Page 80 of Refrain

“Sometimes you can do unforgivable things,” I tell him, turning to stare at the wall rather than face him directly. Shadows flicker over it—mine, his, Piotr’s. “Things that don’t deserve acceptance.”

Warm breath fans the back of my neck. “Says who?”

He’s even closer now. Those searching fingers return, drifting up and down my shoulder blade. A tempting scenario of what could happen next plays out in my mind. All he’d have to do is curl his fingers and tug to have the jacket off. The shirt would easily follow. The table alone could support our combined weight.

But we can’t. I can’t.

I take a step back, and I can breathe again. I can fear again. When I turn for the door, I know he won’t stop me this time. Words don’t have any power in this moment. Still, I find myself spitting something out—“Thank you.”

He grunts inacknowledgment. “Don’t mention it. And…”

My footstepsslow,tethered to the sound of his voice. “Yes?”

“If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

My entire chest constricts at that word. Need. I’ve endured people before. My father’s death. Piotr. The men he made me screw. I’ve neverneeded.

When I finally reach the door, I don’t look back. I just tuck the guninsidethe pocket of his borrowed sweatshirt. Hate is control, he said?

It’s the only emotion I can bother to spare now—hatred.

Piotr wants my love. This man has already taken something else. I’m not sure which one is harder to give up.

I reachthe bar on foot and slip in through the back, taking stock of everything I touch. Everything I see. Within a few short hours, I’ve left behind a real dwelling and entered the stage of a play. Piotr’s aura lurks in the shadows, rearranging scenery and adjusting the spotlight. All eyes on me. His star. His angel.

Moya lyubov.

Does Arno know? The question scuttles through my skull as I wander the back hallway and don’t find him slumped over a bottle. Maybe he does. Maybe he even let Piotr in with open arms. Birds of a feather. After all, it’s what a part of me has suspected all along.

“Hey!” A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, snapping me from the reverie.

I’m on the bottom step of the staircase without even realizing it. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a familiar face, albeit rougher around the edges than I’m used to. Bloodshot eyes. Uncombed hair. This morning, he looks almost as haggard as Arno.

“I need your help today,” Francisco says through a yawn as he swipes at the stubble on his chin. “Those fucking idiots trashed the place last night and Arno’s got somethingspecialplanned for this one.”

A welcome-back party perhaps? I scan Francisco’s eyes for any hint of the truth. Any sign of Piotr’s hand lurking behind the dark irises. Instead, I find nothing but the dilated evidence of booze and exhaustion.

“Hey! You hear me?” He lifts his hand and lowers it, nearly jarring me off the step altogether. “Go finish what you were doing and meet me back here. Bring the mop.”

He retreats down the hallway while my brain sluggishly processes his words.“Finish doing what you were doing.”And what was that? Oh. Dying…

Poor Chloe Parker feels further away. Did she ever really exist? I can’t tell. My outstretched hand holds no answers, justpale skin riddled with scars. Burn marks. Bite marks. He loved to suck my thumb between his lips and bite down hard the moment I mistook the action for one of affection. He’s painted me in his ownership, leaving a million claims I’ve been forced to explain away in my new life. Oh, that mark on my hip? I fell. I touched a hot stove. I knocked over an ashtray.

I nearly beat myself to death with one—haha, silly me.

I’m laughing out loud as I haul myself up the remaining few steps. Did anyone ever buy those excuses? Did I ever really believe them? The lies get harder to tellfromthe truth. Harder to remember. I dyed my hair blonde because I hated being a brunette. I never let men see me naked because I was shy. I rarely have sex these days because I simply don’t enjoy it.

It isn’t because I am already owned. My mind isn’t already taken, my body sold. My soul still belongs to me.

I shiver as my forehead meets the cool surface of a closed door. I draw back and jerk forward just enough to feel the pain.Thwack!Then I stay here, leaning against it for what feels like hours, trying to reprocess my entire life. Trying to breathe. Trying to forget.

It’s the breathing that saves me in the end. I’m choking on cigarette smoke. It permeates everything he owns, every bit of him I’ve stolen. I can still taste him, heady and almost sweet. I can still see him—the fear, the pain, the wonder when I took him deep. My body throbs in ways I’ve never ever felt, every part of me aching to take himdeep.Maybe it’s the only way I’ll ever be able to push Piotr out—let someone else shove himself in.

Focus,Ksei!My fingers shake as I finally pry my hand loose from my side and open the door to the apartment. I’m so damn sore; an old woman waddles her way across the threshold, clinging to the wall for balance, not me. I manage to wrench the gun from the pocket ofEspisido’ssweatshirt and toss it onto the couch before hobbling into the bathroom without bothering to strip.

I turn the water to scalding hot and climb into the shower fully clothed. Only here, hunched on my knees against the side of the stall, can I hearmyselfagain. Just whispers.Focus,Ksei. Run,Ksei. Breathe,Ksei.

I play those pathetic phrases over and over, clinging to the fragile shards of my soul. The three women inside me clamor for supremacy. I’m not sure just which one I’m supposed to be anymore.Chloe? Ksenia?I think I almost find my true identity when I finally shut the water off and drag myself upright. But then I make the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror—empty brown eyes, no soul to speak of.

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