Chapter 16
Cassandra
I’ve had an astoundingly unproductive morning.
It’s not necessarily my fault, though. How am I supposed to get any work done when all I can think about is the jackass who has effectively uprooted my calm, boring life?
Even as I think it, I know it’s not completely true.
I’m the idiot who stuck around to bond with the perpetrator and victim of a shootout.
And I also can’t so easily ignore the way he took care of me when I was taken advantage of at his club.
He could’ve just dropped me at a hospital.
I would’ve woken up even more scared and panicked than I already was.
Basically, my mind is a big, chaotic ball of conflicting feelings, none of which are helping me finish my schoolwork.
I huff, standing from my desk and wandering to the kitchen for a procrastination snack. The fridge creaks open, summoning another groan from my mouth.
I want to eat, but everything in the fridge is make.
I don’t want to make.
I slam the door shut with a petulant shove, just about to return to my academic prison sentence, when a soft knock rattles at the door.
I stroll over and swing open the hinge, assuming Veronica lost her keys again. Instead, I’m jolted by the familiar face and looming form dominating the porch.
Great. First, he stalks me. Then, he stalks me.
“What are you doing here, Mikhail?”
The anger from last night comes flickering back at his presence, and my voice takes on sharp edges and corners.
“Cass, I know you’re furious. You have every right to be.”
Oh great, I’m allowed to want autonomy.
“Mikhail, I think you should go home. Whatever this is, it’s gotta stop. Controlling men aren’t my type, and I need to be able to exist in the world without some guy yelling at me on the—”
“You’re right. I was out of line, and I never should’ve spoken to you like that.
I don’t ever want to control you or scare you, I was just…
I was worried about you. Terrified that something like last time could happen again, and I wouldn’t be there to stop it.
I almost didn’t stop it that night, and that thought has been tearing me apart.
What if I never turned? What if I didn’t see you before he tried to pull you back? ”
The sincerity in his voice surprises me, and he cracks as he says the last part, as if some guy trying to assault me was entirely his fault. His words mirror thoughts that I’ve been struggling with too; the what-ifs of that night haunt every drink I receive, every quiet moment in bed.
“I…I appreciate the concern, Mikhail, but that night felt like a complete loss of control for me, and what you did? It made me feel even more out of control. I can understand your reasoning, but it doesn’t change the action.”
“I know Menace. I never wanted to make you feel that way, and I couldn’t just go on with my day, knowing it was hurting you. I’ve turned tracking completely off. Look.”
He hands over his phone, and the screen is set to the privacy settings page. Visually seeing that privacy is enabled from both sides of our contact slightly eases the anger. Just to screw with him, I start going through the device. He doesn’t make a move to stop me.
I click on our text chain, surprised to see my contact named with the nickname he uses for me. Seeing the unread texts from his side has a twinge of sympathy zipping through me. I don’t want to examine the feeling right now, so instead, I shut off the phone and hand it back to Mikhail.
“Look, I appreciate you showing up and trying to be open, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were hiding stuff from me, or that you are continuing to do it.
You still won’t tell me what you do for work, or details of your life, or even what happened the night we met.
Our communication is like a one-way street, and that’s not going to work for me. ”
“I get that. And I want to try and do this right, Cassandra. I want to earn your trust. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night. No more invasions of privacy, and no more secrets. I might be out of practice at letting others into my private life, but I can work on it.”
The blend of his profound guilt and willingness to change feels tauntingly genuine. I’ve been wronged many times in my life, but no one has ever tried this hard to change for me. To beg forgiveness. No one has ever cared more about my feelings than about being right.
“And we’re going to talk? Properly?” I break my hesitation.
“Yes, we’ll talk. You can ask me anything you’d like.”
“…Okay, then.”
The short response lights up his face like a fuse, and I’m captivated by the look of hopeful joy that overtakes his eyes. I just hope I haven’t dug myself further into a hole I won’t be able to crawl out of.