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“Let’s get our last date over with,” I tell Sergey the next night after avoiding him whenever he’s been in the apartment.
“We don’t have to.”
“No, that I did agree to and we’ll do it. My choice, right?”
He nods. “Only if you’re certain.”
After a little bit of research and a change of clothes, I drive us to our destination. I want to drink my troubles away, even if only temporarily. Who knows if Sergey enjoys going to places like this, but I don’t really care. The interior is dark, dimly lit, and the music is loud enough that talking obviously isn’t the priority here. The bass hums through my veins.
I order myself a couple of shots and look over at Sergey.
“Water,” he says.
“Oh no. I don’t drink alone. Order something else.”
He hesitates for a moment before conceding and ordering a beer. “Why did you pick this place?”
“To drink and dance.”
My hand hangs in the air for a solid thirty seconds before he takes it. It doesn’t seem as if Sergey is a fan of dancing, but too bad. He’s coming with me onto the dance floor. While he may not be a fan, his hips seem to know what they’re doing.
We spend the night dancing and drinking, avoiding talking as long as possible. This was supposed to help me forget. For the most part, it does. On the other hand, the alcohol and the closeness of our bodies makes me extremely hot and bothered. It steadily becomes harder and harder to handle. His hips seem glued to mine, his hands roaming as they please. Sweat beads on my skin and my breath shortens; it’s not the lack of air conditioning making me hot.
“Let’s go,” I finally say, unable to take it any more.
Sergey pays our tab and then drives us back to his apartment. The studio apartment seems way too small for the tension still buzzing between us. The fact that he’s been a gentleman, giving me space after all that’s happened, turns me on even more. I flick a glance over to him as he shuffles through his drawers. It’s as if I can see every muscle on his body flexing with his movements. I can almost still feel his body against mine.
It’s our last date. Why not make the most of it?
Without thinking too much about it, I shed my clothes. Sergey freezes when he turns and sees me.
“Galina,” he says softly. “What are you doing?”
“Do you want to talk or end the night on a high note?”
It takes all of three seconds before he rips his shirt off, taking a step toward me. I meant what I said; we might as well enjoy tonight. It’s entirely possible this is our last night together. We should make it a good one.
While Sergey is gone to the arena for some kind of preseason work, I grab some of my things and leave. Being here is too much still. For some reason, I’m still undecided on what to do. I’ll hang at a local hotel until my mind doesn’t feel so frazzled. My mind wages a war with itself. Yes, Sergey was young like I was, but I can’t wrap my mind around why he would agree.
We were friends. Friends who fooled around a little, but it’s not like we were at a point where we would have married on our own. We weren’t even dating. All I’ve experienced over the last several years is because he said he would marry me. Had he said no, I bet our parents would have let it go.
Then again, they may not have. Or they would have found someone else to marry me. As if I can’t find a husband on my own of whom they would approve.
What am I supposed to do now? Our three dates are over, so it’s either stay or go. It shouldn’t be a hard decision. This is my chance to get away and finally take over my life. Why haven’t I demanded a divorce yet? Who knows what the consequences of that will be? Either way this goes, I lose.
Two days pass before I decide I need to stop stalling, stop running away, and return to Sergey’s so we can get this over with. It’s late; I’m almost hoping he’s too tired and wants to push it off until tomorrow.
I knock on his door and a moment later he answers. He’s on the phone and it takes me a moment to realize that he’s talking to his mom. Maybe even both of our moms?
“We are finished. We aren’t doing this anymore. You have tormented Galina enough over the years and it ends now. Leave her alone. If she wants to talk to either of you, she’ll call. Don’t under any circumstances reach out to her. Not unless someone has died or is dying. Understood?”
I take a seat on the couch, listening as he continues to berate our moms. He sounds pissed, but they don’t seem to care. They keep protesting, it sounds like. I stare at him in awe. He’s actually following through. He’s standing up to them. He has my back. He’s talking to them so I don’t have to. It may actually work. His mom hasn’t called me anymore, only mine.
Seeing him talk back to them, full of fury on my behalf, warms my heart and turns me on. I push those thoughts from my mind. I need to make a decision. Do I stay or go and end my misery once and for all? Is there even really a decision to make?
Nine
Sergey
