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“I never said you could enter.”
“You invade my space all the time. As far as I knew, you had no boundaries.”
“What do you want?” I stared at the screen in front of me, deliberately trying to ignore him, but I felt his presence. It was difficult not to. Every inch of his Russian arrogance filled the room like an expanding balloon.
“Arty was concerned about your decision and wanted me to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“Fuck if I know.” He stepped over to my nightstand and fingered one of my glittery hair scrunchies, and his lips drew down. “He’s much more adept at dealing with your sensibilities than I am.”
His innate ability to subtly get under my skin grated on my nerves. I tossed the remote aside and sat up. “What sensibilities are you talking about?”
“You sure you want me to tell you?” He was now staring down at my leather-bound journal next to the scrunchie and edged his finger under the top corner, about to flip it open.
I reached over and slapped his hand away. “Quit touching my things.”
“So territorial, aren’t you?” he mused to himself.
“And you’re simply annoying, period.”
He dropped down beside me, and the bed dipped to the point I almost rolled into him. I curled my fingers around the edge of the mattress to keep steady and inched back quickly. His eyes lit with amusement. “Little liar.”
“Please, what have I lied about?”
“For starters, you have been moping around here for months, and now you want to give up the sport you have trained for most of your life?”
I thought back to the day of the injury and how he’d been there for me, almost as though he wasterritorialabout me. I almost mistook it for kindness, the way he carried me out, and had one of the top orthopedic specialists in the area—who was a close friend of the family—on speed dial.
But me thinking we’d turned a corner was only a pipe dream. We’d never really spoken since. His life had gone on, obviously. He was out every weekend with friends or at parties. When he was home, I’d sometimes peer through his partially opened bedroom door and catch him on his phone, reclined on his bed, with a video game controller in his hand as he spoke in a low tone with a cocky smile on his face. It made me want to cringe, which was odd because why should I care who he spoke with? But, I’d seen several names flash across his phone over the time I’d lived here, and most of them were of the female variety—Stacy, Chastity, Monique, Leah, and Anita, to name a few. His cell constantly lit up like a Christmas tree at all times of the day.
Apparently, Dmitri could be charming when he wanted to be, just not around me. And that notion bothered me more than it should have. Why did I even care or give it a thought, for that matter?
He was living his best life while I had been suffering through physical therapy, fighting through this stupid injury and bad memories leading up to the moment I tore my ACL. What was more fucked-up is that I was relieved I didn’t have to attend practice, when I should’ve been devastated to lose out on training. Before messing up my knee, I’d seriously considered falling off the beam or uneven bars on purpose to hurt myself so I could avoid my coach. I knew he and Arty were close, and I didn’t want to disappoint Arty. I just wanted to forget about all of this and move on with my life.
“Maybe I see how you seem to be living it up in high school, and I want to do the same.”
“Stop with this shit, Sorina. You suffered a serious injury, and it’s understandable you would be afraid to, as they say, ‘get back on the horse again,’ but you have to fight through your fears. People deal with injuries all the time and overcome. You can, too. Physically, you’re almost ready to start training again.”
“You’re accusing me of being afraid?” I asked in disbelief. Deep down, I knew he was close to the mark, but not for the reason he thought. “I’m not afraid.”
“Then, what is it?”
“Do you not get it? I don’t want to pursue it anymore.” I wasn’t completely lying about wanting to live a normal life and have a social schedule. What was a normal life? I’d never had one. But I was lying to myself when I said I was completely okay with giving up something I’d pursued for so long in my life. However, mentally, I couldn’t do it anymore.
“Is it your asshole coach you’re afraid of? You can always find another coach.”
I hid my reaction to his observation. The coach was an asshole but had a stellar reputation.He wins; no one would support you if you questioned him. Alexandru had parents calling from all over the country, trying to get their daughters into his gym. “Of course, not. He’s one of the best coaches in the world of gymnastics.” I had to keep my voice from wavering.
“You looked scared out there at the meet,” he said quietly.
“Typical nerves. You know nothing about this sport, so stop trying to analyze me.” I knew I was defensive, but I couldn’t talk about it with him. We’d never been close, and for all I knew, he’d hold it against me.
“You sure about that?”
“I told you. I’m done with this.”
I sat stonily as I felt him studying me. “I never knew you to be a quitter,” he goaded.
