Chapter 44
Nikolai
Isabelle stares as panic twists my insides. I’m skating at full speed into a brick fucking wall. Half of my body is numb,
the other on fire. I retch, turning to press my face against the rough bark of the nearest tree.
I’ve never said those words aloud before. Not like that. Whenever I’ve spoken about that night—the night my father put me
in the hospital and we finally, finally left—I’ve kept that to myself.
The world hasn’t shattered, now that I’ve said it. But I do feel different. A little more broken than before, as if the last
piece of me just cracked. I gag again. My lungs are burning, but I can’t get in enough air.
“Hey,” she says softly. Her hands cover my trembling shoulders. She pulls me away from the tree, wiping my mouth with her
sleeve. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Leave me alone.”
“Come inside, it’s freezing out here.”
I try to twist out of her grip, but she’s tenacious. There’s a burning in her eyes, a fierceness I don’t deserve. She half
drags me to the house, and everything blurs as she takes me upstairs. My feet feel like stone. Each breath is a knife, twisting
into my lungs. I struggle to push my father’s voice out of my head. I can’t quite manage it, and I definitely can’t banish
the memory of my mother’s tearstained face, or the raw scream that sent me running from my room—
“Nik,” a blue-eyed angel says. Her thumb rubs my scar tenderly. “Take a deep breath.”
I try to focus on her. My panic attacks have never made me pass out, but I feel pretty fucking close right now. I sense a
hand squeezing my arm, another running through my hair. I twist, retching yet again.
“Okay,” she says—distant, as if I’m underwater. “Breathe through your nose, hang on.”
She leads me to the bathroom, her hand cool and dry on the back of my neck as I flip the toilet lid and vomit. She says something
else, but I can’t hear her. I can’t hear a thing but the conversation with my father, echoing over and over, and my own ragged
breathing.
It’s never been this bad. Never this absolute. He said my name—not Nikolai, not Nik, but Kolya—and I unraveled completely.
Usually, I manage to keep my past in a lockbox, but it’s all I can think of now. A million painful moments, sprung open by
that one word.
And the conversation itself, taking a hammer to the week I’ve had with Isabelle’s family. He’s planning a trip here. To New
York. Not tomorrow, but soon. It’s been three years since I saw him in person, and now...
“Go,” I say roughly. “Please.”
She blinks, and I realize that I said it in Russian. I swallow, trying to find the right words in English. When I manage it—or
something close enough—she just shakes her head.
“You know how to breathe,” she murmurs. “Focus on it, honey. Do it with me.”
Tears prick my eyes. I press the heels of my hands against them. I don’t cry. I’m especially not going to cry now, in front
of Isabelle. I take one shaky breath, and then another.
I used to hear my mother cry at night. She’d deny it, in the morning, but I heard it, just like I heard the arguments.
Something must show on my face—a shard of pain too large to bury fast enough—because Isabelle hugs me. I stay still, losing myself in the lemony scent of her hair. I should work up some sense of embarrassment at the sweat on my body and the sour smell of my breath, but I can’t.
“Hug me back,” she urges. “It’ll help.”
She feels fragile. Breakable. I knocked her hand away, outside, and it would be all too easy to shove her away now. I don’t
want to hurt her, but I could. I could give her the marks my mother would hide with makeup, after a particularly bad night
with my father.
If you won’t come home, I’ll just have to travel to see you, Kolya.
I force myself to focus on her warmth. I don’t hug back, but inch by inch, I relax. My breath comes easier. The lingering
nausea fades, although my body begins to ache with exhaustion. I could fall asleep here, on the bathroom floor.
Isabelle finally steps back. I see the disappointment on her face, but she just grabs a washcloth from the cabinet and wets
it.
“Use some mouthwash,” she says, wiping my face. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“Thank you,” I say when she’s at the doorway.
She stops, giving me a hesitant smile. “You’re okay.”
I just nod, pulling my sweat-soaked shirt over my head.
“And I’m here for you.” She digs her teeth into her bottom lip. I notice how cute that is, and it makes my heart skip a beat,
even with the lingering effects of the attack. “If you don’t want to talk about it now—”
“Tonight.” I clear my throat. “Let’s talk tonight.”