Page 33 of Chased & Bred by the BRATVA
I don’t respond. Because he’s right. And I don’t know what to do with that. I love that he wants me so badly, but what about when it fades? When he loses interest because I run out of things to give him…
When we pull up outside my apartment building, I hesitate before stepping out. It’s an ugly slab of brick and metal, with rust stains around the gutters and a front door that sticks when it rains. Nikolai follows me up without a word, his presence too bigfor the narrow stairwell, too dangerous for the chipped linoleum floors.
Inside, the apartment is exactly how I left it. A stale draft creeps from the kitchen. The light in the hallway flickers once before dying altogether. The place smells faintly of mildew and takeout containers. It’s silent. Empty.
Nikolai steps inside and looks around, his gaze sharp.
“Did someone rob you?” he asks.
I laugh but it dies quickly. “No. This is just how I live.”
There are no framed photos. No vases of flowers or cozy throws on the couch. The fridge hums with a hollow sound that reminds me I haven’t been here in days, and I probably didn’t have much to begin with. A half-empty wine bottle sits on the counter. The sink is clean, because I rarely cook. I didn’t spend much time here. Just slept. Ate take out. Sometimes watched whatever show was trending, just so I could keep up with my friends when they discussed the latest episode.
Nikolai walks over to the fridge and opens it. A sour look twists his mouth. “Do you live like this on purpose?”
I shrug. “Never seemed like there was a point to decorating a place I wasn’t staying long. It’s just a rental. It never felt like home.”
He moves past me into the bedroom. I follow. It’s just as bleak. A wardrobe full of identical work clothes, black skirts, white blouses, a few jackets. No color. No personality.
“Christ,” he mutters. “I’m taking you shopping. No arguments.”
He follows me through to the bedroom, glances around. A bedside table with no books. No pictures. No mess. It looks like a hotel room that’s been stripped bare.
Only one thing sits with any significance. A jewelry box. It’s old, worn smooth with age. The corners are scuffed and the velvet lining inside is frayed.
Nikolai picks it up. “This yours?”
“It was my grandmother’s,” I say. “She used to let me try things on when I was little. All costume pieces. She didn’t have much, but she loved what she had.”
He opens it. It’s empty.
“My parents pawned everything after she died,” I add quietly. “They had a habit. Pills, mostly. Sometimes worse.”
Nikolai’s face hardens. He places the box gently on the bed, then turns to me. “You grew up here?”
“No. Bounced around. This is just where I landed after school. I was mostly working in every spare minute I had to pay my way through classes, so I was never here long enough to do more than sleep.”
He takes a step closer. “Rachel. This is not a life.”
“It was my life.”
“Was,” he repeats. Then, more gently, “What do you want to take?”
I glance around. There’s nothing here that calls to me. Not really. I grab a few clothes that actually fit me well, my birth certificate and passport. The jewelry box. That’s it.
“That’s all?” he asks.
“I think I’m ready to stop surviving,” I whisper. “And maybe try something else.”
He watches me, eyes unreadable. “You don’t want to see your friends?”
I snort. “They didn’t even check in when I disappeared for a week. Not even a text. Just a group chat about their weekend plans.”
“Work?”
“I told my boss I had food poisoning, so I should probably go back on Monday."
Nikolai steps forward, takes the bag from my hand, and pulls me to him. “You deserve better than this.”
