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Yeah. I got that impression, too. I move my hand up and thread my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. A melody comes to mind. “The Rain Must Fall” by Yanni. Slow and sad. Peaceful. I hum the tune as I pass my fingers through Pasha’s hair.
“Why did you let me stay here?” I ask.
Pasha sighs and places his chin on the top of my head. “I don’t know. Why did you want to stay?”
I’ve been asking myself that question for weeks. “I don’t know, either.”
Chapter 10
The elevator door looms in front of me, and I desperately try to control the panic building within. I’m failing miserably.
“Don’t let go of my hand,” I whisper as bile creeps up my throat.
“I won’t,” Pasha says next to me.
There is a ding, signaling that we’ve reached the mall’s ground floor. The doors open. The moment I glimpse people milling around, I take a quick step back. Pasha’s hand shoots out to the side, hitting the button to close the door.
“You can do this, mishka,” he says. “But if you’re not ready, we’ll try again next week.”
No, I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready. But I’m doing it anyway. And I’m doing it today.
“Open the door, please,” I choke out and squeeze Pasha’s hand.
The first minute is the worst. It’s early, so the mall is not crowded at all, but still, it feels like I’m going to suffocate just by being here. The sight of people in such an enclosed space, the sounds they make, their looks—everything seems too much. Pasha squeezes my hand back and takes a step forward.
Someone is laughing. They are farther away, down the hallway, but it seems like they are right next to me. The sound of feet thumping on the floor and random chatter echo in my ears. I shut my eyes and hold my breath. There is a light touch on my face, the tip of Pasha’s finger trailing the line of my jaw. I take another breath and open my eyes. He’s standing in front of me, blocking the view of the crowd with his wide frame.
“It’s okay, baby,” he says. “No one can hurt you when I’m here. Just look into my eyes.”
He moves his hand to the back of my neck and takes a step backward, pulling me with him. Without letting go of his gaze, I step forward. His lips curve upward. He takes another step, and then one more. I follow. I can still hear the people, but the sounds don’t bother me that much anymore because all my focus is centered on the man in front of me.
I don’t think anyone would call Pasha beautiful. The lines on his face are too harsh. His right eyebrow is split in two by a thin scar. His nose is too big and slightly crooked. He doesn’t look like a man you’d want to ask you on a date, but rather someone you’d want to have by your side when walking in a dark alley. Though, if someone asked me how a perfect man should look, I would point to the one standing before me.
Two more steps. I match his pace. Out of the corner of my eye, I see people looking in our direction with wonder on their faces. Several more steps, and Pasha stops.
“We’re here.” Pasha nods toward the store on his right.
I throw a quick look to the side. It’s the optical retailer.
“Do you want to go inside now, or would you prefer we come back later?” he asks.
“Now.” I nod and take another step toward him, molding my front to his.
His hand slides from my neck to my hair, and I can feel the heat of his body seeping into mine. I want more, need more of it. I lift my palm and place it on the center of his chest. People are passing us by, some grumbling that we’re in the way, but neither of us moves. Pasha’s head dips slightly, and I hold my breath, wondering if he’s going to kiss me. He doesn’t. Instead, he releases my hair and takes a step away.
“Let’s go find some glasses for you,” he says and heads inside the shop.
* * *
I’m standing next to Pasha as he gives the store attendant his address so they can deliver my new glasses once they’re ready when a man enters the store and heads toward the rack of sunglasses. He’s holding a phone to his ear, talking to someone. My eyes skim his dress pants and white shirt and stop on his bright red tie. I should look away. Turn and focus on something else. I can’t. It feels like my eyes are glued to the red material around his neck. The tie that was used on me by the client was red. I bite my lower lip until it hurts and squeeze Pasha’s hand.
“Mishka? Are you all right?”
I close my eyes, trying to suppress the memory of my body being pressed into the bed while I desperately claw at the tie around my neck. My breathing becomes faster. Shallower. I can’t get enough air. It feels like I’m suffocating.
“Asya?” Pasha wraps his arm around my waist and turns around, following my gaze. The guy with the tie is still standing next to the sunglasses rack, browsing through the display.
“Wait here, baby,” Pasha says next to my ear and, releasing his hold on me, walks toward the man.
