to be the first person to leave because then they can’t hurt her, you know? She forgets that just like it hurts everyone else, it hurts her worse, and she can’t get away from it because that pain is inside her. The only way it can heal is with company, and that scares her too. I still can’t get her out of my head though, even when she hurts me, when she makes me crazy and I want to shake her to get her to stop.” He hugs me closer and nuzzles into the crook of my neck, speaking slower, quieter. “But then she laughs.”

I don’t even breathe as he repeats, “Then she laughs and I forget my own name. Better than cake, the ultimate sweetness.”

A tear splashes on the pillow below my temple by the time he finishes speaking. They don’t stop and I tense my jaw to hold them back. All it achieves is more emotion choking me, my throat thickens, and he can feel it under his palm as he begins to softly massage my neck. His voice is deeper with sleep, and he presses his lips to my pulse point as he admits, “I didn’t touch anyone.”

The admission doesn’t settle me even though it’s filled with the truth. I clear my throat and continue lying. “You should have.”

Maybe that’s what I need him to do so he can see I’m not special and that he can easily replace me. The hand on my throat tightens as he pulls the other from between my legs. His voice is rougher, wilder, as he asks, “Would you?”

His fingers flex and he takes a deep breath before he calmly says, “If I was the one to leave you and tell you to fuck off all the time, would you find someone else?”

I haven’t touched anyone else since he literally chased me down, but if I tell him that he’ll read too much into it and my mother’s voice is there in my head, mixing with everyone else’s opinions. Hers is always the loudest because if the woman who birthed me sees me as the worst what hope do I have? None. No hope to be better, or for anyone to understand me.

So I lie, “Yes.”

Vitali roughly pulls me back into him and tightens his hand around my throat, mentally forcing his way through my fucked-up mind as he bites out, “Don’t fucking lie to me when I can feel you, I know you. Even though you piss me the fuck off, all I fucking want is for you to talk to me. Just let me in and I promise I’ll protect you. I’ll give you fucking everything, sit you on a throne, just fucking talk to me.”

A sob is trapped in my chest as I breathe in, preventing it escaping. I’m abruptly lifted, and he places me against his chest as he wraps both arms around me and kisses the top of my head.

“Tell me, Stasi, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

I push my face into the crook of his neck as my entire body shakes. All the parts of myself that I’ve killed over the years are fighting to be free. It’s not even a big deal, so my mother called me a whore more than my actual name. She watched my diet and scrutinized my appearance. It’s fine. Her husband is a creepy pervert, but he didn’t actually touch me. Her stepdaughter is a bully but there are no scars on my skin. Yet every day I continue to kill different hopes before they can take root in fear of someone else taking them away from me.

The soft coaxing doesn’t stop as he says into my hair, “You can break, sweetness, I’ll always put you back together. But if you try and go over the edge, you’ll be taking me with you, so remember to come up for air or I won’t be able to breathe.”

Just like he did when I was a teenager, he manages to make the edge comfortable, and I repeat the words he once said to me.

“Because you’ve just bought your jeans?”

Air blows across my hair and he speaks low and with deep emotion.

“No, sweetness, because it’s you and I’d rather sink with you than fly on my own.”

I kiss his cheek in gratitude of who he is and deflect as I whisper, “Go to sleep, luchik.”

I’m sorry.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Vitali

My girl thinks she’s clever by disappearing before I woke up. She hasn’t answered me all day and if I see some little cunt next to her it’s going to become a bloody wedding. There are thoughts, ideas forming in my head, on how I can keep her. Fucking chain Stasi to me so I never have to go a day without her, my anger will have another outlet and I want her walking towards me freely when the time comes. Preferably without her cunt of a family watching on, they can look up from hell to see my girl become my wife.

There’s a dull ache behind my kneecap that intensifies with each step I take and I’ve already taken my usual dosage for this time of day as we head out of the cathedral, but I slip away so I can take extra. Stasi wasn’t even in the wedding, none of her family have asked questions about her. Even the guests have forgotten she exists. There’s no chance she’s disappeared off the face of the planet, her things were still there in our room when I woke up and Dani spoke to her before she left.

I still don’t see Stasi when we reach the ridiculously decorated venue to celebrate nuptials of two people that only have power in their minds since they’re weak as fuck. She’s not standing at the front to greet guests with the rest of her family, and I bypass the fuckers to search every table for my sweetness. I find her easily, it’s not the same reason everyone else is staring in her direction. They’re all staring due to another short-ass dress that is out of place at a wedding and forces her to stand back uncomfortable as fuck. It’s not the same one that was in the gown bag and she’s not even breathing as she keeps her hands loosely over her stomach. The seams at the side of the dress are stretched and fabric is cutting into her skin so it’s definitely not her size, it can’t be any bigger than a pillowcase.

I feel lighter at my ring being front and fucking center on her fuck-you finger as I go to her side. Each pair of eyes that meets it abruptly looks away and they all fuck off as soon as I’ve got my girl by my side. Shrugging out of my jacket, I drape it over her shoulders so she’s more comfortable and that little smile filled with gratitude is a killer. Or extra motivation for one.

When I try to kiss her cheek, she moves back and shuts down, becoming the fake bitch as she coldly says, “They’ll talk shit about you.”

Fuck that.

If I want to kiss my girl I will, I’ll fuck her right next to the cake while eating it and none of these cunts will stop me.I angle my body so there’s nothing blocking the sight of us as I hold her chin and press my lips to her cheek respectfully. If they can’t understand from her presence alone that she’s owed it then I’ll model it until the entire population acts correctly. Her cheek warms beneath my lips and I tilt her head to kiss her other cheek without touching any other part of her body.

She softens slightly and I lower my voice, so no one overhears. “Fuck them all, they said we locked Inessa in a cupboard after Vero was born.”

I’ve heard more rumors about my family than I could count, what’s another to add to the list when they’re all full of shit and too fucking weak to ever say that shit in front of me. Anyone who has ever met my sister-in-law would know she’s just as crazy as her husband; if we tried to lock her up she’d poison us, she’d probably set the house on fire to escape or just for the fun of it.

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