Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 93506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
It didn’t help much. I feel like no matter how much I clean myself, there’s something dirty inside that I can’t reach.
Why do women have to deal with this everywhere we go? The whole outdated victim-blaming speech about ‘what you were wearing’ is laughable in this case. I was dressed as a damn man, but even that didn’t stop them.
During the entire process of cleaning and hating myself, I expect Kirill to either bang on the door or come inside to inspect what’s taking me so long, or both.
Surprisingly, none of the above happens, even though I’ve been in the shower for over forty minutes.
Kirill might have let me use his company for comfort, but he’s not a patient man, and he certainly doesn’t react well to any bursts of emotion.
I was surprised that he not only sat next to me earlier but also let me hug him and cry against his chest like a baby.
That’s not the Kirill I know, which made the gesture have more of an impact. I’m not sure anyone else would’ve been able to calm me down or wrench me out of those self-destructive thoughts.
I slip on a bathrobe that swallows me whole and stops right above my ankles and make sure to wrap the belt around my waist.
I can’t believe I threw myself in Kirill’s arms while I was completely naked. Talk about embarrassing myself.
Truth is, I’ve never been the type who’s comfortable with being naked, even before I had to disguise myself as a man.
Since the army, I’ve become so careful about that in order to protect my identity. So to say what happened earlier was normal would be a giant lie. The other day, too, after his nightmare. I willingly opened the blanket and hugged him while I was in the nude.
I’m almost certain it’s only because it’s Kirill. I don’t think I’d have the same reaction if it were anyone else.
It’s both fascinating and terrifying that he’s my first in many things—first crush, first sex, first heartbreak, and now, first—and only—person whose presence I feel comfortable and safe in since the massacre.
He’s slowly but surely occupying so much room in my life, and if he’s somehow removed, the gap will be too big to control.
I internally shake my head to chase away those thoughts.
On my way out, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror and freeze. My cheeks are red, lips puffy, and my eyes shine with an unfamiliar light. It’s almost as if I look…radiant.
What the hell?
I want to deny those thoughts and shove them where no one can see, but as I step out, my heart thunders louder, harder, and with so much intensity, I think I’ll faint.
After trying and failing to control my illogical reaction, I head to the sitting area opposite the bed.
My shoulders drop when I find no trace of him.
Did he go to the office? But it’s late, and I’m sure that even he needs some downtime before he gets back to business.
Sometimes, I wonder if he’s a machine. It feels as if he was trained to always give two hundred percent of his attention and energy. That if he gives anything less, it’s an insult to his intelligence and capabilities.
But surely, he realizes how damaging that rhythm can be long-term. I don’t think he cares, though. I’m the only one who does.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and check my messages. My heart nearly leaps out of my throat when I find his name at the top of my notifications.
Kirill: I’m out on an errand. Get some rest. You’re off tomorrow.
I let myself fall on the mattress, chest inflating with the heavy weight of disappointment.
What type of errand could he have this late in the evening? He already had his meeting with the Pakhan, so what is this, and most importantly, why am I not part of it?
I pace the length of the room for what seems like an hour, then stare out of the window at the main entrance for another half an hour. When the car doesn’t show up, I text Maksim and Yuri but get no reply.
Does that mean they’re on whatever this errand is?
I glare at the phone. Why do they get to take part in it and I don’t? Besides, how could Kirill throw himself in danger’s way again after we barely escaped this day’s predicaments?
The fear I had when I woke up in that damn basement creeps back in me from all directions. If Kirill gets hurt and I’m not there to protect him, I’ll never forgive myself.
I lie down on the bed and try to expel those thoughts, but they continue haunting me in the form of gruesome images.
Shootings. Bombs. Snipers.
Stop it.
I lunge into a standing position and do over a hundred push-ups. Then I shower again, but this time, I let the cold water turn my skin blue. It does nothing to quench the fire inside me.