"Fuckyou, motherfucker! Who the fuck do you think you are?!" The same obnoxious voice boomed behind me, the table buzzing with an impending fight, but I didn’t care. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, impatiently counting down four minutes.
8:35 p.m. The longest minute in the history of time slithered by, laughing and pointing at my impatience and body shakes.
Tick, tick, tick.
A bottle crashed somewhere behind me, and a woman squealed, but even if a bulldozer busted through the restaurant wall, I wouldn't have looked back.
8:36 p.m.
As if I was an Olympic sprinter, I pushed off the floor and ran toward the restrooms, like my life depended on it. I turned into Usain Bolt, and I trained for this moment my entire life—to find the love of my life again.
And then all minutes disappeared. All time and space meant nothing anymore. He touched my hand, the same hand that knew every inch of my body. The same hand that saved me from drowning that first night—touched me.
It was real—he was real. Alex wasn't dead. Alex was alive and he was in front of me.
"Malyshka…" That voice—it was real. The way he looked at me wasreal.
My heart burst open and all my bitter tears spilled out onto his chest. His body was against mine, and I held onto him as if we were falling together off a cliff.
He was so hurt. He was so thin, his ribs digging into my arms.
He was so fragile.
His eyes reflected so much pain that my entire three months of torture felt like a summer vacation when I recognized how broken he felt.
The guilt flooded me again. Why didn’t I come back for him?! Why didn’t I escape and run back to that filthy motel room and find my love? His lifeless body was always in front of my eyes, bleeding onto the dirty carpet, jerking with every kick of those boots.
But he was here now, alive.
Mine.
And suddenly I was in heaven—safe in his arms. He stole me once more.
I marveled at his smile. Touched the dark beard on his face. Cried at the sight of the scars on his neck.
“I missed you so much, baby,” I whispered against Alex’s lips, his strong arms supporting me unequivocally. He stepped out into the warm night, taking me far, far awa—
“Alright! The boy gets the girl!"
Someone interrupted us so cruelly that I jumped in Alex’s arms. Instead of dropping me, he tightened his grip and pressed me into his chest.
I whipped my head back to see a tall man leaning on the trunk of a black car. His height and the tattoos decorating the fair skin on his neck were the first things I noticed. Jet black hair, blue eyes, and a lit cigarette between those plump lips stretched out in a smirk.
Fear bit into me at the sight of this unknown and unwanted man assessing us, but Alex chuckled when he set me down, never letting me go. He snaked his arms around my waist and held me glued to him, relaxed and easy. "Jade, this is my friend Roman. Roman, this is Jade."
The man outstretched his hand with a warm smile. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jade. Now, what are we doing with that motherfucking cunt?"
Confused, I looked around us, seeing no one except the man I now knew as Roman, who raised his eyebrows and tapped on the hood of the trunk with his tattooed fingers.
It hit me like a bolt of lightning; Xavier was in there. What a phenomenal night!
The best night of my life.
"He's…he’s in there?" I double-checked, my voice shaking with excitement.
"Mhm," Alex confirmed. “It’s time, baby. Can I have permission to kill him now?" Alex's hands moved slowly, dipping with the curve of my waist and then settling on my lower back, pulling me into him. Into his gaze, into his life, into his all-encompassing love.
"Fuck, yes!" I exclaimed, stopping myself from jumping up and down in happiness.
