Chapter 20 Micah
TWENTY
MICAH
Unknown
Tell me you’re all right.
Don’t let anyone erase you.
I shouldn’t have opened the app.
I shouldn’t have seen the messages.
I shouldn’t have found out that Ilya still cares, despite it all, despite the fact that I betrayed him.
I wish I didn’t know.
I want to reply, though with what, I don’t know.
To tell him to stop contacting me?
To lie and tell him I’m fine?
To tell him the truth, at long last?
I know what I need to do, but I can’t bring myself to tell him to leave me alone. Instead, I close the app, the messages sitting on read, and I turn back toward the vacuum cleaner.
I need to clean up.
Without me there to pick up after Adam, the house has gotten messy, and he hates an untidy house. He’d been nice about it, but he’d made sure I understood that he wanted it all cleaned up by the time he got home.
I have six hours to do it.
It’s plenty of time.
Instead of turning the vacuum on, I step past it and go into the spare room.
Adam had handled my cello carelessly, and there are a few scratches on it that weren’t there before. It needs to be tuned again, too, and I diligently set out to do just that.
Maybe this time, things will be different.
Everything had been fine the night before. Other than an offhand comment about needing to make sure I’m free of diseases after fucking “that Russian trash” before he fucks me again, he’d been kind to me.
Mostly.
If I’ve realized anything during my time with Ilya, it’s that I don’t want to be treated like this. I don’t think I’m undeserving of it. If anything, the opposite is true. I do deserve it, after what I’d done to a man who had only wanted to treat me right.
Tears prickle at my eyes as I take up the bow, starting to warm up. I’m dimly aware of the messy state of the house, but an hour or so of playing should soothe my nerves and give me the presence of mind to clean up without crying.
Except that’s all I want to do.
I find myself playing the song I’d written, the one Ilya had praised and allowed me to play for the guests at his restaurant, and I imagine him standing there. In my mind’s eye, he’s watching me.
He’s beaming at me with pride, just as he had been when I’d performed.
He hadn’t told me I sounded like cats in heat.
How could I have thrown away the one person who’d ever encouraged what I love, what I dream of? And for what?
The final notes linger in the air when I become aware that someone is watching, and I jump when I turn my head to see Adam standing in the doorway.
He doesn’t look entranced by the song, or proud, or happy at all.
He looks like he wants to murder someone.
“Adam,” I say unsteadily, nearly dropping the bow. “I’m… I was just taking a break. Is everything okay?”
What’s he doing home? I can’t have been playing for that long.
He glowers at me. “Are you deaf? I called you three times.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket, noticing the time. He’s four hours early. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, my heart hammering in my chest. “I didn’t hear it. What’s wrong?”
He stalks over to me and yanks the bow out of my hand. “Christ, why do you even bother? You torture everybody’s ears with this shit. We already know you can’t play.”
I let out a sound of protest, resisting the urge to snatch the bow back from him. I want to tell him that people had tipped me for my playing, but he’d only say that they felt sorry for me.
Maybe he’s not wrong.
But I don’t want to think that Ilya would’ve lied to me.
“I’ll never get better if I don’t practice,” I say, my voice small.
“There’s no getting better for you!” Adam yells. He grips the bow tightly.
And, right in front of my eyes, he snaps it in half.
I cry out, reaching for it even as he drops the pieces to the floor. “Adam!” I get down on the floor onto my knees, grabbing the bow. It’s useless, of course. There’s no fixing it, and Adam won’t buy me another one. “Why?” I ask, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes.
“Christ. I have a shit day at work, go home early to relax, and find you not even started with your one fucking job.” Adam slams his hand against the wall, making me flinch.
“All my hard work, fucking ruined because of the address on the warrant. You should have mentioned the gambling hall wasn’t part of the restaurant! ”
“What?” I whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t even know there was a gambling hall.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Adam sneers. “I heard you, Micah. You told him you hadn’t snitched on him. Which means you know things. Things that would have prevented me from being reamed out by everybody!”
I can’t breathe. “I didn’t— It wasn’t—” I stumble over my words, trying to think. “It wasn’t anything that was relevant. I promise, Adam. It was… He told me something about something that happened in Russia.”
I know it’s the wrong thing to say even as the words leave my mouth.
He grabs me by the hair and yanks me up to my feet.
“Yeah? And what happened in Russia?” he snarls.
“You’re hurting me,” I say desperately. “Adam, please. It doesn’t have anything to do with anything here. I’d have told you if it had.”
“Yeah, right.” Adam shoves me away from him, straight into my cello.
I yelp and try to steady myself, but it’s too late. The cello topples over, landing hard onto the floor.
At least it’s carpet, I tell myself.
It’ll be fine. Just a few dings. After some tuning, it’ll be fine.
“So,” Adam says, crossing his arms. “What happened in Russia?” He places a booted foot on the waist of the cello.
I swallow hard, staring down at the cello. It’s so personal, too personal, and I don’t know if I can say the words aloud.
Why does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to see Ilya again.
But the idea of Adam going after Ilya again and having that information hurts, too. What if he uses it against Ilya?
“I can’t,” I tell him desperately. “I can’t, Adam. I—”
My phone rings, and I startle. I grab it, and even though it says it’s from an unknown number, I know it’s from Ilya.
No one else would be calling me.
I shouldn’t answer it.
I do it anyway.
“I can’t talk right now,” I say.
“Who the fuck is that?” Adam demands. He reaches out to grab the phone from me. I duck down and run, clutching the phone close to my chest.
A deep voice rumbles on the other end, muffled by my body. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I need to hear his voice more than anything right now.
I’m with Adam.
I’m done with Ilya.
I have to be.
So why do I run to the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me and locking the door? I bring the phone to my ear and whisper, “Ilya? I’m so—”
The door handle rattles, and I stare at it, aware that when Adam gets through, I’m going to pay for this.
I’m so tired of paying for tiny infractions.
No, not even infractions at all. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
Do I ever?
“Ilya,” I say again, even as Adam starts pounding on the door to the bathroom. “Ilya, I’m so sorry. I need you to know that, okay?”
“Mishka? What’s happening? Is he hurting you?” Ilya demands. “Where are you? I’ll come right now.”
“No,” I tell him, staring at the door. “No, I’m fine. I need you to…” I should tell him to stay away. I should tell him not to bother with me. But I’m terrified, and beyond that, I’m tired of being the scapegoat for everything that happens in Adam’s life. I sob as the sound of the pounding ends.
He’s not gone.
He’s going to get into the bathroom one way or another.
When he does…
“Please come,” I say, tears making it impossible to see anything at all as the thin door splinters open. I screech at the loud sound, almost dropping the phone entirely.
“Who the fuck is calling you?” Adam seethes. He kicks the door the rest of the way open.
I have never seen him this mad before.
The features I once considered handsome are warped and marred into those of a monster. His entire face is flushed red in rage.
He’s also holding his gun.
“A-Adam,” I stammer. “I—”
I’m paralyzed by fear, unable to do anything but stare at the gun.
“You don’t need that,” I tell him, my breathing quick, labored. “Adam, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Who,” Adam repeats, “is calling you?”
I can’t tell him it’s a wrong number.
I can’t lie to him.
“It’s Ilya,” I tell him, blinded by my tears now. “I was just telling him not to call me again.”
Adam snarls and grabs the phone right out of my hands. “You stay the fuck away from Micah!” he shouts. “And you might have gotten lucky this time, but I’m going to fucking nail you. Russia isn’t the only country with police brutality.”
I can’t hear Ilya’s reply, but whatever he says has Adam raging.
Adam throws the phone hard against the shower stall tile. The phone cracks and lands in several pieces on the floor of the shower stall.
“Adam,” I whisper again, stunned and terrified. “Please, Adam, leave him alone. I’m here with you. I’m not with him. I’m—” I scramble to think of what to say. I shouldn’t have told Ilya to come.
I hadn’t expected Adam to take out his gun.
Adam aims the gun at me. “Get up.”
I tremble, staring at the barrel of the gun.
“Get up!” Adam yells. “Fucking Christ, are you too stupid to follow a few orders?”
I grab onto the wall, using it to help me get to my feet. He’s not going to shoot me. There would be too many questions.
But Ilya…
He might try to shoot Ilya if he shows up.
What did I do?
“I’m sorry,” I rasp out again. “I’m so… so sorry.”
Adam grabs me by the hair and starts dragging me out. “Fuck. I should have realized. You were always an easy slut, weren’t you? You gag for any man who’s a bit rough with you. You’re attracted to trash.”
What does that say about him?
If I was braver, and if he wasn’t holding a gun, I’d ask.
Instead, I let myself be pulled out of the bathroom, stumbling as I follow along in his footsteps. Adam releases me when we reach the bedroom, and I watch him, trying to catch my breath.
He sets the gun down on top of the bedside table, then turns around to face me with cold eyes.
“You like getting hit, right? That’s what gets you off.” Adam backs me up against the wall until he’s boxing me in against it. “You want to know that your partner is strong.”
Adam wraps a hand around my neck.
No, he’s not going to shoot me.
He’s going to strangle the life out of me.
He can probably get away with it, too. Just another dead drug dealer, nothing to think twice about.
I’ll be dead before Ilya can get here.
I sob, pushing as hard as I can against his chest. It does nothing to dislodge him, and it only makes his fingers flex around my throat.
“What’s wrong?” Adam asks. “Why are you pretending not to want it?”
Because I don’t.
I don’t dare say the words.
“Strip,” he says, his voice dark as he releases me and takes a step back.
“Ad—” I start to say his name, but his eyes flick toward the gun, and I hurry to obey.
I haven’t prayed much in my life, let alone in the past few years, but I find myself praying now.
Please let Ilya get here soon.
I’m shaking so hard that I have a hard time getting my shirt off — a shirt that Ilya had bought for me — and I carefully fold it and set it aside onto the nightstand.
Right next to the gun.
For a split second, I think about picking it up.
I think about what it would be like to turn it on Adam, to feel powerful for once.
The thought only makes my stomach turn, and I think I’m going to be sick.
“Hurry up,” Adam growls at me.
I fumble with my pants, and it takes even longer to unfasten those and get those and my underwear off. I fold those, too, then I’m standing naked in front of Adam.
He’s still in his police uniform.
The irony hits me.
If I called the cops, would they dismiss this as just one more bullshit domestic?
Probably.
Then I’d be left alone with Adam again, and he’d really make me pay.
He hasn’t laid a hand on me, and there’s no proof that he’s doing anything wrong.
Yet.
My stomach lurches again.
“Adam,” I whisper. “Adam, please. You don’t really want to do this.”
“What am I doing?” Adam asks, caressing my cheek. “I remember how you mewled for me. It’s nothing we haven’t done before. Why shouldn’t I fuck my boyfriend?” He suddenly pulls on my hair, making me cry out. “Unless you actually think that Russian piece of shit is better than me?”
I do.
I think Ilya is better than Adam in so many ways.
No, I know he’s better.
He’s brutal, and he’s done terrible things, but he’s gentle with me. He cares about me, and he’d never hurt me.
He’ll protect me.
I just need to hold out until he gets here.
Part of me wonders what will happen then, though.
What do I actually expect? For Adam to calmly accept that I’m going to walk away — for good this time?
Or for him to grab the gun and turn it on Ilya in what I know he’ll claim is a home invasion, or an attempt at revenge, or something that sounds equally valid in court?
I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“He fucked me bare,” I blurt the lie out, unable to think of any other excuse. “You don’t want to risk getting any diseases, remember?”
Adam stops. For a split second, his eyes widen, then he snarls in anger. “You did what?”
I don’t have time to react.
Adam backhands me, sending me reeling. I stumble onto the floor, my side crashing against the bedframe.
The pain flares, and I’m momentarily breathless from it. “I’m sorry!” I say desperately. And I am. I’m sorry I said it, because it’s only made him angrier.
I didn’t want to be fucked, though.
I don’t want his hands on me, good or bad, but I’d rather he hurt me than touch me that way.
Adam grabs my arm and shakes me. “You couldn’t wait to cheat on me, could you? You fucking whore. After I treated you so kindly. You let just anyone fuck you bare!”
I wish I could have. I wish I could’ve felt the intimacy of it.
“It wasn’t cheating!” I protest. “You told me to do it.”
I don’t know why I’m bothering to say it. He’s not listening. He’s not going to listen.
He never does.
“I didn’t tell you to let him come inside you!” Adam bellows. “You filthy, lying…” He tosses me onto the bed, and I scramble back, as if that’s going to protect me.
I pant heavily while Adam undoes his belt.
He doesn’t move on to undo his fly, though. He keeps the belt in hand, his eyes furious. “You need to be punished, Micah,” he snarls. “Turn around. Take a belting like a good fucking boy.”
No. My lips part in a wordless plea.
But I turn around anyway.
Please, I plead with any deity that’s listening, any bit of the universe that might have mercy on me, let Ilya get here soon.