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“What business do you have getting your ass fucked in public by the queen’s second-in-command?”
I let out a shriek, startled by Smolyakov’s sudden appearance in my office.
“Can’t I have just a little bit of privacy?” I scowl. My heart pumps loudly in my chest.We’ve been caught.
“No.” Smolyakov waltzes toward my desk, taking a seat on the opposite side of me. He looks disheveled, like sleep evaded him last night. I’m not used to an unpolished Smolyakov. His perfectly structured face with edges other boys would murder for is tired today. His age shows, and that’s a rare occasion. The usually trimmed five o’clock runs wild, savagely ruining his handsome face. “You need to keep it private if you want privacy. You fucked in Crack & Nut. Has he fucked you dumb?”
I sigh, stretching on my seat. Jordan might be in the palace, but I feel him inside of me as I lean back on my desk chair. “He probably has.”
“Stop looking so satisfied!” Smolyakov thunders, and I twitch at his tone. What did I do? I acted like a Katantian. What’s so wrong with me being normal for once? I fit in last night. That’s what Katantia’s for, fucking and making a fool of yourself in public.
“Why are you so bothered by this?” I ask.
“It’s unlike you,” Smolyakov blurts out in a tone I’ve never heard from him. He’s anxious. Is he high? He probably took something before coming to the office today. I open up my emails, and I start typing a message for his assistant. I can take over his patients for the day. “What are you doing?”
“Go home. I’ll take over,” I inform him. “You seem exhausted.”
“Fuck no. Stop it,” he urges me.
“You seem high.”
“I’m not.”
“I’ve known you for five years. You’re high. Go home, Smolyakov. I’ve got it covered,” I insist. The message is ready, and I press send. I look at the rest of my emails, and I’ve got five thousand unopened emails on my work email. Most of them are about exhibitions and conferences overseas that I’ve never shown any interest in. I’m packed every week, and I can’t bring myself to leave my patients and Katantia.
“You were doing so well.” Smolyakov adds some rambled words to his statement in a hiss. “I never knew you’d turn out to be such a slut.”
“Hey! Fuck you.” I shut my laptop. “You were cheering me on when I… When he took me home the first time! What’s your problem all of a sudden?”
Smolyakov runs a hand through his messy hair. “Me? Cheering? When?” He shakes his head. “You’re playing with fire, Ivy Lin. And I know you don’t like getting burned. You’re a little pussy, aren’t you? Running at the first hitch you face.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, astonished at his tone. He’s never spoken to me this way. I thought we were friends. I’ve confided in him, painted him. I even did molly with him. What am I missing?
He looks awfully sober when he turns to leave. “You’re a spoiled little slut. You like the attention of older men, don’t you? That must be your kink. I should’ve known. I would’ve taken you to the appropriate places….”
Smolyakov leaves me stunned in my office. The door shuts behind him, and I gawk at it. I can’t wrap my head around his stabbing words. I don’tlikeolder men. I like Mr. Winters. I’ve liked the same man for five years. Why am I considered a slut for that? Jordan’s the first one to touch me since…
The other man I onceliked. Smolyakov’s right. I escape when I run into problems. I was about to get married, and I left my fiancé. I had a life. Stolen, but it was still my life. People pointed fingers at me for how Istoleto get my life.
After last night, I’m bound to have another meltdown soon. Why not stop prolonging it?
Once upon a time…
I don’t manage to get into the details because work calls. My schedule is full, and I sit through six hours of patients. My lunch is canceled, but I don’t mind because myownerwill feed me later. I bypass dealing with Smolyakov’s sudden mood change, and I sent him a message, asking if he’s calmed down.
He doesn’t respond.
Instead, I get a message from Ignas, who tells me that his fractured knee is doing great. He claims he’s studying for school, but I envision him binging Breaking Bad, sprawled out on his bed. He needs his rest. It’s sick and twisted, but I’m glad he’s home. I’ll call up the front office of his place, and I’ll pay a couple of months of his rent. I don’t have any expenses, and I’ve been saving up my lousy income for months.
Plus, I cashed in on the jewelry I brought from London five years ago, and I never spent that money.
My final patient of the day leaves, and I busy myself with the paperwork. I take all the necessary notes, and I message my assistant with my concerns.
I need to make time for Ignas’ house visits.
I check my watch, and I’m right on time to go home. Dinner at the Wraiths is an exciting concept, considering we all know each other already. It’ll be Felicita and us today. I don’t feel nervous. I’m ready for it.
For five years, I’ve imagined this. It’s my moment to shine.
