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Chapter 25
Natalya
Istir awake when I feel a slight dip at the end of my bed. It’s still dark out, the first few streams of morning light creeping in through the crack in my curtain. I’m just able to make out the silhouette of a man seated on the edge of my bed, his back hunched as he rests his forearms on his thighs and his head hanging low.
“Dimitri?” I call out softly, voice rough with sleep.
“Am I a bad person, Natalya?”
I swallow. “What?”
“Am I a bad person?” he repeats.
I struggle to sit up. My whole body screams in agony. It’s safe to say there’s no more morphine left in my system. “What are you talking about, Dima?”
“Don’t call me that.”
There’s an edge to his tone; something is very,verywrong.
Between the pain radiating from my injury and the cold dread filling my stomach, I can’t tell if I want to curl up in a ball or throw up. I prop myself up on my elbows instead, trying to get a good look at his face. He won’t meet my eyes, instead choosing to glare a hole into the floor.
“Have I not been kind to you?” he asks. I genuinely can’t tell if he wants me to answer.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Please, is somethi—”
“You know,” he interrupted, “the day of the car bomb… You know what I first thought when I saw you lying there? I thought you were an angel. I knew I had to help you. I think from the moment I laid eyes on you, I was a goner.” He chuckles, but it sounds bitter. “And you were well aware of that fact, weren’t you?”
My heart stops. “Dimitri?”
“I’m a good man, Natalya. Despite what I do. I’m agoodman. But even good men have their limits.”
“Despite what you do?” I ask, hating the way my voice trembles. “I know people say all government official are corrupt but—”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me,” he says, perfectly calm and flat.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. He allows us to stew in the uncomfortable silence.
He knows. Heknows. I just don’t understand how.
All my questions are answered when he hands me his phone, a video queued up and ready to play. I only have to look at the first frame to understand what it is. Footage from a traffic cam the day of the bombing.
“Watch it,” he says cooly. He doesn’t even sound angry, like this is just another everyday conversation.
“Dimitri—”
“Watchit,” he repeats, softer than before.
It’s jarring, almost as if a switch has flipped, turning off all of his emotions. Dimitri is a statue. Cold, unwavering. I’d almost prefer it if he started yelling because at least then I would know what he’s thinking.
With a shaky hand, I press play. Tears blur the edges of my vision as I watch myself approach the car, plant the bomb, and immediately after get caught in the blast. The whole time, I can feel Dimitri’s eyes on me. When I look up to meet his gaze, I see no hate. Only indifference. Like we’re nothing more than strangers. Somehow, it hurts far worse.
“I can explain,” I blurt around a desperate sob. “I was just confused. It’s not what it looks like.”
“No?” Dimitri takes the phone back and scrolls to another video.
“I just need more time.” My voice plays over the phone’s speaker. I can’t breathe, can’t think. “He trusts me. Hebelievesme. I can get him alone and kill him then—”
Dimitri pockets his phone and continues to sit there. Meanwhile, I can’t stop crying.
