Cruel Compassion: A dystopian thriller with a hint of romance (Insurrection Series Book 1)

by A. E. King

  “And then what? Kostya takes over, or your friend Andrei Stepanovich? Removing your father unties a knot that unravels into chaos.” Dimitri balls his fists and hits his thighs, and I wonder if he’s trying to beat some strength back into himself. “I can’t just end him. I’d be shot, and then who would keep you safe from them? You don’t know what they would do to you. I must provide a stable transition of power. I could hardly manage it when I risked just my own life. But now I’m risking yours, too, and I can’t do it anymore. I can’t lose you.”

  He throws his arms around me, and without a second thought, I find myself running my hands across his back as we hold each other up, both desperate for support.

  Chapter 19

  For years my life was a puzzle made up of irregular pieces that never seemed to fit together. Now they finally fit. Next to loss sits sacrifice, then loyalty. Next to loneliness sits protection. And I can finally see the man in front of me more clearly.

  He’s a puzzle himself. Coldness and control attach to courage. The hard shell I’d come to despise has protected and preserved his unfailing heart.

  I look at our fingers locked together. We’ve been sitting on the couch in silence for hours, both unable or unwilling to let go of the other as I try to process it all.

  He looks at me from time to time, his eyes full of fear. It’s like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

  I see now how much he’s loved me all these years. How he did his best to protect me. How much he sacrificed for me.

  Trust unifies us, making us one. It’s the missing piece in my puzzle. Lost, but finally discovered under the table. As I feel it click satisfactorily into place, revealing the whole picture, I can see that it is bathed in my love, too. Trusting him feels like a sweet reward after a long day’s work.

  “I forgive you, Dima.” My throat is raw from all of the yelling. Dima exhales, puts his arms around me, and kisses me on the forehead.

  I sink into him, inviting love to disperse the darkness. With that love comes, desire, want, and need.

  I understand now how difficult it must have been for him to love me yet leave me alone and in pain. I turn to face him, finally ready to see him as the man I’ve always wanted. He scoots back, still respecting my rules even as I’m on the verge of breaking them. His eyes are pools of anguish, and I want to dive into them until every one of our troubles is forgotten.

  I slide onto his lap and touch his cheeks, then his shoulders, his chest, his arms. I want to feel him and feel alive with him. Dima closes his eyes, and I experience that familiar pull. We’re two magnets at the point of colliding. But rather than pull back from him, I relish this impending collision. I want to shatter all space between us.

  I bring his hand to my lips and kiss it. He opens his eyes, and I can see the battle between hope, longing, and caution. I smile at him, but he still looks warry. He’s still overthinking.

  I am tired of thinking. I ache to feel something good. I want him to join me in this sweet space where thoughts don’t matter. So I kiss him. I taste him with the tip of my tongue. I feel his caution melt against my will. And then, finally, we are one.

  We are mouths and hands, bodies and breath. And I can’t seem to catch mine.

  “I never stopped loving you.” His voice is ragged as hands grapple at clothing that no longer makes sense. He pulls my top over my head. I unbutton his pants and find his zipper. I tug gently down, nervous about what comes next, knowing this moment is fragile.

  Dimitri rubs my bare back, warming his hands. “I will love you like this every day as long as you want me.”

  Every day? I can’t see anything beyond this moment. Tomorrow I will seek out the Myatezhniki, and I don’t know what comes after. But I suspect it won’t involve Dima. Can I do that to him? My hands hesitate mid zipper. It’s only the slightest hesitation, but he notices. His hands grow still.

  “We don’t have to do this tonight, love. I want to, but not if it’s just because you’re hurting. We should wait if you have any doubts.”

  “I want to,” I admit quietly. I’m twenty-seven years old. Most of those years have been filled with solitude and loneliness. My romantic experience is limited. My body feels deprived, and he’s feeding a building need.

  “It’s okay if you’re not ready. I’ll be just as happy holding you until you’re certain.” He kisses my neck, and I wish he could kiss away this guilty nagging in my mind. I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited long enough. I move my hands to his waist, intending to tug his T-shirt over his head and end this conversation. But he’s right. I’m not sure.

  “I want sex with certainty,” I tell him, not entirely sure what that means. But he nods and wraps his arms tightly around me as the fire smolders down to embers.

  “In a couple of weeks, I’ll pledge my love and devotion to you before a priest. I’ll mean every word. Maybe that will give you certainty.” He smiles at me.

  I love him. But that doesn’t mean I can be with him. He is fueled by revenge that keeps him here, trailing my father. I understand it, but I don’t share it.

  I feel pulled in different directions. One arm grasps toward freedom, the other clings to Dima. If tomorrow goes well for me, he will never make that pledge. If I give myself to him tonight, losing him tomorrow would rip me in half.

  “I think I just need more time,” I tell him, and my stomach fills with guilt. He kisses me on the forehead.

  “I’ve waited without hope for a long time. I can wait a little longer.” He gives me a soft, eye-crinkling smile and hands me my shirt. “Let’s get some dinner. Let’s talk. Let’s shower. And then let’s go to bed. It’s been a really long day.”

  “Are we doing all of those things together?” I look up at him, stoking the embers, not ready to let the flame die down.

  “I can’t tell if you’re trying to tease me or torture me. But there are other things we can do in bed together,” he whispers to me as he kisses my cheek.

  “Like what?” I slip my shirt back over my head, not wanting to lose this gift he’s giving me.

  “You can tell me more about those babies you want. I want to be a good husband. So I should probably hear more about this life you dreamed of.”

  “Dima, that was just a silly girl’s imagination,” I say, blushing.

  “Go shower. It will relax you. I’ll order dinner. Then tonight I’ll hold you while you fill my head with dreams. And tomorrow, we’ll start working on that life. Give it some time, and the certainty will come.” He kisses my forehead and releases me.

  As much as I want them to, his words don’t make me feel better. Everything about the future seems more uncertain. We’re pawns in a game that I don’t want to play. I head to the shower, trying to ignore the sickness spreading through my chest.

  The room is dark when Dima and I climb silently into bed. I’ve never really shared my bed with a man. There is an awkward silence that increases in the space between us. I don’t want sex to cloud my judgment and make this decision harder than it needs to be. But I’m not entirely sure what I should and should not do.

  He reaches his hand toward mine, and we wrap our fingers together. It soothes my nerves slightly.

  “Dima?” I ask, staring up at the dark ceiling.

  “Hmm?”

  “If I asked you to, would you give up revenge and politics?” I whisper.

  The silence answers before he does. “I am revenge, Yulia. It’s a part of me. It’s the heartbeat that keeps me going.”

  I nod, closing my eyes to block out the disappointment. I’m grateful for his honesty. He could have lied and told me what he knew I wanted to hear. All night as we ate, talked softly, and shared kisses, I tried to push away the foreboding feeling that our paths can’t align. His heart compels him to pursue my father. And mine compels me to follow my mother. She was Myatezhniki. And I can’t silence my desire to join them. The note was my invitation. Dima gave me my confirmation. The only thing keeping me here is him.

  We want t
he same ending. And I wish I could force our separate paths to be one. Instead, we are two rivers flowing toward the same sea. But what if one of us dries up before we reach the end? I have no guarantee that once we diverge we’ll ever flow together again.

  “You were born into politics.” He turns on his side to face me. “I was born into rebellion. There’s no way out of it for either of us.” He reaches out to stroke my hair.

  Ironic, considering he’s choosing politics and I’m choosing rebellion.

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t be happy.” He slides a little closer to me. “My bravery, my loyalty, and my heart are completely yours.”

  “Your life doesn’t have to be dedicated to revenge.” I try again. “Why don’t we leave it all behind?” I hold my breath as I wait for his answer to see if he will give me any indication that he would come with me. If he were on my side, maybe he, Zhenya, and I could disappear together.

  “I can’t,” he says softly.

  He wraps me tightly in his arms and kisses me. It’s so much more than lips moving together. Our souls collide. I’m lost in him. His feel, his scent, his heartbeat. He’s around me and in me. I will love him forever. But as much as I want this kiss to represent a beginning, I know it is a kiss goodbye. He can stay and seek revenge. But I have to go and find answers.

  If I told him my plan, he would try to stop me. He’s teased me all night about how much he’ll miss me while I’m shopping tomorrow. He wouldn’t let me leave for good.

  I run my fingers across his cheek and try to capture his face in my memory. I will remember him like this when I’m an old woman dreaming about happier times. I try not to think what his face will look like tomorrow when he realizes I’m gone.

  I want to leave him with something happy to remember when he thinks of our life together. I want to give him a part of me.

  “What do our lives look like in your dreams?” I ask him.

  “My dreams are full of vengeance. I don’t let thoughts of you anywhere near them,” he whispers.

  “Those are dark dreams.” I run my hand against his cheek.

  “It’s been a pretty dark life.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ve given me some bright spots.”

  “Then maybe you should borrow my dreams. In mine, we’re blissfully happy,” I tell him.

  “With the three babies?” he asks.

  “Mmm-hmm. Every baby makes me a little bit fatter, but you still pretend I’m beautiful. And on the days when I’m exhausted with the children, you give me a night off and play with them.” I scoot closer.

  “Fat or not, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He runs his hand up and down my back. “What sort of games do I play with the children?”

  “Tea parties with the girls. Wrestling with little Sasha.” I lean my forehead against his. “Can you see it?” I ask him.

  “Almost.” He sighs.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and he draws me close against him.

  “Am I a good papa?”

  “The best.”

  “I think that’s a stretch,” he scoffs.

  “Dima, the trick to dreaming is picking the good dreams. Let them reflect who you want to be, not who you think you are.”

  He rubs his cheek against mine, and the stubble tickles my jaw. “Then I want a datcha near the woods, far away from everyone and everything.”

  “You want to be a farmer?” I laugh, not able to picture him with dirty patches on his knees.

  “I’ll grow beets. And mend fences. At night, I’ll come home with a sore back.”

  “I’ll rub it for you,” I offer.

  “And then one thing will lead to another.” I feel him smile against my cheek.

  “Mmm, but not tonight.” I smile back.

  “Of course not,” he agrees. “Because this is just a dream.” He falls silent, and his breathing slows. “Thank you for giving me a better one.”

  His breathing grows deeper, and I feel him drift into dreamland in my arms. I examine the details of his face as he sleeps. His jaw, typically tight, is slack. The scowl that appears so frequent across his brow is gone. It’s as though I can see the weight of his burdens by the absence of them on his features. He’s beautiful, and I let myself remember every kind moment, every tender touch, and every moment of love that passed between us. For the moment, it feels better to love him than it does to miss my family.

  “I never stopped loving you, Dima,” I whisper and kiss his forehead. His arms tighten around my waist. The dream of our lives together is a bandage for my grief. It covers it just enough that I won’t lose myself in it again tonight. If these are my last moments with him, this is exactly how I want them to be.

  Chapter 20

  “I think I’m ready.” I paste on my brightest smile as my heart beats erratically. My voice sounds false, even to me. Dima is too happy to notice. He sets his newspaper aside and smiles up at me. He’s still half-dressed, and his hair seems to be pointing in the wrong direction.

  He stands to meet me. “I hope you find the perfect dress that makes you smile.” He wraps his arms around me and draws me to him. “But whatever you do, don’t buy anything today.” He smiles wickedly.

  “Why not?” I ask, my mind only partially present. I’m too distracted by the ache of leaving him.

  “Because if you buy a dress we have to go home. And I have a big night planned for us.” He kisses my forehead, and I can’t look him in the eyes.

  “I’ve ordered the privacy blocks for each shop and I scheduled the press conference for seventeen-hundred hours. It was the only way to give you privacy and keep your father from sending the press to every single dress shop. But as soon as the conference is done, I’ve got candles and room service. We’re going to have our first official date. I plan to be charming.” He smiles and then notices when I don’t return the expression.

  “Is it too much?” he asks.

  “No, it sounds wonderful.” My voice is shaky. “I’m just a little emotional this morning. I’ve been thinking of Mama.” It’s halfway true, at least. Not an outright lie, but it still irritates my conscience.

  He hugs me tighter, making everything worse. I want to stay. I want to come back to these arms and spend my night talking and laughing. I wish I could spend every night with him.

  He walks me to the door. “Have fun.” He smiles, leaning against the doorframe.

  My heart breaks thinking this might be the last time I see him.

  I reach up to kiss him. As I do, I pour from my lips to his every apology I won’t speak, every night I’ll long for him, and every moment we should have shared. “Zhenya’s waiting.” I love you. I think but don’t say. It doesn’t seem fair to love someone you plan to leave. And I don’t want those words to torture him like they will torture me.

  I’m surrounded by a sea of white gowns, displays of opulence, and photographs of glowing brides with their perfect grooms. The dresses seem to mock me, reminding me that I won’t have that happy ending.

  We’re the only ones in the shop, and as much as I try to control my eyes, they keep darting back and forth between the three uniformed guards. I’ve nicknamed them Baldy, Angry, and Stash.

  This is the third shop we’ve been to. And the closest to Meer Fkoosna. I’ve abandoned my original plan for Zhenya and me to stop into the bakery on a casual shopping trip. Zhenya knows so much more than she’s ever admitted, and I know she would hinder my plans. Plus, I’m no longer planning on a casual chat. I’m going to ask them to take me.

  It’s a short walk to the metro. I can run it in a couple of minutes. And then it’s one-stop and a couple of blocks to freedom. It’s my best option. The crowds are dense, which is conducive to blending in. But new challenges would arise if I’m recognized. We came in through the backdoor to avoid being seen, and I noticed a window in the storeroom that leads directly into the alley.

  We’ve already been shopping for four hours, and the guards are bored out of their minds.

  This nex
t gown is the fifth at this shop. “Dyeovooshka,” I say to the shop attendant in my bossiest voice. “This is hardly efficient, you walking back and forth carrying these heavy gowns. Let’s just go into the storeroom together, and I’ll pull the ones I like. I always know my dress when I see it.” I know this is against the rules, so I whisper to her, “It was the same for the Council ball last year. I found the perfect dress hidden in the back room of a little boutique, and the minute I saw it, I knew.”

  It doesn’t take much convincing. The woman leads me back to my dressing room, unlaces the corset, and frees me from the heavy gown.

  “Give me just a minute,” I insist. “Dress shopping is so tiring!”

  She leaves, probably trying not to roll her eyes. But hours of one heavy gown after the next is tiring, and I need a minute. I put on my tank top and a pair of leggings I had stuffed in the bottom of my bag. I roll them up as high as they can go so they will be completely invisible underneath my robe. The map to Meer Fkoosna is tucked in my waistband. I roll up a cap and tuck it in, as well. I pull on my shoes under the guise of a dirty floor then grab all of my rubles, tucking them into my bra. I leave the purse. My portable is in there, and if I’m lucky, the portable staying in one place will assure anyone monitoring me that I’m also stationary.

  “Zhenya?” She looks up from her seat, and my heart breaks a little that this is how we’ll say goodbye. I’ll never get to ask her why she lied to me, and she’ll never get to know why I ran. I hope she will continue to love me anyway. “I’m starving. Could you go out and grab some lunch? There’s a French restaurant a few blocks from here. You always know what I like.” I have to make sure she isn’t here when I run so she won’t be held responsible.

  “Khorosho.” She agrees, probably hungry herself.

  “Would one of you escort her, please?,” I ask the guards. “You can bring back food for everyone.” They look at each other for consent. I’m not sure if it’s boredom or hunger that motivates them, but Baldy stands to escort Zhenya.