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My insights twist as I absorb his words. Do I want them dead? I imagine Robert as he pleads for his life. Bile rises in my stomach. But did I not plead also? And what about other girls? Now, as I picture Robert’s screams for mercy, a small smile breaks across my lips.
“Can I watch?” I ask hesitantly, simultaneously dreading and craving the idea.
“Every second of it, mishka.”
I lower my head onto Pasha’s chest and wrap my arms around him. Uncertainty and wariness consume me. “I’m scared,” I whisper. “I’m afraid it’ll happen again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go outside and walk down the street by myself without flinching every time someone passes close to me.”
“You will.” He resumes stroking my hair. “I promise you that.”
Chapter 13
“I hope they’ll let me play again,” I say as I’m walking next to Pasha toward the car.
My anxiety spiked every time I thought about returning to the mall and being among all those people, the noise, and surrounded by all those smells. The memories caused me to shudder. But I also remembered the feeling of utter freedom that engulfed me when I placed my fingers on the keys after so long without music. All the excitement, joy, and happiness I didn’t think I would ever feel again came rushing back. I’ve managed to stifle the need to play again for the past five days, but now I crave it.
I finally caved this morning and asked Pasha to take me over there.
“When did you start playing?” he asks as he fires up the engine.
“I was five. Arturo was trying to find a way to distract me and my sister from what happened to our parents, so he asked a neighbor, who had a piano, to give us lessons.” It’s hard to think about my brother and sister, knowing how much they must be worried, but the idea of facing them still leaves me with bone-chilling panic.
“What happened with your parents?” he asks.
“There was a raid on one of the casinos where they worked. Someone took out a gun and shot at the police. Then, everything went to hell. A lot of people were killed that night.”
“They both died?”
“Yeah.” I close my eyes and relax in the seat. “I can’t even remember them that well. There are photos, of course, so I know what they looked like. But I can’t remember details about them, and if I do, they’re fuzzy. I remember my mom singing to us every night before bed, but I can’t recall the song.”
Pasha brushes the back of his hand down my cheek, and I lean into it. His light touch is there one moment and gone the next. When I open my eyes, he’s putting the car into drive.
“I know what you mean,” he says as he backs out of the parking spot. “I don’t remember my parents, either.”
“They died, too?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
I watch his hard profile, wondering if he’ll elaborate. He doesn’t, just keeps driving in silence. I look down at his hand holding the stick shift and notice he’s gripping it hard. I stroke his white knuckles with the tips of my fingers until I feel his hold loosen.
“Did you play professionally?” he asks after some time.
“No, not really. I played at school a couple of times, usually when we had a celebration. Music has always been something personal for me. I decided to take a year off after high school to figure out what I wanted to do next. I thought about applying to a music conservatory, but that was . . . before.”
“Do you still want to?”
I look at the road beyond the windshield. “I don’t know.”
* * *
The elevator dings. I squeeze Pasha’s hand and try to bring my breathing under control. The urge to ask him to go back clashes with the need to feel the keys beneath my fingers once again. The doors open. Pasha steps out, turns to face me, and takes both of my hands in one of his.
“Breathe. We’ll go slow,” he says and takes a small backward step. “I’m here. No one will dare touch you, mishka.”
I nod and step out of the elevator.
There are more people around than there were the previous time. A multitude of sights and sounds overwhelm my senses—lights, laughter, footsteps, children running by while their parents are frantically trying to corral them. I close my eyes.
Pasha’s rough palm cups my cheek and his thick arm wraps around my waist. “It’s okay, baby.”
