Page 50 of Deadly Knight
The room around me—real.
I’m safe.
The mantra of what I am and am not. Of what I feel. Finished with the reassuring reminder of what I am.
Breaths heavy, I scan the room, landing on my nightstand to determine what time it is.
3 a.m.
Shakily, I swing my legs to the side and stand from bed, heading to the bathroom. Anything to get away from my bed, sleep, and the past that has crept up.
Dreaming—the memory—of that night isn’t a new occurrence. They happened nightly at first, but now are only occasional. It’s them who so often knock a few levels off my wall, forcing me closer to the past. It should concern me when it does happen, but years of practice have allowed me to be able to end that dream and shift to something more pleasant.
Usually it’s work related, an event with Nora recently attended, or time spent with my parents, but neverhim. Even my brain has enough sense to protect me from that heartache.
Rubbing my hands on my face, I skip the bathroom to instead head for the kitchen for a glass of water. I haven’t dreamed of Dimitri in a while, and that’s the worrisome part. While it might not be recommended by therapists, myself included, I tucked away the positive memories of him in a box and shoved it to the back of my mind; well behind my mental wall, bricked up safely away. I had to, to survive my new life without hopping on a plane and returning, begging him to take me back. Apologizing forbeing an idiot, that I am good enough, that we’ll work no matter what his family thinks about me.
For the first couple years, I pictured that scenario often, wondering if I made the best decision. After all, what his father did wasn’t his fault. I’ve debated visiting Moscow, to peek in on him and see what’s become of him.
Common sense kept me grounded. I left for a reason and couldn’t possibly risk returning, creating the potential of undoing years and years of work. Who he surrounds himself with, his personal situation, haven’t changed. Surely his father and uncle are still pulling the strings, and if so, it’s a life I want no part of.
I make it to the kitchen, filling a glass of water and chugging it, and then have another glass, knowing I’ll regret this in a few hours when needing to pee, but not finding it in me to care. It takes three glasses before sleep becomes possible again.
It doesn’t take a university degree to figure out why I dreamed of Dimitri tonight, of all times, after not having done so in so long—after spending the evening with Caleb, who apparently reminds me just enough of him to trigger these thoughts.
Back in bed, I stretch on my stomach and reach for the curtain hanging beside me, parting it a few inches to peek out of the floor-length windows towards the street below. Toronto doesn’t sleep, so even in the middle of the night, a decent number of cars pass and a few pedestrians are walking.
Above, the crescent moon glows. I’ve always found peace in using it to relax me back to sleep. Especially in the beginning, I’d stare for hours, questioning how such a beautiful aspect of nature looks down upon the ugliness of the world. It’s appropriate that the very thing symbolizing the passing of time has been a coping mechanism for the years since that night.
So often, despite the seven-hour time difference between Toronto and Moscow, I’d pretend the moon was present in both places at the same time, only so I could imagine him doing the same. Eventually, I learned to stop, because it only tormented me with unknowns and what-ifs.
For the first time in a while, I allow myself to wonder again—and invent answers.
What kind of man has he become? A hardened criminal like those he surrounds himself with? Did he remain a Bratva soldier, finally becoming what his father dreamed for him? Surely he wouldn’t leave after everything, probably doing exactly as I asked him to and forgetting me.
Is he with anyone? Probably. The mob prioritizes continuing bloodlines, so he’s likely married to a woman worthy of being by his side. Who’ll understand the demands of his life. Who is respected enough by his father that he won’t send rapists after her.
Does he have kids? Back then, his uncle was the Bratva’s leader, but his only child was a girl, which Dimitri said goes against all their ancient rules. If his uncle never ended up having a son, Dimitri is the heir, which shifts the line of leadership to him. If he doesn’t have a child yet, there likely will be in years to come.
Fuck, the thought of all that—other than this imaginary woman not being a target too—burns parts of me long dead. Resurrecting them just to die all over again. The idea of him moving on is…
…is right, I finally concede. It’s what should happen, and nothing less than what I’ve been doing, or trying to do.
And then another question slips in, this one as probable as the others but also strikes like a brand: Is he alive?
With a tight throat making me unable and unwilling to search for the answer in the glowing rock above, the curtain falls shut.
The Bratva is dangerous. He never hid the fact he is skilled with a weapon and in combat, but eventually strength and weapons can only do so much. People slip up. Maybe by accident, maybe in revenge.
No, I decide. He’s alive. Hemustbe. I’d feel it deep down if he wasn’t. Would know in the depths of my soul that he’s gone. My heart would know when a piece of it shattered beyond repair, his soul heading to the afterlife, forever out of my reach.
Fuck these thoughts.I roll over, tucking my head below the blanket and bringing my legs up as I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep again.
It takes me an hour to pass out again, and when I do, I dream of a dark-haired boy—now a man—standing guard over me, ensuring none of the world’s evil the moon witnesses ever touches me again.
“I havesomething else to talk about today,” I rush to say to Ava before she can start our Sunday session.
Yesterday waslong. After waking the morning after my nightmare, I spent Saturday wandering my apartment trying to forget the dream and stay busy. Both, I failed at.
