Page 20 of Bedazzled
The Morozov security surrounded Maksim, Ella, and Yuri as they headed for the stairs. “Not the stairs!” I moaned, “That’s going to make this so much worse on his injuries.”
“Shhh,” Ivan hissed, “do not let him hear you, let’s go.”
Yuri reached his hand out for mine and I took it, squeezing his cold fingers gently. I would have given my own liver if he would have just let me put my arms around him and made him lean on me, let me help him out to the car.
Instead, I followed him past the staring dregs of humanity in their $5,000 suits out to the waiting Maserati at the curb.
Chapter Six
In which Yuri finds that helplessness is the worst torture of all.
Tania…
“Wait, when did Yuri move out?”
I was having lunch with Ella at our favorite coffee place at the back of an independent bookstore, one happy to close off the coffee area for three or four thousand dollars stuffed in the tip jar when we stopped by. We didn’t ask them to close down the bookstore itself. We’re not animals.
“The morning after that terrible dinner at Philippe-Alain’s. Because Yuri just had to be all stoic about it, he wouldn’t let me stitch him back up until he sent you home.”
“You look so tired, girlie, all those private hospital rounds wearing you out?” I loved that Ella was indeed going to be the doctor she’d always wanted to be, even though I had no idea how she was keeping up with current events.
“Not as much as my incredibly, stupidly stubborn brother-in-law,” she sighed. “I asked him if he would rather have Dr. Guilanos dragging her exhausted self in to check him every day or would he prefer to have me handle the wound care? He rather sullenly agreed that if anyone had to see him, I was his choice, but he hates accepting help.”
“Accepting help? Gee, not a Morozov man,” I rolled my eyes. “Can’t tarnish that shiny alpha glow, huh?”
“When did you last see him?” Ella was turning her tea mug around and around, making little tan rings on the napkin.
Sighing, I tried to smooth my hair with my fingers, which was useless. I had my father’s hair, coarse, thick, and dark brown. My mother brushed it into a ponytail all through elementary school because otherwise, I’d get it caught on things - tree branches, swing sets, a dumpster lid after I threw a sixth grader in there for bugging Ella - and age has not improved its ability to behave. Anyway, personal grooming wasn’t exactly at the top of my list right now since Yuri stopped taking my calls.
“I haven’t, not since that night,” I admitted. “I called him first thing in the morning and he said that he had a meeting to attend with Maksim. It’s been four days since we talked.”
“That’s definitely not Yuri,” she fretted, “Maksim used to be merciless with him because he was always on the phone with you.”
“There’s a phrase for men who leave a relationship after a trauma,” I said miserably, “they develop avoidant attachment style. I looked this up today.” Pulling up the link on my phone, I read,“Still charming, these men look like they’ve got their lives in order. A relationship with an attachment-avoidant can be fun and easy-going, until you get too close. They will pull away from any intimacy that might allow a partner to see the trauma.”
Slumping in my chair, I admitted, “I know this comes as no surprise to you, bestie, but we bonded through sex. We bonded our asses off. It was-”
“Wait,” Ella was trying not to laugh, “you bonded your asses off? Like, do you mean anal or something?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” I agreed, absently stirring my tea. “We had to work up a lot of plug sizes for sure, though.” I looked over and she was trying to hide her laughter by putting a napkin over her face. “Oh, whatever, Little Miss Sheltered, like Maksim hasn’t turned you ass-up more than once.”
The nice barista with the man bun bringing us our cake stumbled for a second before putting down our plates and whisking himself away like some English butler.
“That’s not what I meant, though. Sex connected us when talking couldn’t. When he couldn’t tell me where he’d been or why there was blood on his shoes or under his fingernails, but whenever he got his bedazzled dick back in me, it felt like a re-set, you know?”
At least she’d stopped laughing and actually looked a little guilty.
“He’s pulling away, Els. And I don’t know what I can do about it.”
Yuri…
They were laughing, running the blade of a KA-Bar knife over my forehead, down my cheekbone, and pressing the tip to my eye.
“I want to pop it out,” hissed one, “let me take his eyes and I’ll hang them from my rearview mirror like those assholes do with the fuzzy dice.”
Three of them, splattered with my blood, leaning over and laughing, stinking of smoke and booze and whatever they’d pulled from me.
Iisus Khristos not my eyes…
