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I’m on my way to the bathroom to sneak in a quick smoke when a tall figure steps in front of me.
“Hey there.”
Ugh, this again. “Hey, Josh,” I say with an eyeroll.
I knew he’d be here—everybody expects him to be voted Prom King—but I was hoping he’d be too busy with his girlfriend to hit on me. But no. He’s found the time.
“You here with someone or by yourself?” he drawls, running a hand through his long-ish blond hair—undoubtedly to draw my attention to how smooth and shiny it is. His gaze travels over my body from the tips of my silver heels to the spaghetti straps holding up my Givenchy dress, and the look in his blue eyes makes me want to pull my bodice higher.
Gamely, I resist the urge. “I’m with my friends.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leans in, smirking. “How about I show you around?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got to drain the lady lizard.” There. If that doesn’t cool his ardor, I don’t know what will.
Before he can come up with a response, I step around him and beeline for the bathroom. It’s still early in the evening, so it’s not yet swarmed by all the girls surreptitiously adding alcohol to their virgin cocktails. I find an empty stall and light up, enjoying the acrid, grassy burn in my throat as the smoke travels deep into my lungs. Almost immediately, the anxious buzzing of my thoughts quiets down, the tension gripping my temples easing. Another drag, and my mind empties further. For a few blessed moments, I forget that the school year will be over soon and I’ll have to go home to Moscow, to my parents’ ever-escalating fights… that this summer, I’ll turn seventeen, one year closer to the age I dread and the man I fear.
What makes it worse is that I’m sure Alexei hasn’t given me or the stupid contract a moment’s thought since that day. I have neither seen him nor heard from him in almost two years, and he’s certainly made no attempt to get to know me. Which is good. Hopefully, he’s forgotten all about me by now, and when the time comes, hewilltell our fathers to go fuck themselves.
I should find that thought reassuring—and I do—but sometimes, my imagination plays tricks on me. Sometimes, I could swear I feel his presence nearby, as if he were a ghost hovering over me, watching me. Worse yet, each time I’m tempted to say “yes” when a boy asks me out, I remember Dan’s ring, and a “no” leaves my lips instead.
Would Alexei know if I dated someone at my school? And if he did, would he care?
I’d like to think that he wouldn’t, but I can’t risk it.
I can’t be responsible for another person disappearing because of me.
A few more drags, and I’m done with the joint. My head feels both heavy and light, my thoughts disjointed in the way only pot or a lot of alcohol can achieve. I’m not a fan of the latter because of my father, but I like getting high. I like this feeling of not being all there.
Sometimes, when my parents’ fights get especially brutal, I wonder what it would be like to not be there at all.
Pushing open the door of the stall, I come out, wash my hands, and make sure my makeup is in place. Then I make my way to the dance floor, where I find Risha and Giles grinding against their respective crushes.
Of course. I should’ve known that this whole “come with us, we need company because we don’t have dates” business was just a ploy to get me here. They’re probably hoping that I’ll get a little drunk, a little high, and next thing you know, I’ll be making out with some football player in the back of his daddy’s limo.
Yeah, nice try, guys.
I am a little high, though—okay, more than a little—so I let myself get dragged into the throng of gyrating bodies. With my mind all hazy, the beat of the music feels seductive, the pulsing tempo reminding me of the sensations I feel when I wake up from one of those nightmares about Alexei and press my hand to the empty ache between my legs. If I press hard enough and rub for a while, the sensations grow and crest until they’re too sweet, too sharp. That’s when I back off.
I back off because as I approach that peak, I see his face and I forget why belonging to him would be a terrible idea.
The music changes, a new song coming on. It’s one of my favorites. I close my eyes, letting the autotuned words wash over me as the familiar beat guides the movements of my body. Somebody starts grinding up on me from behind, their hands skimming over my bare arms before clasping my hips to pull my ass against a growing male bulge. A guy then. I can feel his warmth. He’s breathing hard, sweating, but for once, I’m not repelled. I’m floating in the haze veiling my mind, letting the hypnotic beat sweep me away.
“Yeah, go, Alina!” Risha’s excited voice reaches me over the music, and I laugh, suddenly giddy. Why haven’t I done this before? Why have I shut myself away to live like a nun, all because of some ridiculous, unenforceable piece of paper?
I’m not betrothed.
I refuse to be.
“Shake it, girl,” Giles shouts, and I do. It’s like something has broken loose inside me. I have no idea who’s grinding up on me, but I don’t care. It’s not about some boy. It’s about me. Swaying my hips to the music, I open my eyes, and the multicolored strobe lights overhead mix with the fog from the machines, adding to the surreal feeling engulfing me. I’m no longer myself. I’m someone else, someone I don’t recognize. Someone wild and free.
The guy behind me grinds up on me harder. He grows bolder, moving his hands from my hips to my ribs and then higher, higher… “Fuck!” he exclaims, stiffening suddenly, and to my dismay, I recognize Josh’s voice. Before I can react, I’m spun around and dragged off the dance floor by a strong hand wrapped around my upper arm.
I’m so stunned and disoriented that I don’t struggle at first. And by the time I do, I’m already in a dark corner of the gym away from the crowds, shielded from view by a stack of bleachers covered by decorative banners. A tall, broad figure in a tuxedo looms over me.
“What—” I begin, blinking, only to freeze in shock as I recognize the dark eyes and the hard features of the man in front of me.
Alexei Leonov.
