13. Mikhail
Chapter thirteen
Mikhail
Istare at our apartment, but it’s like I don’t recognize it. Like it’s still our apartment, but from an alternate timeline. It’s so still. So quiet. Tati always has a movie or some music going in the background. Even Sparkle’s little coos and squeaks are a constant that I didn’t realize I’d miss.
My biggest fear has happened. We’ve been separated.
Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe we need some space to get used to the idea of a future where she’s found her happily ever-after and I just... what? I just what? Disappear? Find someone else?
Except why does it feel like I’ve left my beating heart back at the hospital and have a rock in my chest where my heart used to be?
I walk over to our bed and flop onto my back diagonally, leaving one leg hanging off of it.
Fucking Dmitri. Fucking Nikolai. Fucking life.
The bed smells like us, and I’m instantly hard. It’s half the reason I wear baggy jeans - so that it’s not so obvious when I’m sporting a semi, because I always am. Irritation slivers just under my skin, and I stand. I’m not going to be able to sleep in our bed tonight.
I walk over to her canvases of paintings leaning against the wall to the bathroom, flipping through them like they may have answers for me. She’s incredibly talented, but the women on her canvases aren’t her, and the men aren’t me.
I need to do something with myself. I can’t just sit here and wallow in missing her.
I grab some of her brushes and put them in paint thinner in a mason jar. I wash yesterday's coffee mugs. Signs of her are everywhere in this apartment. Her shoes by the door, her backpack next to the couch.
I have no idea how long she’ll be gone for, but I want everything perfect for her when she gets back. I pick up her backpack to hang it in the closet when her sketch pad falls out.
I know I should put it back in her bag, but I’m obsessed with the woman, so I don’t. I sit on the couch instead and flip through her book. They’re pencil sketches from class, charcoal sketches, concepts of drawings and paintings. A person’s nose, or their hair, a hand posed in a certain way.
Until I flip the page and the rock in my heart attempts to turn over.
It’s me.
It’s a side portrait of me, sitting at a desk in class.
And I look good. She’s somehow made my shaggy hair look perfectly messy.
She’s highlighted my lips. Could she be as obsessed with me as I am with her?
No, it’s one drawing. We’re always together, so of course there’d be a drawing of me, or two.
I close her sketchbook and put it back in her bag before putting her bag in the front closet. This rumination isn’t healthy.
I could change and go down to the gym in the basement, but I don’t even want to wait that long.
I drop to the floor and do pushups until my arms shake.
I should go to class. Finish my degree, right? She’d want me to do that, right? I only enrolled in the same classes she did. I don’t really care about my grades or a degree.
Maybe I need a job. What would I do for work if I’d never met Tati?
I flop onto the couch and pull our laptop into my lap. Our laptop. It never felt weird to share a laptop before, but maybe it is? Do roommates share laptops? I should look up her search history. I should not look up her search history.
I do a search for jobs near me and browse a couple of websites to see if anything sparks any interest. Barista? Can’t do noisy environments. I could work for her family? As a driver? Or working for Dr. Morozov? He could use an assistant, right? Maybe? Personal trainer? I’m not that extroverted.
Then a listing catches my eye. It’s a barn.
A horse rescue out of Maryland. They’re looking for a groom.
That I could do. It wouldn’t require talking to people or going to school to get training or a degree before I can start.
They’re looking now. The pay is terrible, I’m sure, but I’d do it for free.
Something in my chest settles. This isn’t the end of Tatiana and me. Not by a long shot. But it’s something. And it feels right. It feels like the next right thing.
Tatiana rescued me when I was at my lowest. It feels right to be able to rescue the animals she loves so much.
I shoot an email to the owner asking for an in-person meeting.
My cochlear implant helps, but I feel more comfortable when I can read lips, too.
I’m slightly embarrassed that I don’t have a resume, but I don’t think you need one to pick up poop.
And I’ve helped with Romeo enough that I’m pretty good at it.
When I think about going to bed, now that I’m less restless, I know it can’t be on our bed. I haven’t slept without her since we were kids.
How will she sleep without me? Restless? Is she missing me like I’m missing her? Or does she agree with her family that our separation is better for her?
I’ll sleep on the couch tonight and pray I can get over feeling so lost.