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My insides twisted uncomfortably as I realized how vulnerable and alone she must feel. And I missed her. I wanted the old Juliana back, not this version that anger had created. I trudged down the stairs. I didn’t know why she meant so much to me; the urge to protect her, to comfort her. To get revenge for her ... and for me too.
What I did know was that my heart ached for her.
Chapter 19 – Juliana
Liam was the main reason I made up rules. He was the reason I studied hard at school and didn’t make time for anything else.
He had done so much for me, and I wanted to make him proud. We made plans for the future, and none of them involved his untimely death.
I sniffled and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
Years ago, I had heard long, depressing stories about loneliness and heartbreak and how to overcome them. The stories came from a therapist I was forced to see when I was fifteen. Liam felt that the constant losses in my life were having a terrible effect on my academic performance and didn’t want my grades to drop. So, he forced me to go to therapy.
I never liked that woman—that therapist. There was always so much red lipstick and hairspray oozing from her hair. How she got the job of guiding people through their lives, I’ll never know. But it was what Liam wanted, so I forced myself to endure the quiet sessions where more observation notes were scribbled than actual talking took place.
The minute he found out, though, she lost her job, and he promised that I would never go to therapy again.
And I never did. I didn’t have to. Not when he dedicated his life to being there for me when I needed or wanted something. Despite the distance, not once did he let me down. Many times, I had called him overprotective and overbearing, even though I secretly liked that he was always there.
A tear trickled down my eye and I wiped it away and leaned back on the sofa. The problem was that the depressing stories the therapist was filling me with were replaying in my head like a movie being played over and over again.
The realization of how alone I was overwhelmed me and gripped my heart with cold claws. My shoulders shook and I couldn't hold back and burst into more tears. I was alone and had no one. This should have given me the urgent need to take care of myself, but the only strength I could muster was to let the tears flow.
That was until I heard the creak of the front door and the clack, clack, clack of a walking stick through the hallway and into the living room. I sat up straight and quickly wiped my eyes as Rafail’s uncle—the creepy, chubby one—came into my field of vision.
I sniffled and tried to get up to greet him, but I staggered, as I could barely walk or stand. He smiled at me and shook his head. A sign not to bother. He sat down on the sofa opposite mine, carefully using the cane to aid his movement. As he settled, he pointed to the pile of comforters and littered tissues.
“Is it not a bit too hot outside to build yourself a furnace?”
A short laugh burst from me. Then I heard the echo of the sound and dropped my lips as quickly as they had risen.
“Good afternoon ....” I reverted to the formal greeting style I’d used as a waitress, feeling a little uncomfortable with his solitary presence. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him. On the contrary, he had proved to be the more likable relative among the Varkov men. For me, the mourning period needed some privacy.
“I came for Rafail.”
I almost breathed a sigh of relief. Rafail hadn't been home for hours. If I told him there was no hope of seeing his nephew any time soon, perhaps he would leave, and I would be left to grieve alone in silence again. I cleared my throat and looked at the man with the shiny silver hair.
“Rafail left early today and hasn’t been home since. I doubt he’d be here anytime soon.”
“Ah, is that so?” He tapped his chin, drifting in thought. When his steely gaze returned to me, the bubbliness was gone. “Then, that is a good thing.”
I arched a brow. “It is?”
“Yes,” he shifted to the edge of the seat and let the cane drop. His voice was quiet when he said, “It means I can talk to you without his predator eyes in the background.”
It was strange to hear him speak that way about Rafail, but I didn’t make any move to stop him. I was intrigued by what he had to say.
“I know why you’re burying yourself in those,” his eyes motioned to the comforters, and he continued. “I heard about what happened. To your cousin, Liam. I’m sorry, dear ...”
His display of sympathy was also something unexpected. I didn’t know how to react.
“I tried to stop him from going ahead with the chase,” he was saying. “I told him multiple times to forget it, and let the past be in the past. But Rafail is as stubborn as a mule. He didn’t listen. I understood him; here, with the kind of work we do, some things are unforgivable. You must already know by now, that your cousin tried to kill me.”
My eyes dropped to the spot below his knee, over which his bony fingers stroked.
“...but I forgave him, and I told him I was willing to let go. Your cousin and I, we had so many great memories together. He was like a son to me. Those were good times. And when I thought about how instrumental he was to us, I thought it was a good enough reason to keep the young man alive and breathing.”
Images of the long gash on his bloody belly, his deep breaths to take in oxygen, popped into my head and I interlaced my fingers. Maybe he thought the memory of the good times with Liam would ease the weight in my chest, but it didn’t. It only made me want to punch something and bury myself deeper into my furnace.
