Sex, Lies & Nikolai (17 page)

He waits expectantly for me to reply, but I’m warring with myself. I’m conflicted over what I did, and confused that I want to do it again, and not just for money reasons, but for the way it felt. And that’s the scary thing. He holds too much power over me, over my body, and I don’t know what that means. Because while he’s giving me all the power, I know I won’t feel it when he’s touching me again. That kind of surrender frightens the shit out of me.

Sensing my indecision, he takes the bag and settles the shades back over his eyes. “You know where to find me.” He pauses and sighs, tensing his jaw before adding, “Do svidanya, rybka.”

“Do svidanya, Nikolai,” I reply for the first time ever. I don’t know what pushed me to say it, and I feel timid as hell after it’s out.

His body stills, a soft smile stretching across his face. God, he’s handsome. I can’t help the smile forming at my lips, and when he sees it he curses quietly in Russian. The last thing he says to me right before he leaves is, “You are trouble for me, Alina. You should stay away.”

Even I can detect the seriousness in his words. He’s right, I should stay away. But I know he doesn’t want me to. And no matter how conflicted I feel, I don’t think I want to either.

I watch him leave, despair already intact as the distance between us grows bigger with every step he takes. I picture him a spider, trapping me to his web and making off again, leaving me stuck and bound, waiting for his return. To feast on me. To finish me off. It’s a macabre thought, but it’s strangely the only accurate way I can describe the trapped feeling I get when I ponder the thought of not going back to him.

I know I will.

I know it’s inevitable.

My skin prickles to be touched.

And then I lie to myself again just to feel better.

You’re doing this for
money
. You want to get out of the Estate and give Scarlett a better future? Put up with Nikolai, save, and then get the hell out.

If I was seeking a sign to stay away from Nikolai, I receive it the next morning on my trip to the bathroom. The toilet paper is spotted with blood, and cramps invade my lower stomach, these painful knife-like jabs that have me hissing through my teeth.

I have awful periods. The heavy bleeding kind where clots are so big they’re the size of golf balls, and I get so dizzy I can barely concentrate. I suspect I’m anaemic, though I’ve yet to have it confirmed because I’ve avoided doctors like the plague. A big fat expensive plague that runs me fifty dollars a visit. And who has fifty dollars of spare coin lying around?
Rich people.

Despite all this, I’m elated at the sight of blood. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind the morning I woke up after sleeping with Nikolai. He’d fucked me unprotected. It was such a traumatizing thought, wondering if I’d fall pregnant. I don’t want kids. I
never
wanted kids. I could never justify bringing a child into this kind of struggle. I can hardly feed Scarlett, let alone myself. I did a very, very bad thing. A mindless thing. An insanely daft, unimpressive thing. I’m annoyed Nikolai was careless about it too. I want to blame him more because he was the one to stick it in, but that would be utterly foolish.

My fingers shake with relief as I stand up, insert a tampon, and wash my hands. My body feels slow and lethargic. I feed and drop Scarlett off earlier than usual so I can have time to swing by the post office before work. Then I make the trek there and pay the bills. It chews through most of the money straight away, and that puts a limp in my step.

I just can’t win, can I?

When I get to work, groggy and tired, I’m not in the mood to talk. I’m especially peeved when I find Oksana at the counter, tapping away at her phone while she chews obnoxiously loud on her gum.

“Where’s Benji?” I ask her.

“He’s in too much pain,” she answers without looking. “Something about getting a beating the other night.”

I want to roll my eyes at her blasé mood. “Don’t you care he’s hurt?”

She shrugs. “He’s an idiot. Shouldn’t have messed with the wrong people.”

“Stop with the sympathy, you’re killing me already.”

She pauses and looks up at me. “Why do you care anyway? Got a thing for him or something?”

“No, caring is just something decent people do once in a while. It’s hard to understand at times, I know.”

Her cheeks redden, and she looks about ready to have a go at me. Before she does, the entrance opens and a familiar face comes in. The second my eyes connect to Natasha, my spine straightens as she comes storming to me, her face wild with anger.

Shit, I’m about to eat my words.

“What have you done, Alina?!” she shouts.

On reflex, I turn my head to the backroom where Ivan is. “Nat –”

“You threw me under the bus! You know the shit I’ve had to cop since you walked out on me?”

“Please, stay quiet.”

“Quiet?” she repeats in disbelief. “I put my neck out for you!”

I quickly move around the counter, take her by the arm and try to steer her to the entrance, hoping we can take this conversation outside. Not even three steps in, she tears her hand away and stands her ground, glaring at me with her deep green eyes.

“You fucked me over,” she says, voice breaking. Tears spring to her eyes and I feel like an absolute cunt. “You
ditched
me.”

“I’m sorry,” I quickly tell her. “I’m so sorry, Nat. I tried. I thought I could do it –”

“Franco took my entire cut for that night, and the rest of the bleeding week. Then he gets his ass kicked by Nikolai, which I suspect has something to do with you! I’m fucked. You weren’t the only person with mouths to feed, Alina! What the fuck am I gonna do? I have a sick mother who needs treatments, while you’re bitching about a few bills? You want to see the thousands of dollars I’ve racked up with the wrong people? Huh?”

I wring my hands together, distraught. I was so focused on my own shit, I barely thought of what might happen to her. I’m a horrible, terrible friend. “I didn’t think he’d punish you,” I tell her contritely. “I really didn’t, Nat. I’m so sorry.”

She scoffs. “Sorry? Will sorry pay for my rent, Alina? Will sorry fix how pissed Franco is at me? Go fuck your sorry!”

I deserve that.

She turns to leave, but I take her by the arm again. “Nat, stop. I’ll make it up to you.”

“You can’t make it up to me –”

“How much do you need?”

“What?”

“How much money do you need right now?”

She stills, looking me over with confusion. “What are you talking about? You have nothing. You came to me because you have
nothing
!”

Shit, she just won’t keep her voice down. I look over my shoulder and at Oksana, still chewing her gum but slowly now as she sucks up the scene before her. The backroom is still shut, no Ivan in sight. Looking back at Natasha, I steer her forcibly out of the store and onto the sidewalk outside. With no overhead cover, the sun’s heat is so debilitating.

“Nat,” I start, meeting her pissed eyes, “I can help you. I’ve got some money. What do you need to make your rent?”

She scoffs again, looking utterly sceptical. “How much do I need? Five hundred dollars, Alina. Where you gonna dredge that up? You gonna rob it from Ivan –”

As she talks, I’m already pulling out the wad of cash from my pocket. Immediately her mouth clamps shut as she watches me in awe count through the hundred dollar notes. I shove the little remainder back into my pocket, take her hand into my own and slam the five hundred there.

“Take it,” I tell her firmly. “I’m so sorry, okay? Take it.”

Her fingers wrap around the cash, but she continues to stare, dumbstruck. “How…?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Alina –”

“I hate what I did, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her face softens. “You took a loan from Nikolai, didn’t you? That’s why he went around to Franco, to look after his debt.”

I don’t respond. If I make her think that way, it’s better than the alternative.

“I don’t want this,” she says, softly now. “You’ll just be in more trouble.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her quickly. “There’s more where that came from.” That’s a lie, but it might make her take it.

She looks back at the cash and then around the sidewalk, cautious of catching anyone’s attention. Then she pockets it and I apologize again. “Stop, Alina. It’s fine, alright? Just…don’t ask for my help again.” She shoots me a weak smile that puts me at ease just a little bit.

“I won’t,” I promise.

We stand there awkwardly, and then she asks, “How are you?”

There’s actual interest in her question. It’s the first time I feel like catching up with a friend. I want to crumble and unload. To confide in an old friend and tell her how fucked things have been. But I know Natasha is enduring her own trials, and I don’t want to seem selfish by making her hear my woes that probably pale in comparison to hers.

“Fine,” I answer weakly. “How’s your mum?”

Her lips twist, and she wretchedly looks down at the ground, kicking at an invisible rock. “Fine.”

“Did…Did Franco hurt you for what I did?” The question is harder to push out than I thought. Truth is, I’m terrified of knowing.

“He doesn’t hurt me physically,” she explains vaguely. “Franco’s punishments are different.”

“What does that mean?”

She just shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it, Lee.”

Lee. My old nickname she’d given me since we were twelve. It feels like another lifetime since I heard it. I let out a sharp breath, sticking to safe topics now. The chat is quick and empty, but we’re on good terms by the end. She even gives me a hug, and the contact is so nice, it forms a knot in my throat.

I feel for the last of the money in my pocket as I watch her leave. In one day I have spent more money than I have ever spent in my life. The result makes my stomach queasy with stress. I harden and breathe through my nose, trying not to think of what else will come crashing down.

Seems like the second you have a bit of money the forces in this world want to rip it out of your hands.

I go back inside and Oksana is blowing bubbles, watching me with this wry expression. “Carry on,” she tells me wickedly as I move around the counter. “Tell me more about these
decent
people, Alina.”

I give her a cold look but I don’t answer.

*

Nikolai arrives mid-morning, looking impeccable and handsome as ever. He doesn’t belong in this shithole, so why does he keep coming back to it?

His eyes search me out instantly. He smiles when he catches sight of me, and because my heart rate picks up I glare at him in return. Goddamn the way he makes me feel! Goddamn this heart for being so stupidly weak! His smile wavers a little, and he tilts his head to the side, brows pinched together in thought as he tries to determine what’s wrong.

He buys his juice and approaches me cautiously, perfectly aware that I’m currently not myself.

“Three dollars and fifty cents,” I seethe through gritted teeth before he slides it over.

His eyes narrow when he catches my tone, aware now of the rolling anger I have toward him.

I hate him.

I really fucking hate him.

Because I know, deep down, I need him. I have no choice but to go back to him and feel those fucking things again. Bills and Natasha have wiped me out. Dear god, it’s never fucking ending.

“Are you alright, Alina?” he asks me tenderly after I bag him his bloody drink.

“Fine.”

“Have I done something to upset you, rybka?”

That fucking concern in him.

“Why do you care, Nikolai?” I snap.

He doesn’t reply; he just looks at me in the way I am beginning to loathe because it makes my heart quiver. Is this what he likes? To have me reduced to this senseless fucking puddle of want?

“Why do you come here?” I question suddenly, my voice tight with fury. I don’t care that Ivan is still locked inside his room within earshot, or that Oksana is feet away on her phone and probably watching. “What do you
want
, Nikolai?” I fume, feeling helpless as I throw my hands in the air. “Because it isn’t this juice, is it? Or the cigarettes behind me! You’re just here to torment me, aren’t you? Well, I’m not going back to you, do you understand? I’m not!”

His expression goes from gentle to stone cold in an instant. The change is so abrupt, it makes my stomach clench and my fingers shake. I expect him to respond, and I am desperate for it too. Half of me wants him to get the fuck out, and the other half wants him to warm my bloodstream and fuck me to hell and back.

But he doesn’t speak a word, and that’s worse.

With a blank face, he grabs at the bag without one ounce of aggression or feeling. He’s so fucking good at hiding it, I just want to claw beneath his skin and listen to his thoughts. He throws his shades back on, concealing his eyes, the same eyes that looked vulnerable when he moved inside me and brought us to pleasure. I shiver, an apology almost at the tip of my tongue, but it’s not coming out. I
want
him to be angry at me.

If he hates me, he’ll stop coming back.

He gives me a final look, and then he turns and walks out, that “do svidanya” missing from his lips.