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“You missed,” Kirill drawls, still sounding bored.
“What do you see in that little skank?” she hisses.
I’d say that is the pot calling the kettle a skank, but in this case, the pot is flashing a lot of thigh for early morning and the kettle is nicely buttoned up with all of her bits tucked away.
“You’ve let her turn you inside out,” Viktoria continues. Her voice lowers, turns sultry. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what I can offer. I’d love to help you relieve some stress.”
There’s another scuffle and Kirill curses under his breath. “This has nothing to do with her. Like you said, I came here to relax. I can’t do that with you around.”
“But Kirill, I—”
“Don’t, Viktoria,” Kirill interrupts. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
His words are final. Viktoria has proven to be stubborn, but even she must understand that Kirill is serious. After a brief silence, Viktoria clacks out of the kitchen as quickly as she arrived.
The rage that was just bubbling inside of me is still there, but with no outlet, it shifts. I should be glad Viktoria is gone, but frustration burns the backs of my eyes. I’m going to cry.
It’s been this way my entire life. I bottle everything up until my body channels it into tears. It’s a pitiful way to relieve the pressure and I hate it, but I guess it’s just how I’m wired.
I hear Kirill moving around the kitchen, his footsteps growing closer, and I run in a panic down the hallway. I turn into the first room I can find and press back against the wall. Tears are already rolling down my cheeks.
I close my eyes. “Get it together,” I whisper, swiping angrily at my cheeks.
“You’re gonna have to get a lot tougher if you intend to work here.”
Kirill’s deep voice surprises me. I jolt away from the wall and press my hand to my racing heart. “Oh my—Where did you come from? I didn’t hear…” I shake my head. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m fine.”
His eyes glisten, cool and distant. “It wasn’t advice. It’s a fact.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”
I move to walk around him and get to work—even though I don’t exactly know what “work” entails yet. I missed the morning meeting and I have no clue where Natalia went. Still, I want to be anywhere but here.
But then I look across the room.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, walking deeper into the room before I even realize what I’m doing. The windows are calling to me. A siren song I can’t shake.
I step up and press a hand to the glass, even as I think belatedly that I’ll probably have to clean that smudge later. But I don't care.
“It’s beautiful.”
The house is situated high on a hill. A green lawn stretches across the back, but it transitions quickly into golden sand as far as I can see in either direction. Foam-capped waves and turquoise water lick across the beach. Towards the horizon, the ocean turns sapphire, the sun bleaching the wave crests a pearly white.
And Kirill can see it all from his living room.
“It’s not bad,” Kirill remarks as he saunters in after me.
“It’s incredible. I’d never leave this room.”
“I take it you like the ocean.”
I nod. “My mom loved it. She wanted to visit again. I was going to take her, actually. It was all planned."
"But…?"
"But it was a three-hour drive. She was too sick. I hung posters on the walls of her room, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t anything like this.”
The memory is so vivid. I can smell the latex nurses gloves and the bleached linens. Mom’s room had always smelled like the floral perfume she dabbed on her wrists and the oil she massaged into her hair. But that went away one piece at a time. The hospital bed replaced her full-size mattress, IV bags replaced the table where she arranged family pictures and bouquets, and the smell of sickness replaced her. It consumed her.
