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Dmitri
—Age 17
It’d been almost a year since she came to live here. To say things had changed was an understatement. It’d always been a quiet, serene atmosphere that consisted of Artynom and me being the only men living here. Dinner was served precisely at six-thirty every evening in the dining room. Television was limited because my father thought such things as too much TV time dulled the brain. Same went for electronic devices. He was old-school and would rather read or play chess, so that’s what we did.
As I grew older, I was more involved in school activities, and he traveled all the time for his work. I was okay with that, too. I enjoyed the quiet; I’d learned to live on my own early on. Now, I wasn’t necessarily alone; we had full-time staff that lived here. Logan was always around, as well, and usually, we would hang out and watch a football game—both American and the universal football—or MMA fights when we knew the television czar wasn’t around.
The only difference now was Sorina buzzing around the house like an unwanted bee, spreading her pollen of girlish shit all over the place. It seemed like I could never get a reprieve from her presence, whether she was here or not. Her prepackaged food, which would starve a rat, was specially delivered and filled the industrial sized refrigerator and freezer. Hoodies, shoes, backpacks, even the fucking sparkly hair thingys she wore in her hair were usually splayed on any chairs, tables, or countertops. She was leaving her mark everywhere, and it was beginning to irk me to no end.
However, every Sunday, I would go for a run and make my way to the west end of our mansion to hit the weights. I told myself it was because I was driven, which I was, and needed to get in extra strength training in addition to what I did at school. Somewhat true, but I didn’t have to make a point to be in there when she was. Yet, there I was.
We never really spoke, and I occasionally watched as she practiced her floor routine. It was difficult to miss. Even I had to unwillingly admit, she was very good at what she did. That was an understatement. It seemed as though gymnastics came as naturally to her as breathing. Then, I realized I sounded like a bitch, so I went back to focusing on what the hell I came in here for. Working out.
Holding myself up on a power rack, I dipped down, focusing on my triceps. After several reps, I caught Sorina walking over, eyeing me up and down as I fought the shakiness seizing my muscles. She tilted her head. “You seem to be struggling.”
Sweat drizzled down my face, and my arms burned after what seemed like a hundred reps. I gritted out, “If I needed your advice, I would ask.” I pushed through, locking my arms as I rose.
“I wasn’t giving advice.”
“Thank god for small favors. Now leave. Go back to bouncing and flipping around, or whatever you do.” I inwardly cursed forcing myself to do ten extra dips, just to prove I could, before finishing my set and dropping my feet to the ground. I stepped away from the rack and grabbed my towel off the weight bench. Wiping my face, I glanced over to see her grasp both handles on the power rack and lift up with arms locked and feet off the ground. She started doing dips rapidly, easily, as if this were a joyride through the Swiss Alps. It wasn’t that fucking difficult if you weighed as much as a leaf. Not six feet five inches and over two hundred pounds like me.
She swung back and forth before she flipped her legs over her head and stuck them together in a straight line. Her arms were fully extended, and she held herself in a perfect handstand. As if that weren’t enough, she began lowering her arms and pushing up again. The little showoff was doing push-ups in a fucking handstand on the power rack. Finally, she shoved off, doing a back flip, which caused me to panic because there wasn’t much space between the weight apparatuses. But she landed on her feet like a panel of judges was seated before us, scoring her dismount.
“That was so easy.” She smiled smugly to herself.
“That was reckless and stupid.” She could’ve missed the ground and hit the weight bench not far behind her and seriously injured herself.
“If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked,” she mimicked what I said earlier, and I had the overwhelming urge to take her delicate neck between my hands and squeeze.
Regardless, I lifted a shoulder in disinterest. “It would be a shame if you had busted your ass while showing off to impress me.”
“I wasn’t trying to impress you.”
“Weren’t you?”
She stepped in closer with her hands on her hips. My eyes were drawn to the ivory skin on her bare stomach. It made me hyperaware that she was only in a sports bra and mini shorts. I couldn’t help but notice how her nipples budded under the fabric, and I mentally bashed myself over the head for looking. Her voice drew my attention. “No. I only wanted to show you how easy it was to do dips.” She paused and pursed her full, rosy lips. “Easy for me, at least.”
“What do you want? A gold medal for showing me you can do a handstand and flip around in the air? You’re a gymnast, aren’t you,moy zaychik?” I paused, realizing the words slipped out of my mouth, silently cursing. I backed away, slinging the towel over my shoulder to leave, but added, “At least Arty’s money is not going to waste. That is, until you try something idiotic again, like you just did, and injure yourself.”
“Wait!”
I turned around and raised my brows.
“What did you say in Russian? Zay something?”
Well, hell. I scratched my chin, contemplating if I should tell her the truth. But I answered, “Zaychik. It means…bunny.”Moy zaychik—My bunny. I could kick myself for basically calling her a term of endearment, but she didn’t need to know. It just slipped out of my mouth. A moment of stupidity. It was really meant in sarcasm. Definitely sarcasm.
“You compared me to a bunny rabbit?” She scrunched her nose in distaste, as if I’d insulted her. I sighed silently in relief.
“You are very…bouncy.” I cringed at my choice of words and left the room before I dug myself into a deeper hole and more inane shit seeped out of my mouth.
It was mid-January, and I was stuck at one of Sorina’s gymnastic competitions. Arty was out of town on business and insisted I be there for her. I wasn’t thrilled about having to go since my friends were having a party this weekend, but my father gave me a guilt trip about how Sorina needed our support. How I needed to be there for her if he couldn’t. If she needed our support so badly, why didn’t he reschedule his fucking business plans? He was the one who had the damn savior complex, so he should’ve made time to be here. When I’d questioned him, Arty reiterated he had to negotiate an important deal.
In the past month leading up to this competition, Sorina’s demeanor had changed. She was more reserved, withdrawn. Honestly, I hadn’t seen much of her lately. She was either at practice or holed up in her room. It was as if she purposefully stayed out of the gym when I was there. Maybe it was nerves from prepping for her meet, or maybe she was hormonal. I didn’t know. I wasn’t used to having a damn female around me all the time.
She was about to perform her vault, and despite all her makeup, perfect hair, and sparkly pink and black leotard, something seemed off. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes glistened as she paced around and kept dabbing at the corner of her eyes. Even watching her walk, I could tell a slight shift. She seemed to be favoring one leg.
When a stocky man with gray hair and a tracksuit with the team’s logo approached her, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, and something flashed in her demeanor that was unsettling. Fear. It passed quickly as she leveled her chin and started shaking out her arms and rolling her ankles while the older man went on and on, slapping the back of his hand in his palm. She nodded as he spoke. When she made it to the end of the runway, he left her with a parting word, and she ducked her head, waiting for the signal to start her run.
