Chapter 8 Micah
EIGHT
MICAH
The condo is the only one on the entire floor. I swallow hard as Ilya opens the door and ushers me inside. I feel so out of place, like I’m too dirty for a place like this. I don’t deserve to be in his nice home, with him being so nice to me.
I deserve to be anywhere but here.
I deserve to be on the streets.
But on the streets, I wouldn’t be able to gather information. I wouldn’t be able to get anything useful for Adam.
I’d be just another random drug dealer, waiting to get caught — or worse — because I don’t know any other way to survive on my own.
“The bathroom is here,” Ilya says, pointing to a door. “If you want to wash your face.”
I swallow hard, realizing I must look like a complete mess after crying so much. He probably doesn’t want to see me like this, and I don’t blame him. I’m surprised he was willing to go out in public with me.
If I’m going to get anything out of him, I have to look better. I have to be better. Then Adam will welcome me back home.
Except I’m not sure I want to go home at all.
I’m not sure I even have a home.
How can I, when the man I know I love is willing to put my life at risk for the sake of a promotion?
I nod despite my thoughts, then head into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I stare at myself in the mirror.
My eyes are red, and I rub absently at them before turning the water on so I can splash my face. The sensation of the cool water against my skin is welcome, refreshing, and I keep doing it until I finally feel calm again.
Then I turn the water off and find the hand towel, drying my face off.
I feel better, calmer, and I sigh in relief.
All right. I can handle this.
I can handle him.
But I still don’t have a plan, not really. I only know that if I don’t get the information Adam wants, the information he needs, he won’t take me back.
Getting that information and handing it over means screwing over the one person who’s actually been nice to me in a long time, a man who was willing to drop everything to pick me up and take me to safety when I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
I don’t know what to do.
I leave the bathroom, heading back into the hallway and turning back for the living room to find Ilya.
A familiar classical piece plays softly through the speakers. Ilya is standing by a wall—by the aquarium, and I see now that half the wall space is taken up by the massive tank. There are only a few dim lights to illuminate the underwater scene.
I get closer and look into the tank. Silver fish flit about the underwater ferns and into caverns. I spot a few snails and shrimp in there too, as well as one larger fish with a striped pattern and long, graceful fins.
Ilya angles himself toward me. “How are you feeling?”
I don’t look away from the fish. They’re easier to watch, easier to deal with, and have much less of a chance of making me mess up in a serious way. “Better,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
I itch to call Adam again before I make even more mistakes.
If I could get his advice… But I can’t get his advice, not in front of Ilya. Maybe if I hadn’t refused him, he’d have given me more information on what to do. I’d been stupid to say no.
Hadn’t I?
“Of course.”
For a few moments, we both observe the fish. I wonder about who set up the tank. Does Ilya have somebody who cleans the tank and feeds the fish? Is this like a dentist lobby, where the fish are simply there to entertain the guests? Or does he take care of them himself because he loves them?
Would he take care of me if he loved me?
Adam takes care of me, but does he even love me?
“I’ll get you some snacks,” Ilya suddenly says. “Sit wherever you like.” He pats me on the head, his touch warm, before he leaves.
I should go too. I don’t need more food. I don’t need to stay here. Coming here was a mistake. Staying here is an even bigger one.
I wander toward the couch, but the idea of sitting down on it feels surprisingly strange. At home…
My heart skips a beat at the thought, but I persist.
At home, I would just sit on the floor. Adam likes when I do that, so he can stroke my hair while he watches TV. Maybe Ilya will like it, too. Maybe it will get him to relax and even open up to me.
It’s not that I think he’ll start to spill all of his secrets right away, but maybe… Maybe he’ll say something, anything, that Adam can work with.
So even though I’m hesitant, I settle down on the floor anyway, getting comfortable and resting in front of the couch. I close my eyes, not opening them until I hear Ilya returning.
“I hope this is okay,” I say awkwardly, glancing up at him.
Ilya doesn’t answer for long enough that I get nervous.
I’m being weird. This is off-putting for the average person.
I tense as Ilya approaches. “Sorry,” I say, getting up. “I should—”
“I told you to sit wherever you liked,” Ilya says sternly. “If the floor is comfortable, then sit there.” He sets the tray of snacks down on the coffee table. “Sit, Micah.”
The order sends a shiver down my spine, and I sit back down without thinking. “Yes, sir,” I whisper. It’s so easy to obey that authoritative tone, coming from that man who has been so kind to me despite being who he is, what he is.
Ilya sits down on the couch, though not close enough that his legs touch me, and that feels like rejection.
I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my head on my knees.
“Micah,” Ilya says softly. “You’ve had a long day. Even if you aren’t hungry, you should eat.” He uses a toothpick to spear a small cube of cheese. He holds it out to me, and I could easily take it from his hands and eat like a normal person.
My face heats up, but I lean forward and take the cheese with my mouth instead. I’m so nervous that it doesn’t taste like much, but the feelings that come with it are something I can’t ignore.
I want this.
I want him.
It makes no sense. I know so little about him, and what I do know is that he’s a criminal. He’s probably just a violent man who wants to disarm me.
Maybe he wants a victim, too.
Or maybe he wants more than that. Maybe he wants someone to care for in a way that doesn’t make me feel like I’m less than nothing.
I’m still with Adam, though, and the urge to plead for more dies before I say anything about it. Instead, I let him feed me — a piece of cheese, a piece of meat, back and forth.
First from the toothpicks, then from his fingers, until it’s all I can do not to lick them.
It tastes better than the fancy food from earlier tonight.
When he rumbles, “Good boy,” I blush, but I’m so hungry for the praise that it’s all I can do not to beg for more of that, too.
I have to acknowledge for the first time that maybe I’m not doing this because I have to, that maybe I’m doing this because I want to.
To thank him for helping me, maybe.
Or maybe to have something good in this train wreck of an evening.
It’s wrong.
I’m with Adam.
And no matter how much I try to tell myself that this is for Adam, I know better.
This feels too good, too welcome, for it to be anything other than selfish.
I don’t know when this went from being a task to something I want, but I can’t deny that my interest goes beyond what Adam is demanding of me.
Ilya scoots closer, and before I can question myself, I press my head against his thigh. I feel him tense, and ice water douses the growing fire in the pit of my stomach.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn’t have—”
“You should,” Ilya answers firmly. “I want to keep you close, Micah. I want to touch you. But if you say you don’t want me, if you say you aren’t interested in me, I won’t do that.”
I swallow hard, licking my lips as I think about how I should proceed. “It’s not that I’m not interested,” I say, my voice cracking. “It’s only that I don’t want to cheat. Maybe we didn’t actually break up for real.”
Ilya gives me a gentle smile. The beard softens his features, makes him look kind. I can’t imagine Adam with a beard.
“There are two people who can make that choice, Micah,” Ilya says. He lightly strokes my head. “But it is not my decision. It’s yours.”
I shiver at the feeling, leaning in to the touch. It’s so gentle that I can barely stand it, and I expect him to grab hold of my hair and pull it hard.
It wouldn’t be a bad thing; I don’t mind it when things get a little rough.
But at the same time, I love that Ilya touches me like I’m something precious instead of something to use.
“I should break up with him,” I say quietly. “After what happened. It wasn’t right.”
The words sit heavily in the silence.
I’m lying, I remind myself. This is so that Ilya will trust me. I’m not really breaking up with Adam.
Why does it feel so good to say the words though? I should be feeling guilty, not borderline relieved!
“It wasn’t right,” Ilya agrees. “I am a terrible man, Micah, but even I would never leave a restaurant without paying.”
I let out a weak laugh. “No? But what have you done, Ilya?”
This is what I’m here to learn.
Do I even want to know for sure?
Spread your legs and get him to confide in you.
Ilya turns away from me and looks down at his hands. “I have many sins staining my hands, Micah. You are an innocent man, one of a few in this harsh world. You are not safe with Adam, but you will not be safe with me either.”
Is that a confession about all his dark crimes?
But that’s not enough to arrest him. Adam would laugh at me if I told him about vague “sins.”
It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with trouble.
I think about my own family, which isn’t steeped in blood but is steeped in misery nonetheless. Dealing drugs is never pretty, and watching addicts come back time and again for “just another hit” has always brought despair down upon my shoulders.
I enabled that.
My whole family still does.
“I’m not innocent,” I whisper.
“No?” Ilya runs his knuckles along my cheek. “You have a beautiful soul, Micah. I can hear it in your music.”