Bound

by Piper Malone

  My man needed me to help fix the problem, to help him feel better, and I threw a wrench in the gears.

  I flop on the couch, my body and brain feeling dense, heavy.

  Blake has given me numerous opportunities. He has listened and observed and defended. I haven’t done any of it. I’ve been calculating the exact time he’s going to realize we are incompatible and leave me.

  He spent our time together trying to build a relationship. I’ve done nothing but remind myself that those good feelings are fleeting and this isn’t going to last.

  And that reality seals my fate: Without Blake, take-out dinners and sex will never be the same. It will all be bland and meaningless without him.

  But if I’m always calculating when we will fall apart, maybe I should just make the decision to end this before we get to that point.

  Or maybe it’s already done.

  My phone rings and Miranda’s number is lighting up the screen. Or, maybe once I have my house, everything will fall into place.

  “Hi, Miranda, I’ve been waiting for your call,” I say with hopeful anticipation.

  “I’m sorry it took so long, Kat. I’ve been swamped with negotiating with the sellers.” She sighs, and my bright hopes fade. She’s not her perky self. “The sellers went with another buyer.”

  “What?” I don’t want to believe her.

  “They compared profiles of the potential buyers because you entered the same bid as another couple. The sellers didn’t want to get into a bidding war. The other buyers are married with kids. The seller thought they would be a better fit for the house over a single woman.”

  “So, because I’m a single woman they think I’m not good enough for the house?”

  “They expressed concern that, as a single-income earner, you might not be able to manage the repairs or complete the yard work.”

  “That’s all speculation. They have no clue about my earning potential. I work on commission in addition to my base salary.”

  “I told them all of that, Kat. They are an older couple and they come from a different school of thought. If it’s any consolation, they were very kind in the presentation of their thoughts. They feel they made the best decision.” She pauses, rifling through some papers. “If you are interested, I have another home up for sale a few blocks away.”

  I want to scream. A few blocks away is not where my house is. “I’ll have to think about it, Miranda.”

  “I just sent you the information. Call me next week and we can schedule an appointment.” When she hangs up, I toss my phone on the armchair across the living room. If I didn’t love my phone so much, I’d throw the damn thing through the sliding glass door.

  It’s bullshit but it’s the truth. I don’t know the first thing about fixing toilets and I’ve never purchased a lawnmower. But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn.

  I make my way to the kitchen, numb legs somehow getting me to the pantry. I grab a bag of potato chips after downing a shot of vodka and shuffle to the bedroom. Propped up by my mountain of pillows, I turn on the television and systematically annihilate potato chips while trying not to think about the relationship I’ve ruined, the walk-up I never had, the imagined bliss of living in that house with Blake, or the little girl he brought home every night.

  Her name was Ember.

  *

  I wake up the next morning feeling like garbage. My chest hurts. It could be the artery-clogging bag of chips I destroyed hardening every vein in my body or the fact that my dreams are slowing slipping away because I’m an idiot.

  Such wonderful realities to start my day. Since everything is going swimmingly, I’ve decided to squeeze a big, fat lemon on the gangrenous wound.

  I need to confront the bullies in my life and that starts with my uncle and cousin.

  The message is still holed away in the “other” file. I open it and read a simple greeting with the request to see me. I wasted five minutes cooking up some wonderful go-fuck-yourself retorts with corresponding emojis. All of the responses contained some variation of my favorite words: fuck, douche, pig, die. It’s a good thing I never sent them. He might not want to take me up on my offer.

  I’ll meet you in public only. Walter’s Diner, 6pm tonight.

  When I get his reply, We will see you there, I feel a little sick. “We” can only mean he’s schlepping his father along. I can only hope that time and age has made Yuri less of a bastard but I’m not optimistic. Those fuckers seem to marinate in their nastiness over time. However, I’m in no position to take his shit. I’m ready for this fight.

  But it’s not smart to be alone.

  Are you eating Reese’s dumpling this evening?

  I have the fleeting thought to send a message to Reagan, but I know what will happen. I’ll end up with a brute squad hovering and making things awkward.

  That’s the plan. Coming over?

  At least with Ax in the wings, I know he will stay away unless I really need him.

  I’m meeting that “family” that was mean to me. I wanted to see if you’d be there to back me up.

  The return message is quick, dutiful.

  You got it, kid.

  I tap out my thanks and send it off. For the rest of the day, I scrub the house with the hopes that I’ll figure out how to start fixing this mess. Do I call him? Should I wait for Blake to reach out to me? Is it okay to apologize over text to let him know my thoughts? The nagging fear that I should just resign myself to a life without Blake pops up, and I nearly toss my lunch, rather, my coffee. This situation has me so upset, I still can’t eat.

  What would be worse: a fight or a breakup?

  A breakup, of course. But, are we truly broken?

  He left without giving me the courtesy of a good-bye. Does Blake think I’ve left him?

  I scramble for my phone, desperate to figure out where we stand. I can’t focus on how to fix this if I don’t know where his thoughts are.

  Are we done?

  Watching the little bubble happily informing you someone is typing has to be one of the most nauseating events to date. When the bubble disappears and there is no return text, I sink to the couch. Staring at the phone, I beg for something to happen. A text to pop up. A call to come through.

  And then the words appear.

  We need to talk when I get back.

  My heart crumbles; the reality of the situation sinking in. This is not going to be good.

  When will you be back?

  This isn’t the forum to fight, but I want to yell at him for leaving without telling me. Then again, I walked out without talking, so I don’t have a foundation to stand on. I need to wrap my brain around hearing the words that he’s done before he gets back. I need to prepare for life without Blake.

  I’m not sure. Maybe a couple of days.

  I start to think about how bad it will hurt, what words he will use. All the possible combinations of break-up statements feel like razorblades pressing against my skin. The tears stream down my face, tainted with a pain I’ve only imagined.

  I hear the phone ping again and see another text from him:

  You looked beautiful at the unveiling.

  My heart skips, tripped up by his words before I realize he might be trying to make these next few days okay before we have “the talk.” I wanted him to love that dress, I thought about it for weeks. I want to swim in the warm comfort of the compliment but I can’t let my heart muddle my brain. Focusing on the facts is all I’m capable of doing right now. I accept that cataloging Blake in the ex-file is a good probability.

  I’ll see you when you get home. Be safe.

  His reply pops up and a dejected huff emits from my chest.

  Sure thing.

  Nothing is a sure thing, Blake. Nothing.

  Chapter 31

  Kat

  I only circled the block three times.

  The bravado that held me upright for the past five hours ran out of here like a scared cat the instant I realized this plan was coming to fruitio
n.

  I’m meeting Yuri and Artur after sixteen years. I’ve replayed every scenario in my head. I will admit with only mild embarrassment that one of them ended in me choking him until he passed out. I’m not saying it’s the most ladylike way to greet a family member, but at least I used my hands and not a Glock, which I’m completely sure Ax has on his person somewhere.

  The primary concern is that I have to face them. Mika said they came back home. The only thing making me feel mildly at ease is Ax. In my super-stalker pass by the restaurant, I caught a glimpse of him in his typical booth. I decided not to tell Reagan after much debate. I didn’t want the possibility of an adult version of whisper down the alley that would have resulted in Blake coming home with a baseball bat to whoop the stuffing out of everyone: Yuri, Artur, Ax, and me.

  You can always leave. The mantras of staying focused, remembering to maintain a level of centeredness, employing the use of facts to support my feelings have rattled in my brain for hours. As I walk up to the door, they fall out of my head and clang to the floor. The pitchy screech of my guardian angel howling that I’m going to kill her if I keep this shit up makes my ears ring.

  Ax and I share a tight nod before I scan the booths. I don’t see anyone I recognize but someone definitely knows me.

  From the middle of the restaurant, a woman with beautiful porcelain skin and jet-black hair waves to me. Her radiant smile beams her excitement to the four corners of the earth. I glance behind me, second-guessing that such a warm greeting could be mine.

  “Hi, Katya!” she calls, motioning for me to come over. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “Uh, hi,” I offer, looking around the room for the punch line to this weird joke. “I-I’m sorry,” I stumble, trying to be polite, “but I don’t know who you are.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she giggles, “Artie and I were married a couple of years ago and we’re just able to come back now.”

  Her English is flawless. If she was in Russia, she must have been a transplant. And since when does Artur go by Artie. And he got married? “Okay, but—”

  “Oh, good!” I hear the familiar voice and brace myself for the onslaught of sharp, icy tingles across my skin. Surprisingly, they are manageable and don’t stab my back with the swiftness I anticipated. “I was hoping you’d be here when I got back.”

  A man, weathered from what I can only imagine was tough physical labor, slides into the booth next to the woman. Artur’s hairline has receded and he’s put on some weight. I’m only satisfied for a second that I look better than he does, but when he looks at his wife, and they share a moment of loving giddiness, jealously tightens my chest.

  “She was only here for a moment or two,” she says to Artur, before turning back to me. “I apologize,” she reaches across the table to take my hand, “my name is Lindsey.”

  “Hi.” I’m not sure what else to say. Thankfully, plates heaped with steaming food arrive a second later, deftly laid out by the waitress before asking me if I want to order. “Coffee, please.”

  “Okay,” Lindsey chirps, “let’s get down to business. I’ll tell you everything that has gone on and then you can fill us in.” For the better part of thirty minutes, she yammers about meeting Artur while she worked as an English teacher in Russia. He was the janitor at the school where she taught. One night, after working late, her car wouldn’t start. He helped her. She took him to dinner as a thank you. The rest is history. They had an apartment but had to leave their cat with family because they couldn’t bring her along.

  It’s all very interesting but none of it truly pertains to me. I’m missing why, after all these years, Artur wants to talk. They must want something, right?

  “Are you looking for a place to stay?” I ask.

  “No, Katya,” Artur states, “we have an apartment.” He eyes me for a moment. The weight of his stare makes me hold my breath. “I can understand your mistrust, cousin.”

  “I don’t think you can, Artur,” I counter, his statement making me edgy.

  “Katya,” my name sounding like an admonishment as he pushes the plate away. “We came here to start over. To begin a new life.” He looks at Lindsey, quiet in her support of her husband. “I made many mistakes in my life. I followed in my father’s shadow for many years and did despicable things to many people. It’s time to acknowledge what I did and try to heal the relationships I damaged.”

  “Okay…” I’m not sure what he wants me to say, if he wants me to say anything at all.

  “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, Katya. I never should have said things to you at my father’s bidding. He was a horrible man in many, many ways.”

  His words wash over me and I’m drowning in the acknowledgment I have secretly wanted to hear my entire life. What I felt was real, true. It wasn’t a figment or lie. He intentionally hurt me because of his father.

  “I lost my mother because of that man. I was cruel because of him. When I started to drink with him, everything got worse.” When he drops his head, pausing from the admission, Lindsey scoots closer to him, a loving arm curling around his shoulders. She gives him an encouraging squeeze before they share a silent, intimate, moment. No words, only a look that says, It’s okay, I believe in you.

  Artur sighs, covering Lindsey’s hand with his before continuing. “I needed help and decided to go into treatment. I’ve been sober for nine months. Part of getting better means owning up to the ways I’ve hurt people. I’ve apologized to Lindsey for everything I’ve put her through over the past five years.” She shushes him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Katya, I thought about you almost every day while I was in that facility. There were men who would talk about the people they hurt, and I always looked at them like I was better. That I wasn’t someone like my father. And then I thought about the things I did to you and I realized how similar I was to him. I knew I had to come back and see you, make sure you were okay, and beg you to consider forgiving me. It doesn’t have to happen today. I’m going to see your parents and tell them everything. I would like the opportunity to get to know you and prove to you that I am not the man I was then.”

  I went numb somewhere around the point he asked for forgiveness. His confession hangs in the air, pure and honest. I have no other choice but to believe him. There are certain points in time when you can look at another person and know they’ve hit the bottom. He’s been there. And the woman sitting next to him loves him with a radiance that makes me want to pull on my aviators.

  “Where is your father?” I have to know where Yuri is. I think I’d be willing to try with Artur if Yuri is still in Russia. It would take more time if I knew that Yuri was here and could still influence his son.

  Artur shakes his head, lips crushed against one another. “He died two years ago. They found him along a riverbank. Alcohol poisoning.”

  The man who shattered my childhood with fear and shame is gone. The boy who terrorized me is now a man sewing shut the wounds that life created. The relief is overwhelming. The fear that Yuri might resurface, try to disrupt the life I’ve made for myself, has hung in the periphery of my mind since they left. And now it’s done. I’m free.

  I catch the sob in my hand before it disrupts the entire diner. Lindsey moves quickly, pushing tissues at me, clucking about the crappy napkins being too rough for my face. Artur shifts, leans across the booth, offering apology after apology, emotion grating his voice. Words catch in my throat, too tight from the tears to formulate a response. From the open side of the booth, I see Ax closing in, his face a mask of staunch duty and purpose. I try to wave him off but his obvious commitment to his role is overwhelming. Without a glance at Lindsey or Artur, he’s hovering over me, one hand on the table, the other on the back of the booth.

  “Do we need to leave?” His voice has an authoritative edge that I’ve never heard before.

  “No,” I say, surprised at how meek my voice is. “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look it,” he says through
gritted teeth.

  “I-I know,” I hiccup through my emotion, “but it’s all right.”

  He grunts and backs off but not before shooting Artur a look that only speaks of retribution. Ax returns to his post, his body still rigid. I like my friend. He’s pretty badass.

  “Is that your, um, boyfriend?” Lindsey asks, watching Ax station himself, not realizing he was in plain view of our booth the whole time.

  “No,” I giggle, “he’s my buddy.” I figure that since Artur has spent the better part of this meeting exposing his dark past, I can be honest too. “I was scared to meet you, and my—”

  I falter when I realize I can’t confidently say I have a boyfriend. “I asked Ax to hang around in case our meeting became too intense. I thought your father would be here and I didn’t know what you wanted.”

  “His name is Ax?” Lindsey says in a hushed tone. “Yikes.”

  Artur chuckles. “You were always smart, Katya. Even as children, your bravery exceeded mine. You stood up to everyone and you were never afraid of a fight.” He reflects on the past for a moment before pointing to me as he leans into his wife. “One time, I was being a real shit to her and she kicked me in the jewels so hard I had to ice my crotch for a week.”

  Lindsey leans back, a devilish smirk curls her lips. “Good one,” she whispers to me, fully aware her husband can hear her.

  “Yes,” he agrees, “I deserved it.” Artur looks at me, chagrinned but hopeful. “The things my father said to you were not true, Katya. You were always a good girl. I hope you can accept my apologies for the past so we can try to be a family in the way it was meant to be.”

  I was always a good girl? Maybe not always, but it’s a start. I’m a good girl who grew into a strong woman. The wounds I have suffered in my battles with the past may not heal instantly but if I don’t try, I could lose so much more.

  “I think we can start to get to know each other again, Artur.”

  Chapter 32

  Blake

  “Have you seen Kat since the unveiling?”