Chapter 13 #2
He tells me everything. How terrified he is of becoming his father.
How his mother used to be bright and loud, just like me, full of life and laughter, until his father slowly dimmed that light year after year.
How he’s spent four years hating every second of keeping his distance from me, because he’s convinced that loving me would mean eventually ruining me the same way.
How every time I laughed or chirped or got too close, it reminded him of what his mother lost, and it scared him so badly he chose silence instead.
I stay quiet for once, the muscle in my cheek ticking harder with every word, anger building in my chest like a storm. He’s been carrying all of this—alone—for years. Because of some fear that he’d turn into the man who broke his own mother.
“Listen here, you big Russian emotionally constipated man!” I yell, shoving at his chest even though he barely moves.
“I do not know your father, but I damn well know you! And you are not that! You are gentle! You are protective! And you are only violent when you’re protecting the ones you fucking love! You are not cruel!”
Viktor’s eyes widen, shock flashing across his face as he realizes I understood every single word. Then his gaze drops sharply to my mouth. He growls—actually growls—low and dangerous in the back of his throat.
I slam my mouth shut, pressing my lips together hard, suddenly guilty.
In the middle of all this spiraling last week, I’d stormed down to Lena’s shop in a fit of pure rage and gotten a tongue piercing myself.
The silver barbell is still new, still a little swollen, glinting when I talk.
I’d done it because he wouldn’t stop staring at my mouth, because I was so fucking angry at him for wanting me and refusing to have me.
For a second Viktor looks completely torn, like he doesn’t know what to react to first—the fact that I understood his Russian confession, or the shiny new metal in my tongue that is clearly pissing him off.
Viktor’s hand shifts on my face, fingers sliding from my jaw to grip my cheeks firmly between his thumb and forefinger, pressing in just enough to force my mouth open.
I whine at the back of my throat, a pathetic little sound I hate myself for making, but I don’t fight him.
My lips part under the pressure, and the cool air hits the silver barbell piercing through my tongue.
Viktor stares down at it, his eyes locked on my open mouth with an intensity that makes my stomach drop.
His frown deepens, brows pulling together as he studies the new metal like it personally offends him.
“You learned Russian?” he asks, still speaking in Russian, his thumb pressing a little harder against my cheek as if he needs to keep me right there, exposed.
I nod as best I can with his hand holding my face, heat flooding my cheeks.
I try to explain, the words tumbling out slurred and ridiculous because of the way he’s gripping me.
“Y’eah… been learnin’ it f’r years… off th’ internet…
” It sounds completely fucked up, all muffled and messy, my tongue moving awkwardly around the fresh piercing.
I feel stupid and vulnerable and way too turned on for how angry I still am.
Viktor doesn’t let go. He just keeps staring at the barbell like he’s trying to decide whether he wants to yell at me or do something else entirely.
“Why did you get it?” he asks, switching back to English.
His voice is low, controlled, but there’s a dangerous edge underneath it that makes my skin prickle.
I try to answer, but his grip on my cheeks is still firm, pressing in just enough to keep my mouth open and my words slurred.
“To pith you off,” I manage, the words coming out messy and ridiculous around the piercing and his fingers.
Heat floods my face. I sound like an idiot, but I refuse to back down.
Viktor’s eyes darken. “Tongue out,” he says suddenly, the command quiet but absolute.
I blink at him, stunned for a second. When I don’t immediately obey, his gaze shifts from my mouth up to my eyes, one eyebrow slowly raising in that silent, expectant way that always makes me feel like a misbehaving kid.
I roll my eyes hard but stick my tongue out anyway, the silver barbell glinting under the apartment light like a fucking confession.
Viktor stares at it, thumb still pressing into my cheek as he keeps my face tilted exactly where he wants it. “I thought losing you was for the best,” he says, eyes still fixed on my tongue. “I thought I was protecting you.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “And then you go and prove me wrong.”
I’m very close to squirming under his intense stare, the combination of his hand on my face, his confession still hanging in the air, and the way he’s looking at the piercing like it both infuriates and ruins him making it impossible to stay still.
My heart is racing, anger and something hotter twisting together in my chest as I stand there with my tongue out like an idiot, waiting for whatever comes next.
I can’t take it anymore. I jerk my head back hard, pulling out of his grip, and stumble a step away from him. My back hits the wall near the door as I try to catch my breath.
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me!
” I snap, my voice cracking with frustration and hurt.
“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Viktor!
You don’t get to kiss me like I’m yours and then disappear for a month and a half thinking you’re protecting me.
That’s not how this works! You don’t get to push me away and then show up here acting like you know what I need better than I do! ”
The words pour out of me in a rush, defensive and angry, but underneath it all is the raw ache I’ve been carrying since Vancouver. Viktor’s eyes flash with something dark and conflicted, and he steps closer. “I was trying—” he starts.