Chapter 23 Good Boy
Good Boy
The promised reward for my somewhat awkward attempt to seduce Vitali turned out to be a long, silent car ride down streets I didn’t recognize.
Vitali’s composure was almost believable, if not for the passing lights outlining his clenched jaw, and one finger tapping on the leather steering wheel cover. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was nerves.
My breath fogged up the glass, and I traced a heart in the condensation, trying to focus on anything but the waning excitement between my legs because the longer we drove, the more apparent it became that my reward wouldn’t be to straddle him in the driver’s seat.
The concept of me taking initiative was foreign, and the more the thrill wore off, the more I began to second-guess myself.
Maybe I’d embarrassed him and he was sparing my feelings.
Why wasn’t he talking? One moment I thought he’d fuck me in the parking lot, then he all but shoved me into the passenger seat and took off.
Some song played on the radio, but there were no lyrics, so I hummed.
He exhaled sharply, and his fingers on my leg tightened.
“I wish I had more time,” he muttered.
“Where are we going?”
“It’s just beyond the Pravda Park. Trust.”
He was nervous.
We pulled off across from the arched entrance to the park.
Here, small stores littered the bottom floors of the old Stalinka buildings, and most of the street lamps were the older, larger kind.
These were apartment complexes from the 1930s, and most of the city had demolished them in favor of low-cost, crowded housing, sparing only a handful in what could be called the scenic part of the city.
“Careful,” he said, helping me out of the car and onto the icy curb. I clung to his arm as we walked around the building and past tall scaffolding with poured concrete. It was lit up, as if someone planned to continue working there overnight.
The podyezd we entered smelled like cigarettes and something chemical, but when we started up, it quickly took on the notes of new plaster and freshly cut wood.
My calves burned by the time we made it to the fifth floor. There, Vitali stopped at a steel-reinforced door with exposed wiring of a keypad hanging loosely to the left of the lock.
A feeling I couldn’t quite place pushed my heart into beating faster (if it could, my cardio was worse than I thought).
He turned the key. The door opened, its hinges letting out a low moan.
It was dark, except for the glow coming from far-off windows in another room. A wave of fresh paint and wood-dust hit me with a gust of warm air, and the tightness in my chest became a tremble.
The light switch clicked as the door fell shut.
“Oh…” I breathed out as the bones of walls rose out of the darkness.
Vitali took my hand in the way he had never held it before, and led me to the large room beyond the hall.
The ceilings must have been four meters high. Ornate molding caught the light from tall neoclassical windows, beyond which the city lights spread just past the park and disappeared into the background of a grand, white basilica with golden onion domes.
A bare lightbulb swayed sadly in the middle of the room, disturbed by the cold air that slipped through the briefly opened front door. The only furniture inside was a grand piano set against the wall, probably too large to remove without divine intervention.
He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and his hot breath brushed my ear with the words, “Welcome home, Kotik.”
God help me—“Vitali… what is this?”—but of course I knew what it was.
“The building is being renovated. It’s why we couldn’t go in the front entrance.
The apartments are being combined into lofts, just one per floor, so they’ll be large,” he said, and that note of nervousness caught on to his words, forcing them out faster.
“It won’t be ready for a while. I wanted it to be perfect—you can do anything you wish once the walls are up.
Tile, parquet, carpets—whatever you want.
Right there,” he pointed at the depression-lightbulb, “is where we’ll hang the chandelier. ”
We…
“This is for me? I don’t k-know what to say,” I stuttered. “I’ve never seen anything like this… It’s too much, Vitali. This is too much.”
“No,” he said, and kissed me on the cheek. “It isn’t. I want to see you make this yours. I’ll get you a catalog, but most things will have to be imported, and that takes time, so you’ll have to let me know a few months in advance.”
Real life didn’t look like this. So this couldn’t be real life.
We…
He remained behind me for a moment, then turned away and left me to survey the room. The piano bench creaked beneath him.
“Is this…” I took a deep breath, hoping it would be enough to get my words out without losing consciousness. “Ours?”
“It’s under Misha’s name at the moment. I couldn’t put it under yours without your signature.
I want to do this right. You are the one who decides who you want here.
If you want Mama, if you want Maxim, or if it’s me—it’s up to you.
If you want her a block from here—I’ll make it happen. Just tell me, and give me time.”
The thick glass radiated the winter chill, my reflection floating on its surface.
A heavy wool coat, open just enough to see my black-lace dress.
Heeled ankle boots and hair done at a prestigious salon.
And, further back, Vitali’s tall, masculine frame seated on the piano bench with his arms resting over his legs. Waiting for me.
An hour ago, all I wanted was his hands on me. A week ago, I hated him. A month ago, I hadn’t talked to him in weeks because he killed people.
A year ago, I hadn’t even known him. Did I know him now?
Pay attention to all the things about Vitali that don’t make sense, Misha tried to warn me.
This wasn’t a ring; this was worse. I could never afford the apartment on my own—not even the heat. Whenever they decided to pay me a salary, I could maybe keep the water running in this place, forget groceries and clothes. This wasn’t my apartment. It was Vitali’s apartment for me.
Not temporary. I’d be promising Mama and Maxim, and all our futures. To him.
“Say something,” he uttered hoarsely. My heart thumped, choking me, because I’d been silent longer than I thought.
“I can’t accept this,” I said. I couldn’t turn and look him in the eyes because I knew I was about to hurt him.
Time ran out—I couldn’t put off everything I had so diligently ignored.
“Unless you tell me everything. I have to know who you are, Vitali, because I am not as patient as you are. I can’t accept this and put my family’s futures on the line. ”
His sad, green eyes were the only humanity remaining on his stone-stilled face.
“What do you want to know?” he asked. “What can I tell you that you haven’t heard from others?”
I opened my mouth, but he caught me by surprise, and I wasn’t ready.
“Don’t lie to me, Katya. Don’t act as though Sergei said nothing. As if Misha didn’t already give you my life story. I know what they think of me. You haven’t asked me directly, so I can only assume you believe them.”
“No, I—”
“Either that or you are choosing to ignore it because you benefit from this. I told you, if it’s money you want, I’ll give it to you. No questions. But if you’re asking questions, it makes me think you might want more. Don’t lie to me, Katya. That’s all I ask.”
He already gave me everything. Everything.
And I stood there and looked down on him from my pedestal of morality.
Knowing that I was madly in love with him, and unable to tell him, because some part of me wanted to be the person who couldn’t be with a killer.
Admitting I was willing to look past it all would be admitting I wasn’t as virtuous as I’d been raised.
There he sat, looking up at me with all the veiled sadness in the world, having accepted that I was using him. Willing to buy my love. To be there for me, and my family.
I didn’t even have to ask.
And now, he waited to find out if I was leaving.
“What happened to your parents…” I quietly asked. He dropped his gaze, fingers tapping on his knee.
“I killed them,” he said flatly. “But I know that’s not what you’re asking. They used to hit us, my older sister and I. I haven’t told you about her. She has been dead a long time.”
“I’m sorry—if you don’t want to talk about it—” I was a coward because I asked and then couldn’t help but take the coward’s way out because I hadn’t anticipated it to hurt, but just his tone wrecked me inside.
“It’s fine, Katya. You asked, and you deserve to know. I can’t always tell you the truth, but this time it is my truth to tell.”
I crossed the space between us and knelt on the sawdust-covered floor. He didn’t shake off my hand when I placed it over his.
“We never lacked bruises, and never went a season without a fractured bone. The teachers didn’t care,” he began.
“Maria ran out into the courtyard in tears once; it was the middle of February. She had no shoes on. No coat. He’d poured boiling water over her hand.
She didn’t make it far, and thankfully there were people nearby who helped her when she collapsed.
Our neighbors, who knew what was going on.
They heard our screams day after day, for years.
She begged them not to make her go back, but they said, ‘It’s your papa, it’s your papa,’ and took her home.
He didn’t even put on a show for them; he spat in her face, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her inside.
Two of the babushkas who lived on the upper floor stayed outside and cried for God to save her.
That’s when I learned God can’t see through those steel doors. ”
“Oh, Vitali,” I whispered.