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“Of course not!”
“But I will eventually. You’re going to be my wife.”Wrong thing to say, again.
“Get it through your head, Dez, I don’t want you to see me naked, and I don’t want to marry you. I’d rather die than let you see my body!” That stings. It makes me uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as the tears in her eyes.
Obviously, she knows I’m not good enough for her, either. I can’t blame her, really. I’ve known it from the moment I saw her. From the beginning of my obsession. I had foolishly hoped that perhaps she would see me beyond my dirty, fucked-up life and get to know the man I’ve been working to become since joining the Odessa Organization.
“Very well.” I exit the room with great reluctance, closing the door behind me and quietly taking my leave of the house. My only desire upon ensuring Liliya was safe from her father’s clutches was to give her the protection of my family. To maybe convince her that even though I’m not worthy of her, I might be able to make her happy. I see now that those were foolish desires. I won’t make the same mistake again.
SIX
LILIYA
Regret churns sourly in my belly as I sit alone in the cafeteria. Jazzy and her friends have quickly spread the word that I’m back to my loser lifestyle, and now everyone either avoids me or sneers at me when I pass. I can’t lie, it stings. I’ve always hated school. Hated the cruelty these kids had surging through their veins, but with Jazzy, while I’d still been a loser, at least I was left alone.
Since sitting down, I’ve had food and garbage thrown at me, just like before, only this time, I don’t care. Not like I used to. Because now I have the added weight of knowing I hurt Dez. He didn’t say it, hardly showed it, but I caught the flaring of his eyes when I yelled at him this morning. The fact that he was gone when I ventured from his room after someone set out clothes for me, spoke volumes. I was told he had left, as well.
My outburstwascruel. I hadn’t meant to be so uncaring and resentful; I didn’t mean to cause him pain when all he’d been to that point was kind to me. Even in his merciless moments with my father, his words and actions towards me were nothing short of worshipful. I always ruin things. I’m told that often enough, I don’t know why I don’t believe it.
When I’d been driven to school this morning, Nadia had handed me some money and told me to have a good day and that she’d be home when I was done. It was the most…peculiar interaction I’ve had with a woman in my whole life. My own mother died when I was young, so I’ve never had a lasting female influence in my life. I don’t think my father’s whores count; they’ve always been as uncaring ashehas.
“Suppose you’re not as cool as you thought you were,” Petr’s voice whispers in my ear as he sits next to me. We’ve been…I wouldn’t say friends, but possibly companions for a few years now.
My shoulder lifts far more casually than I feel. “Never thought I was.” Pushing the rice on my plate around with my fork, I still haven’t had a bite to eat. I can’t stop thinking about the dismissive way I treated Dez.
“Are the rumors true?” he asks, stealing a slice of my naan bread and dipping it in the oil cup.
“What rumors?” I don’t bother looking at him, I already know.
“That you’re Dez Kovac’s whore now.” He snickers like the very idea that a man could be attracted to me is laughable.
“I’m not a whore,” I hiss out, dropping my fork and giving up the pretense of eating. My ribs itch behind my flesh as I sit there, feeling everyone’s eyes on me from behind.
“Never said you were,” he counters, taking another piece of bread. “But the rumor mill is a flurry with the fact you were swapped like candy.”
Gritting my teeth, I try not to give an outward reaction as my head lifts and my eyes slowly climb to meet Petr’s penetrating stare. “The rumors are just that…a rumor.”
“Except that you showed up here in a fancy car with a bodyguard that hasn’t left, and those are not your clothes. They’re too expensive for your father to have bought for you.” The more he talks, the more I study him, and the more I realize he’s not asking as my friend. He’s asking to give fodder to the fire whipping through the halls.
“I’m just me,” I state. “Unremarkable, forgettable Liliya Vovk. Nothing has changed.” In that, I don’t lie. I’m still the same girl I was yesterday. I’ve only been traded for monetary gain now.
Grabbing my tray, I get up to leave before he can ask any more uncomfortable questions. Dumping the contents into the garbage bin, I head to the bathroom, needing some privacy before facing my last few classes and the scrutiny I’m sure is bound to be found behind those doors, as well.
Blowing out a breath when I see that the communal bathroom is empty, I move to the far side of the room and slip into the very last stall. Locking the door, I push the seat top down and plop myself on it, breathing a sigh of relief to just have a second alone with no prying eyes.
Closing my eyelids, I grip my knees and count it out. I count until the desire goes away. I count until my throat loosens, and I don’t feel suffocated any longer. I count until I can’t count anymore, but nothing works. The need intensifies. The sharp tang moistens my tongue, and as I rummage through my bag with one hand, I lift my shirt and tuck it into my bra with the other.
Looking at the puckered lines of scars on my rib cage, I press my fingers into the flesh and move downwards until I find a smooth spot. Ripping the fresh blade out of the package, I close my eyes and absorb the pain that always comes when I feel the skin part and the warmth of blood ooze down to my fingers. I inhale my first easy breath since meeting Dez yesterday.
Looking down, I realize that the cut is deeper than usual, the blood thicker than water, and I watch as it flows free. I may have sliced too far, but the feelings were suffocating; they were clenching me in their icy grip, trying to strangle me, and I couldn’t help it. Blood stains the edge of my jeans before I’m able to get a bandage on and wipe what’s left off my stomach.
Swiping away the crimson from my fingers with a wet wipe, I suppress the need to do it again. To achieve a stronger release with a deeper cut. A longer scar. I want more, always more. The urge is so strong that my fingers move before I can think twice about it. My ears ring as the blade cuts through another piece of flesh, not as deep, but the rush is the same, and I do it again and again until I hear voices coming into the room and force myself to stop.
Wrapping the blade in gauze, I shove it back into my bag and grab another bandage, gasping when I notice the carnage I’ve caused. Unthinking, I carved Dez’s name into my stomach. I hadn’t meant to. Hadn’t wanted to. I just needed the external assuagement to purge the feelings that were suffocating me. I needed to feel in control again.
Now, I’m branded.
He can never know.
