8. Daniil – Fifteen years old
Daniil – Fifteen years old
Ifeel like a freak. Something’s seriously wrong with me—has to be.
Mikhail’s out on another date, and I’m stuck at home doing nothing, trying to distract myself with these stupid comic books, but my brain won’t shut up long enough to read a single page.
The words blur together, and I keep rereading the same panels without absorbing anything.
It’s not that he’s on a date. That’s fine. People go on dates.
It’s that I’ve never wanted to do anything like that. Everyone at school has started sniffing around girls, and I still haven’t kissed anyone or even wanted to. My brothers won’t shut up about it either and constantly joke that I’m going to die a virgin if I don’t figure out my issues soon.
But that’s not what’s making my stomach twist right now.
What’s making my stomach twist is knowing he’s sitting across from some girl at a restaurant, probably smiling at her the way he smiles at me.
The sick feeling started the second he told me about the date this morning, and it hasn’t gone away. It’s gotten worse, settling heavy and wrong in my gut every time I check my phone to see if he’s texted.
I don’t understand why I care this much. He’s gone on dates before, and it never bothered me like this. But this is different, and I can’t figure out why.
I want to know what it would be like to feel something for someone, that pull everyone talks about, but it never comes. Plus, I can’t even talk to anyone except Mikhail.
Everyone at school avoids me because of him, because they know if they say something within earshot, Mikhail loses it.
He beat someone with a chair when they made a comment about me being weird.
That should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t.
A few months later, someone shoved me in the hallway, and Mikhail lost it completely.
He went after the guy and his friends from the football team.
Six guys total. Sent three of them to the hospital and broke bones on the rest.
The school couldn’t expel him because our parents paid them off, but Father lost it after that. He threatened to pull Mikhail out and send him to boarding school in Russia if he caused one more problem, said he was done covering up for him with the settlements and bribes.
It’s been like this at every school we’ve been to. We’ve transferred five times already because of incidents like this, because Mikhail can’t control himself when someone goes after me. No one dares to say anything to me when he’s around me—emphasis on when he’s around.
I haven’t told him that they still whisper “freak” when I walk past them in the hallways.
That they make gestures behind my back, mimicking the way I fidget. Someone wrote “mute weirdo” on my locker last month, and I scrubbed it off before he could see it. They call me his guard dog’s pet project, like I’m some charity case he keeps around out of pity.
What am I supposed to do about it anyway? Go run to Mikhail so he can put someone else in the hospital? I can’t tell him about what’s happening now because he’ll lose it again, and I can’t be the reason our father separates us.
Whenever Mikhail’s sick, I pretend I’m sick too so I don’t have to be there alone.
The one time he had the flu for a week, I sat through lunch in a bathroom stall because sitting in the cafeteria by myself meant becoming target practice.
Someone dumped their tray on the empty seat next to me the first day. The second day, a group of girls laughed when I walked past, and one of them shoved me into a locker. By the third day, I just stopped going.
When he has practice after school, I wait. Sometimes in the library until they kick me out at closing. Or I just walk circles around the building until he’s done, killing time in the cold because going home without him means being alone.
I’m fifteen years old, and I can’t function without my brother nearby.
I wait for him like a dog waiting for its owner to come home, and the worst part is I don’t even care how pathetic it is.
Mikhail is the only safe place I have. The only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m defective and who actually protects me instead of talking about me like I’m not there.
Throwing the comic across the room, I watch it hit the wall and fall with a thump onto the floor. Then I walk to the door, pull it open, and step into the hallway.
I don’t know why Mother insists on drowning this house in black—the walls, the curtains, the furniture, everything feels like it’s swallowing me whole, making it hard to breathe.
Yulian walks out of his room toward the bathroom without even glancing my way.
He still has that black eye from a few days ago when he stormed off after fighting with Father and came back looking like he’d lost a fight with someone twice his size.
The door clicks shut, and I’m standing here, invisible as always.
Slipping into his room, I go straight for his nightstand where he keeps his weed. I’ve watched him roll joints enough times to know exactly where everything is and snag two pre-rolled ones and his lighter, then stuff them in my hoodie pocket. No way he’ll suspect me, he’ll blame one of the others.
I freeze when I spot a black hoodie on his bed with some band logo printed across it. That’s definitely not Yulian’s style, not even close. I pick it up and study it. Way too big for him, wrong music taste, wrong everything. Weird.
Shrugging, I toss it back down.
Back in my room, I crack the window. It’s pitch-black outside, sky scattered with stars that look cold and distant. I climb out carefully, close the window behind me, work my way around to the flat section where I always hide, tucked away where no one thinks to look.
Pulling my hood up, I lean back against the metal roof.
Cold burns through my hoodie and ice crawls up my spine.
I light the joint with shaking fingers, take a long drag, and hold it until my lungs burn.
I stare up at those distant stars. Everything out here is too quiet, too still, leaves too much space for the thoughts I usually keep buried.
I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone the way I’m supposed to, the way that seems so easy for everyone else.
Am I broken?
I’ve never heard anyone talk the way I think.
I searched online, but everything I found just made it more confusing.
There were articles about asexuality, demisexuality, about how some people need real emotional connection before they feel attraction.
It sounded kind of right, at least gave me words for why I don’t work like everyone else.
I hear my window slide open, and my stomach drops—shit. Maybe Yulian did notice his weed missing after all.
Panicking, I throw the lit joint off the roof and watch it tumble into the darkness.
“Why would you do that?” Mikhail snaps from beside me.
“You scared me, asshole.” I hide my face in my arms, then glance up at him. “Why aren’t you on your date? Home already?”
He climbs out, shuts the window behind him, walks over, and drops down next to me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him.
“Nah, I wanted to come home. I’d rather hang with you anyway. You are way more fun than some chick.” He pulls another joint from his pocket and grins at me.
I lift my leg to show him the other one I hadn’t touched yet.
He breaks into this wide smile that makes his whole face light up. “This is why you’re my best friend.” He lights his and passes me the lighter.
Lighting mine, I take a slow drag then exhale. “How was it?”
He shrugs. “Boring as hell. She wouldn’t shut up about some drama with her friends and kept giggling at everything I said. Even the stuff that wasn’t funny.”
“You left early then?”
“Yup. Told her I had a family thing.” He takes a drag and exhales slowly. “Honestly, I kept thinking about how much more fun it would be to just come home and hang out with you. She was nice and whatever, but I don’t know. Felt like a waste of time.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.” He nudges my leg with his knee. “You get me, you know? I don’t have to pretend or try to be interesting. I can just exist, and it’s fine.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just nod. We sit shoulder to shoulder and stare out at the dark woods behind the house.
“Remember our tree? We still have that toy box stashed out there. The one with all the stuff we didn’t want the others to find.”
I start laughing and almost choke on smoke. “You insisted on hiding cookies in it but forgot ants exist.”
I love our tree. We haven’t been there since I was thirteen, but I want to visit again someday.
I wonder if it’s still standing or if the old dead wood finally gave out and it fell over, if the branches are still attached or if they’ve broken off.
It’s been dead for as long as we’ve known it, but it never changed, always looked exactly the same.
“I didn’t know they could crawl into sealed containers,” he mutters defensively. “We had so many things hidden in there. Remember the flashlight? And all those magazines you stole from Alexei?”
I smile at that. “My favorite thing you ever hid was Father’s clock. The one he loved so much he nearly tore the house apart looking for it.”
He grins wide. “That was a good one. Probably still sitting in there unless some raccoon dragged it off.” He nudges my leg with his knee again. “Pretty sure that knife’s still in there too.”
We go quiet for a second. We don’t talk about that knife, never have really. It’s just there, wrapped in an old bloody shirt at the bottom of the box.
He clears his throat and shifts beside me. “Why are you up here alone anyway? Everything okay?”
“I think there’s something wrong with me.”
He scowls, turns to face me more. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I can like girls the way I’m supposed to. Like that, I mean. I haven’t even kissed anyone. There’s something wrong with me because I’d rather be home doing stuff on my computer than going on dates like you do.”
His eyebrows pull together, and he’s quiet for a moment, processing. Then he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer against his side.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. Ignore the others, they’re idiots. I punched Lev for what he said the other day.”
Sighing, I lean into his warmth. “Don’t do that. I don’t like when you fight because of me.”
“I know. But I’m not going to let them talk shit about you.”
“I think I’m just damaged or something.” A tear slips out, and I scrub it away with my sleeve, hoping he didn’t see that.
“Stop talking like that, Danya. There’s nothing wrong with you. I like you exactly the way you are.”
“You’re probably the only person who can say that.”
He scoffs. “No way. You’re Mama’s favorite, always have been. Pretty sure Papa favors you too, even if he doesn’t show it.”
I shake my head against him. I don’t care about that right now. I just want to be normal, whatever the hell that even means.
“I’m sorry you feel like this. There’s going to be someone for you, I’m sure of it. Maybe you just need more time, you know? There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop thinking there is. To me, you are perfect.”
I just nod and sink deeper into his side.
“You’re not going to leave me behind when you go to college, are you?” I ask.
“What? No. Never. I’m going to whatever college you go to. You’re stuck with me forever, whether you like it or not.”
Thank god.
“Are you really that upset about the kissing thing? About what they keep saying?”
I shrug, not meeting his eyes. “It’s stupid, but yes. Kind of.”
He pulls back and looks at me with this expression I can’t read, serious and focused in a way that makes my heart stutter.
“Mik?”
He leans in and presses his lips to mine. A shock runs through my entire body, and I freeze in place. The kiss only lasts a few seconds before he pulls back.
“There,” he says. “Now you’ve kissed someone, and you can tell them all to shut the fuck up.”
I stare at him, unable to form words. My lips are tingling where his touched them, and my heart is hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. He’s still close, watching my face.
Before I can think about it, I lean in and kiss him again.
My hand slides up to the back of his neck, and I part my lips, letting my tongue trace along his bottom lip.
I don’t know what happens next, so I just push forward, and our teeth bump together.
I pull back slightly, adjusting, and try again.
This time my tongue slips into his mouth and finds his.
He makes a surprised sound, his body going tense for a second, but then he’s kissing me back. His hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my head, and his tongue moves against mine.
My stomach does a weird flutter, and I press closer, our noses bumping as I try to figure out the angle. I taste smoke and mint on his breath. His fingers tighten against my skin, and I can feel his pulse racing under my palm where it rests against his neck.
It probably only lasts ten seconds, but it feels like forever, stretched out and playing in slow motion. When he finally pulls back, we’re breathing harder. My lips feel swollen, and my entire body is buzzing.
He looks at me with this shocked expression, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.
“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have—was that okay?”
He blinks a few times, then breaks into this wide grin.
“Yeah, Danya. Just caught me off guard there. Didn’t expect you to go all in like that.
” He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand.
“But yeah, you’re good. More than good. I’m telling everyone tomorrow that I caught you making out with some random chick.
They’ll never say anything again.” He pulls me back against his side.
“Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore. ”
Except now I’m worrying about completely different things.
Because my lips are still tingling and I can’t stop looking at his mouth. Wondering if he’d let me do it again. If it would feel the same or different. If that’s what it’s supposed to feel like when you kiss someone. My heart is hammering, and I don’t know how to make it stop.