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“I have to leave.” He twisted in my hands, turning this way and that, his chest heaving. I held on tighter, determined to ride out the storm until it passed.
“No, you don’t. Stay right here.”
He drove the heels of his hands into his eyes but at least he finally stood still, allowing me to pull his body flush against mine and wrap my arms around him. In a vain attempt to keep me at bay, he braced his hands against my chest but he gave up after a minute, wilting in my arms with a shuddering breath.
“I want you to stay,” I said softly, capturing his face between my hands and holding him while I brushed my lips across his forehead. “Please, Marek? Stay with me? Please stay. That’s all I want. Juststay.” I didn’t dare use the word “leave” with him. I didn’t want it in his mind at all because I didn’t want it to be his first reaction every time something bad happened. It might have been ingrained in him but, with time and patience, I hoped I could undo it.
I wrapped my arms around him again, holding him until his breathing returned to normal. When his body sagged and I was sure the urge to flee had left him, I took his hand and led him back to the couch, pulling him down next to me. He tucked his legs beneath himself and curled up under my arm, his cheek pressed to my chest, making himself so small it was hard to believe he was a grown man.
So much of the time he was fiery and wild, keeping me on my toes with his unpredictability. But with his guard down, I could see what a wounded creature he really was underneath. His pain made him hard and mistrustful, and for good reason. It broke my heart all over again, imagining everything he’d endured. Right then, I vowed to show him a different life, abetterlife, even if it ultimately took him away from me.
A conversation with Sasha echoed in my mind. He’d said the same thing about Roan when he announced he was leaving—the brigade, the life, everything. The Wolf of Verkhoyansk was no more. How I envied him. He was so in love with Roan it made my heart seize. And Roan loved him just as much. Maybe more, given everything they’d gone through. To say I didn’t want even a sliver of that devotion would make me a liar. It’sallI wanted. All I’deverwanted.
But it wasn’t an option for someone like me, a fact which made my concern for Marek and his happiness futile at best and self-destructive at worst. His world was ugly enough without me adding to it, and yet I would give him anything and everything that I could, knowing he’d probably leave in the end.
It didn’t matter. His happiness was worth my misery.
“It doesn’t bother you? What I am?” Marek asked, his voice hollow. He didn’t move from his position and I didn’t want to push him by trying to make eye contact.
“It’s not what you are, it’s something that you did. It doesnotdefine you, Marek.”
“But you’re not… disgusted by it?”
“Should I be?”
“Most people are.”
“Most people have no room to talk. If their secrets were shown to the world, they’d die from shame. I should know. I used to be the one exposing them.”
“What are you talking about?”
I shook my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me. “Nothing. It was another life. All I’m saying is no one has any right to judge you, least of all me.”
“I doubt you’ve ever done something as bad as this.” Untucking his legs, he dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his head.
I considered it for a minute, trying to decide how truthful I should be, if there was some part of my past that might bring him some semblance of comfort. “I’ve killed countless people, either by pulling a trigger or snapping a photograph. You may have sold yourself for money, shelter, whatever you needed to survive. I sold myself for lies, secrets. Allowed myself to be used for years, only to be betrayed in the end by those I served. As I said, I don’t judge you for doing what you needed to do. I wouldneverjudge you. I take you as you are, as I hope you do with me.”
Picking his head up, he studied me for a minute, his dark eyes scanning every centimeter of my face. He didn’t look like he believed me at all. He still looked broken, and like he was waiting for me to break him some more. What could I possibly say to convince him that instead of shattering him to pieces, I wanted to pick up the fragments and put him back together?
I reached for his face slowly, desperate to heal the many traumas that came before me, toshowhim he was safe. My fingers barely touched his cheek when he jumped to his feet and darted away. Not to the door, thankfully, but to one of the walls of pictures.
“So, did you take all of these?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. Less of a defense mechanism, it seemed, and more of an attempt to soothe himself rather than rely on me.
A small smile pulled the corner of my mouth even though he’d put distance between us again. I appreciated his graciousness for not pressing for sordid details about my past like so many others would have. And for once, I didn’t mind that he turned the conversation away from himself. Hestayed, even when every fiber of his being told him to run—for that, I’d tell him whatever he wanted to know.
I stood and walked over to him, keeping a respectable distance and looking at the photographs that had captured his attention. It was various people from around the Baltic in folk dress, bright flashes of elaborate red embroidery on their clothing. “Yes, I did.”
“Where was this?”
“Latvia.”
“And this one?”
“Lithuania.”
“So you’ve been all over Europe?”
I made a noncommittal noise. “More or less.”
