Chapter 6 Micah #2
The smile that had been lingering on my lips drops. The people at the club had seemed to enjoy my performance. Their applause hadn’t felt polite or rote. But I guess I interpreted it wrong.
“I’ll practice more,” I tell him even though I already practice for hours each day, losing myself in the music so I don’t have to face the constant feeling that there’s something wrong with me.
“Is there a point?” Adam asks. “Some people are born with talent, others aren’t. It’s not something you can will into existence.”
“The people at—” I begin to say, only to realize halfway through my words that reminding him of that night isn’t a good idea, especially in public. I stare down at my own food, my appetite gone. “You’re probably right.”
But I won’t stop.
It’s one of the few things I still have to call my own.
Adam stares at me, his eyes practically boring into me. “The people at…?” After a second, his brows furrow. “Are you talking about that third rate bar? The one you ‘performed’ at?” He adds air quotes to his words, like I hadn’t actually been performing.
“It’s not important,” I say quickly. “It was all a mistake.”
Adam scoffs loudly. “The mistake was trusting you. But since you brought it up…” He gives me an intense look, one I want to shrink away from. “I think you need to go back. Try again. We now know Zima is into boys half his age. He fucking buttered you up, pretending to like your performance.”
I swallow hard. I don’t think that’s what happened. I don’t think that’s why he pretended to enjoy my performance.
Maybe Ilya only likes mediocrity, a nasty voice whispers in the back of my mind.
“I can’t,” I say. “I… I messed up so much.”
Adam had been so mad.
“Because you went in half-cocked.” Adam shakes his head. “No, I’ve been talking with my partner, and he agrees that a honeytrap is our best option. Especially a gay one. Zima wouldn’t want any of that made public.”
“But wouldn’t that…” I begin, but it’s futile. “I mean, if he finds out who I am, who you are… he already suspects you’re a…”
“He doesn’t suspect anything,” Adam snaps. “As long as you do your part properly. Just spread your legs for him and get him to tell you about work. You can’t wear a wire, obviously. That would be too dangerous. So remember what he says.”
The whole idea is dangerous. Doesn’t he care about my safety?
“But I don’t want to cheat on you,” I say quickly. My mouth is dry, and my heart pounds loudly in my ears.
My phone still has Ilya’s number in it.
The one I haven’t told Adam about.
“It’s not cheating if it’s for work,” Adam says, very matter of fact.
I part my lips as the words sink in. That’s not what he’d thought the last time. He’d gotten so jealous. “I don’t know how to get in touch with him again,” I lie.
I don’t want to kiss Ilya and have Adam get mad all over again.
What would the consequences be for fucking Ilya?
Adam grows visibly frustrated, his teeth grinding together. “So go to the damn bar again. Go every single night if you have to. They don’t mind your godawful playing there.”
My cheeks flush, and I’m abruptly aware of the beautiful cello music in the background. I’ll never be that good, no matter how hard I try, and at the bar…
It would backfire.
It would end up worse than the last time.
I give a quick shake of my head. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I did so bad the last time. I can’t do it. I wish I could, but I can’t, Adam.”
Adam rolls his eyes. “I take you to a fancy restaurant like this, I let you mooch off of me, but when I ask for one single favor, you refuse?”
“I can’t,” I repeat, feeling even smaller. “You even told me yourself I’m a failure. I’d just make it even worse.”
Except I’d already gotten Ilya’s phone number.
This is the part where I tell Adam. This is where I make him happy that I was proactive.
My throat goes dry.
I take a sip of wine. I think about roses and sweet words, about all the times Adam kisses me and tells me he loves me.
I want more of that.
I want to make him proud of me.
“Whatever. I’m not in the mood to argue.” Adam gets up. “I’m going to the restroom.”
I nod miserably. “Okay.”
He walks off, leaving me alone to my thoughts.
For five minutes, then ten.
The waiter brings the check, and I realize it’s been almost fifteen minutes since Adam went to the bathroom.
No.
It’s been almost fifteen minutes since Adam left.
With trembling hands, I look at the check with wide eyes. I didn’t even know a fish dish could cost this much, and the wine…
There’s no way I can cover this.
Tears start to roll down my cheeks before I can stop it, and they plop down onto the paper.
The waiter returns, and he takes one look at the empty seat, then at me.
For some reason, he doesn’t look angry. Instead, there’s a pitying look on his face. “Ran out on you?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don’t…” I’m beyond mortified. I’d spent my allowance on groceries, and even if I hadn’t, I’d still have been hard-pressed to pay this.
All I have is my metro card, and that’s not going to help.
“I can pay half of it now, and… And…” I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay the rest. “I can wash dishes,” I whisper. “I can do something.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll take care of it,” he says.
I blink up at him through my tears. I don’t deserve his kindness. I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness.
“I can’t ask that of you,” I say. But what other options do I have? “Okay,” I amend before he can speak. “I… I’ll get the money as soon as I can. I’ll come back and pay.” I fold the receipt.
When I go to put it in my wallet, I realize I forgot the whole thing at home. We’d been in such a hurry that I hadn’t grabbed it. I push the receipt into my pocket and stand up.
“My name is Micah Rhodes,” I tell him. “I’ll give you my phone number, and I… I’ll… I’ll figure something out.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies. “Try to have a good night, Micah. Chin up. If he did this, it’s better to know that he’s an asshole now instead of later.”
I almost laugh. “Yeah,” I say weakly.
How long had it been before Adam had turned into what he is now?
I head out of the restaurant in a blind haze, barely able to see through the tears. When I get outside, I realize that I’m almost half an hour away—by car—without any way to get home. I don’t know what to do.
I pull out my phone and call Adam.
It rings once, then immediately goes to voicemail.
I let out a bleak, despairing little sound, and I try again.
Voicemail.
He’s either rejecting my calls or he turned his phone off.
I stare at the screen, and I see the new app on my phone.
I think about Ilya, how his kiss had been dominant but he’d apologized for being rough. How he’d kept his hands to himself while we ate the parfaits.
I think about Adam’s demand. I can get him the information he needs. I can help him get promoted.
He’ll forgive me then.
And if I call Ilya, maybe he can help me get closer to home.
Ilya was kind, and even though I know that kindness could’ve been an illusion, something to draw me in until it’s too late, it had still been there.
I have to try.
No, I have to do more than try. I have to do it.
I navigate to the app, where I press the button to call Ilya. I put it to my ear, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest as I wait to see if he’ll even pick up.
After two rings, I hear his deep, accented voice.
“Yes?” Ilya asks. “Who is calling?”
It isn’t an act when I burst into tears all over again. “Il—Ilya, it’s… It’s Micah. I’m so… I’m so sorry to call you.” The words are so broken and messy that I’m not sure if he’ll even be able to make them out, and I repeat, “I’m sorry.”
Can I really do this?
Do I really have a choice?
“Micah,” Ilya says. “There’s no need to be sorry. Tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m… I’m stuck at a restaurant, and I don’t… I don’t have any way to get home,” I admit to him. “Adam…” What lie can I tell that he’d possibly believe? Even though I feel sick, I continue, “Adam broke up with me.”
“Okay,” Ilya says. “Tell me the address. I’ll be there soon.”
I find the address and give that to him, along with the name of the restaurant. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, starting to calm down, if not by much.
The idea of seeing Ilya makes my heart beat faster for another reason entirely, and I realize I want it.
I shouldn’t.
I shouldn’t be grateful, even the smallest bit, that I can stay away from Adam until he calms down.
I wish I didn’t think the repercussions would be so severe.
Adam is going to want to know how I got in touch with Ilya so quickly; he’s going to be angry at me for following his orders unless I get something good out of it. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m no “honeypot.”
I have to try anyway.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ilya says. “Do you want to stay on call with me while I drive to you?”
I bite my lip, then shake my head. I realize he can’t see it, then whisper, “No, thank you.”
I don’t want him to hear me cry any more than he already has.
I don’t want to risk giving anything away.
“I’ll be there very soon. In fifteen minutes,” Ilya says. “But if you change your mind, you can call me. I have my phone connected to the car’s Bluetooth.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
I hang up, hugging my arms against my chest.
I’m both looking forward to seeing Ilya and dreading it all at once, and I don’t know which is stronger.
All I know is that I only have one chance to do this.
I can’t screw it up.