Page 16 of Bratva and Betrayal: Kirill

I scoff a laugh. The boss of what I’m told and not told. Like how she planned to move me out of the Chicago state home and the New York facility well before she told me.

Still, the idea of being part of the mafia now builds pressure at the back of my head again. It’s a dull, persistent throb. Like something is trying to push through from the other side. I gently rub my temples as I breathe through my nose.

I wait to see something behind my mind’s eye. But the sensation passes. It always passes.

Elodie watches me carefully, then glances down at her watch. “We should probably get going,” she says. “Your appointment with Dr. Giles is in forty minutes.”

“I appreciate your gynecologist taking me on as a patient.” I hide the disdainful thought of a man I don’t know touching me.

My cousin nods. “Do you remember seeing a gyno before your accident, Jess?”

Jess. The name has been rubbing me the wrong way lately for some reason.

“No,” I say after a moment, shaking my head. “I don’t remember anything from before.”

“Right. I’m sorry.” Elodie leans forward, her eyes lowering. “Okay, then I’m going to ask you something, and you can totally tell me to shut up if it’s weird.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Okay.”

“Have you had sex?”

Heat rushes to my face so fast it feels like I’ve been burned. “No,” I choke out, my pulse hammering in my throat. “Not since, since the accident anyway.”

“You were nineteen when you fell,” she says, with an investigative pitch. “It’s possible you did. Before.”

“I don’t know.” I shrug and stare down at the melting remains of my ice cream, watching it collapse in on itself. “If I did, I don’t remember.”

God, I feel like I’ve said that a million times. But Elodie is touching a nerve that has nothing to do with my lack of memories.

“And I haven’t really been interested in that. Sex,” I add to clarify. “But lately… I don’t know. I feel different.”

“Different how?” Elodie asks, her tone sharpening with interest.

I shift in my seat, suddenly aware of my body in a way that is new and strange. “Tingling feelings. Hormones, maybe,” I say, fumbling for the right word. “A doctor at the place in New York told me that could happen as I got better. My cycle was off forever. It’s finally on a regular schedule.”

Elodie’s eyes light up, leaning forward again. “Do you think you’re ready to have sex?”

“I don’t know.” I give a soft, nervous laugh. “I’ve been having dreams.”

“Oh, this sounds good,” she says, grinning. “Tell me everything.”

“They’re not clear,” I admit, closing my eyes for a second as I try to grasp the vision in my head that always slips away when I reach for it. “Of a man. But I can’t see his face. Not really. There are just shadows. But he’s tall. I can tell.” I swallow, searching for the shape of him. “He’s lean. Has a square jaw and big tattooed hands.”

Sometimes they’re around my neck. And I like it.

Elodie’s grin widens, her eyes dancing. “Go on.”

“But he’s kind,” I add. “He keeps telling me everything will be okay. That I have nothing to worry about.”

My words linger in the air, and when I open my eyes, Elodie’s expression has darkened.

“That’s pretty specific.” She breathes out slowly. “Did it feel non-consensual?”

I know that word. I’ve learned it from soft-voiced therapists in sessions where they taught me how to name sensitive subjects.

I shake my head. “No,” I say firmly. “It doesn’t feel like that.”

My cousin studies me, waiting for me to elaborate.