Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Rats don’t live here.
They come here to die.
Yev didn’t live like this before Feo passed away. He was house proud, mainly because he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d go to his apartment if it resembled a bachelor pad, but proud, nonetheless.
This is worse than a group of young men partying twenty-four-seven.
It is a dump site.
My head shouts for me to spin on my heels and walk away, but my heart has an opposing opinion. It sees me entering his apartment and seeking him amongst the mess.
“Yev…” I step over discarded pizza boxes on the entryway floor before making a beeline for Yev’s room. It’s not as bad as the living room, but there are enough empty liquor bottles to expose how Yev is coping with his grief. One bottle at a time.
My heart clenches in my chest when I spot Yev in the middle of his bed. It is still squashed against the wall, and the leather belt he used to hold me captive dangles off the headboard, but the sheets have been stripped, and the half-consumed bottle he’s clutching is being absorbed by the mattress instead of his liver.
He doesn’t realize he is making a mess, because he’s passed out.
After removing the bottle from his grasp and covering his shirtless back with a blanket I find in the closet, I head back to the living area. I followed him to ensure he made it home safely, so I could leave, but once again my heart won’t let me.
This isn’t Yev. He’s just too consumed by grief to remember that.
Also, what he said earlier is true. Feo died because he was protecting Ana, so the least I can do is help tidy up the mess my family inevitably caused.
It won’t bring Feo back, but it might remind Yev that he has plenty to live for, and that alone will be worth getting my hands dirty.
It isn’t like they can get any more stained.
3
POLINA
Several long hours later, I hook the tenth bag of rubbish into the industrial bin at the back of the apartment block before trekking back inside. It’s been a long night, and I’m exhausted as hell, but it’s done. Yev’s apartment is back to a presentable order.
When I enter the corridor in the middle of the foyer, I step back three places. The mailboxes are at the back of the empty space. Yev’s box is so bursting at the seams you no longer need a key to access it. The door has been left open, which means anyone could rummage through his mail.
I hate myself for looking, but the red writing on the top of several envelopes can’t be missed even at a distance. He has several overdue notices, and some are threatening legal action.
Once I’ve pulled out what appears to be nothing but a bundle of bills, I close Yev’s lockbox, then head for the elevator. The envelopes weigh heavily on my shoulders when I place them on the entryway table. Almost every request for contact has a take-action warning printed across the top. Only one doesn’t. It appears more personal than from a business seeking money. The writing across the blotched pink paper is handwritten, and it is addressed to Yev, not Yevgenyi like the rest.
Hopeful it is good news, I place that envelope onto the top of the stack, then hunt the drawers below it for a cell phone so I can organize a ride home.
Yev used to have several burner ones, but do you think I can find a single phone?
Peeved, I slam the drawer shut before hesitantly entering Yev’s room. He’s still flat on his stomach, snoring off the whiskey he guzzled down in a hurry, so I search his room without hindrance.
I find nothing.
Not a single thing.
Desperate, I stray my eyes to Yev’s slumbering frame. He’s still wearing the trousers he was donning earlier. His phone could be in his pocket, but I don’t know if I’m brave enough to search for it. We did many naughty things on that mattress, and even while angry, I can’t trust myself not to get caught up with those stupid emotions again.
I need to be heartless to survive, and Yev was the only man who made me believe I wasn’t.
Determined not to make a fool out of myself twice in one night, I march into the living room before dropping my eyes to the uncomfortable couch.
“It’s either Lumpy Lucy or waking one of Yev’s neighbors,” I drone to myself, disheartened by my choices. “Considering the neighborhood and the late hour, I’d rather risk a kinked neck than a lobotomy.”
With my mind made up, I snatch a blanket from the closet I fetched Yev’s from, then settle in for a restless couple hours on the couch Yev made look sophisticated when he slouched across it.