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All I want is for something to point me in the right direction. The thought of doing this for my whole life opens an endless pit of dread in my stomach.
I bring my hand up to my warm, wet face only to notice how much I’ve been drowning in my own grief. I’ve suppressed so many emotions, and the bubble finally popped. I use my dry sleeve to wipe away the tears that fall effortlessly down my face.
I’m not crying out of weakness; I’m crying because I’m fucking angry at the world for
giving me nothing.
“Mikhail.” My brother whispers my name. I don’t dare to look back at him. If he sees that I’m crying he’ll call me weak. I don’t want to be weak. “You’ve got this,” he says with a strong voice.
With my back still to him, I nod.
A woman bumps into my shoulder as she walks past me wearing clothes that scream “Daddy’s money” while I walk off with a twenty I slipped from her purse. She looks like the kind of girl who’d spend thousands of dollars on a bag just to hold more of her dollars.
It doesn’t matter how bitchy she is to her family. One of the many privileges of having a lot of money: being snobby is a given. In fact, it’s considered classy if you have enough of it. Her father must show his love by providing the materialistic items she begs for.
My father has never shown me a sliver of love. Not that I think it exists anyhow. The only thing that can truly connect one person to another is commitment. That’s what Kirill has shown me.
If he can stick by my side, I can stick by his.
I force my eyes shut as I try to gather the strength to do what needs to be done. When I slowly open them back up, my vision is blurred, but I can still see where I need to go.
The man’s suit jacket hangs off the back of the chair. I crane my neck to see around the corner and watch him make his way toward a door at the end of a long, narrow hallway. Only men with money and power are allowed past those doors.
I glance back at Kirill, who stands behind me as if he wants to do it instead. He’ll never stop trying to protect me, but I want to show him I can help. I can be the one who sticks by his side to protect him.
I straighten my back as I walk confidently toward the jacket, exchanging a nod with the bartender as I go. He looks at me strangely, probably wondering what someone as young as me is doing at the bar.
“Do you want water? I have orange juice too,” he tells me in Russian.
“Water, please.” I smile, grateful for his kindness. “Two, if that’s okay?”
“Of course.”
He turns around to make the drinks, his back facing me as my hand slowly reaches into his pocket. I feel bad for stealing in general, but it feels worse now that I’m doing it in the presence of someone who doesn’t share my greed. He doesn’t understand. No one ever will.
The moment I feel the leather wallet in my hands, I want to make a run for it. Instead, I put it in my back pocket and wait for the water.
The bartender places two Styrofoam cups on the counter with lids and straws.
“Thank you,” I tell him. I walk toward the door with a casual pace so I won’t draw any attention. When I meet Kirill there, I hand him one of the waters.
“Did you get it?” he asks as he puts the straw in the cup.
“I did.”
“Then let’s go.”
I follow my older brother outside, but my body slams into his when he comes to an abrupt stop.
“Vor.” Thief.
I look past Kirill. My eyes widen and fear floods my stomach as one of the men pulls a gun out of his jacket. Kirill shoves me in the arm, telling me to run. I take the opportunity to dive through the man’s legs and make my escape.
I laugh with Kirill as we run side by side as fast as we can. There’s a jump in his step while he runs. “You fucking did it!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. He’s proud of me.
Holy fuck. I did do it.
A large smile tugs at the corner of my lips, and I allow it to take over. In this moment, I’m not scared to let this overwhelming feeling of success take over my thoughts.
