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Tears stream down my cheeks as I burst through the front doors of the strip club and out into the bright afternoon light. My body aches like I’ve been put through a grueling exercise, my ass tender from being fucked so hard. But it pales in comparison to the immense emptiness in my chest.
Like Efrem punched a hole through my ribs and ripped out my heart.
Trying to collect myself, I wipe tears from my cheeks as I head toward the metro and home. I’d been in the city, walking the streets in search of good candid photo ops, when I’d spotted Efrem in the first place. And the sight of him entering the strip club when I’d assumed he was working had cut me to the quick.
Now I know “busy” meant he didn’t want to see me. He actually believes I’m dating Adam. Or maybe his anger lies deeper than that. Because we keep coming back to the same hurdle—my family’s image and how it impacts my dad’s political career.
I feel caught between a rock and a hard place, wanting to support my father, to alleviate some of the stress that I know weighs heavily on him. And at the same time, I care deeply for Efrem. I don’t want to upset him—intentionally or not.
Though it was my reason for being in Manhattan, I can’t bring myself to think of taking pictures right now. What I really want to do is talk to Silvia. She’s always so good at giving advice about personal problems. I’m sorely tempted to go straight to her house once I leave the underground.
But I can’t. My problem is too close to home. I don’t want to accidentally get Efrem in trouble—and I’m not sure that Silvia and Pyotr even know about us dating, let alone what they would think about it… if that’s even what Efrem and I are doing at this point. Right now, it feels like a question up in the air.
Besides, it’s the Veles name that has my family so worked up. I could hurt Silvia’s feelings if I say anything about why Efrem’s upset. No, this time, I’m on my own.
The house is quiet when I get home, and I make my way up to my room.
Entering my bathroom, I take stock of my splotchy face and running mascara, then turn on the sink. Washing the tears away, I pat my face dry.
Then I return to my room to decide what to do with myself. What I really want is to resolve things with Efrem. But it’s not going to be that easy, I don’t think. Too wrung out to bring myself to do homework, I step into the darkroom my parents helped me convert the extra bedroom into.
It’s right beside my bedroom and feels like my personal sanctuary. I’ve spent countless hours in here. Several rolls of film sit on the processing table when I turn on the red light. With all my work for school and the extra time I’ve spent with Efrem lately, I’ve fallen behind on the pictures I took for my own personal satisfaction.
Developing them now will give my hands something productive to do while I process what just happened. Opening the strip, I hold it up to the light to check the negatives.
Nature photos.
Then I set up my station and get to work. My hands prep the film with well-practiced ease, going through the motions without much attention on my part. Which leaves me with the brain space to think about Efrem.
I don’t think I’ve seen him mad like that before.
On the rare occasion when he’s lost his cool, it’s been a flash in the pan. A momentary burst of fury—usually directed at someone other than me. And the one other time he did get mad at me, it was so quickly followed by tender remorse that I hadn’t had the chance to think about the underlying issue going on between us.
Sorting through my photos to find which ones I want to develop, I gasp as my enlarger casts an image of Efrem that takes my breath away. This must be the reel from when he and I went on a walk together—the day after our first date.
His eyes peer at me with a warmth that makes my stomach tremble, the soft, relaxed expression on his face entirely different from what I saw today. This is one of the first pictures I took of him. And somehow, I’ve captured an emotion that I’ve never seen in him before.
Vulnerability.
Not weakness. Even with his guard down, Efrem could never look weak. But his expression is open, gentle, and filled with a tenderness that melts my heart. The hint of a smile tells me he finds my playful photography amusing, but he hasn’t engaged yet.
Like he’s taking a moment just to appreciate me.
Blinking back tears, I process the image, moving it to photo paper and treating it. And when I hang it to dry, I stand in front of it a bit longer. Like the key to a door, the image unlocks a new angle on our relationship that I’d never really considered before.
Efrem’s so strong, so solid, so reliable. I’ve never given a second thought to the possibility that I might hurt him. Because he just seems impenetrable.
Unbreakable.
But under all that muscle and iron strength, Efrem has shown me a considerable amount of tenderness. He’s a protector, ensuring I feel safe and defending me from harm. He’s taken the time to get to know me, digging deep and showing interest in who I am and what I like.
And he’s opened up to me.
Maybe not as fully as I’ve opened up to him—I can see the darkness lurking in his eyes whenever he sidesteps one of my questions, and I know something in his past haunts him—but he’s talked about his challenging upbringing in Russia, the reason behind his loyalty to the Veles family.
He’s given me parts of him that I sense he doesn’t hand out to just anyone.
And how have I returned the favor?
