Sex, Lies & Nikolai (9 page)

She senses there’s meaning behind my words, because she gives me a long look. She’s battling it. “No,” she finally whispers.

I tense my jaw and reluctantly drop my arm. “Until we meet next then, rybka.”

She nods and I watch her walk away. She looks once over her shoulder at me, and when my eyes connect with hers, she quickens her pace and looks forward. When she opens the door and disappears from view, I remove my cigarette from my pocket and twirl it around my fingers, lost in thought.

She is difficult. I sense I barely know just how difficult she is. But at the same time, she’s magnetizing. I’m drawn to her orbit, to the x-factor that is her. Though I struggle to pinpoint the exact reason behind it.

I don’t give her a loan because I don’t want to look at her as a number, but I’m conflicted. There’s so much vulnerability bleeding out of her. Life’s punched her in the gut, I know that. At the same time, I try to tell myself business is just business, and I ought to put aside the attraction and give her what she wants, even if she’s not good for the debt.

Then I remember all the brotherhood used to tell me. “You’re too sympathetic, and you’re weak because of it. Stop feeling. The Sokolov aren’t pussies. We never kneel; not for our enemy, and certainly not for any woman.”

They’ve imprinted themselves onto me, those fuckers, because I still behave the way they want me to, even from this distance.

But I still won’t make her a number. I’m not prepared to push her away just yet. Alina intrigues me, and she cuts me too with her pained eyes.

Shortly after, Andrei finds me and hands me an envelope with the name GRESHAM on the front.

I don’t feel victory when I take it.

Instead, I crave a different battle.

For a few days, we eat a lot of toast and butter. I make pasta with premade pesto and that jar is my holy saviour. Scarlett is a fiend with her food. She eats it all without even waiting for it to cool.

I spend a lot of my time counting down to payday, and when it finally comes, my joy turns to madness as the bills start flooding in not even a day later.

The electricity bill one day, and then the gas bill the next. I think the worst mail I received is Jared’s rent increase for next month. An extra forty dollars on top of rent I am barely making as it is. That is an extra four hundred and eighty dollars a year. That number makes me sick.

I wonder if this is even legal, but I’m not educated enough about the tenancy laws to know what to do, or if it’ll cost me just to fight it. Once again, I feel like an inferior idiot fighting the system that just wants to keep knocking me down a peg.

None of this would have injured me so much had I had my savings, which included putting money aside every single week for bills at the end of the month. I’d started it long ago when Mother was working a nine to five job too, and as a result I was always on top of it. I knew there would be rainy days. She could never seem to stick to a job longer than a couple months before she went on her alcohol bends. I did everything possible not to touch my savings. If shit got tough, I started to sell some things around the apartment to make ends meet. But now there’s nothing, and even if there was a trinket or two to sell, it wouldn’t be enough anyway.

I’m stuck.

Again.

I’m currently sitting cross-legged on my ragged couch, staring down at the remainder of money I have all lined up in neat little rows in front of me. Then I look at the electricity bill and I remove a chunk of the money to one side. I repeat the process for the gas, removing another chunk, and then there’s rent and I’m utterly short. None of this even includes food, or necessities like new shoes for Scarlett. I’ve seen the sores on her feet and I can’t in good conscience make her hack another week in them.

I can possibly push back the bills another month. It’ll just mean having late fees. Again. But it doesn’t solve the inevitable: that I’ll struggle again next month. Pushing it back isn’t my style. I have to tackle it on now or else I’ll be neck deep in bills.

I pace the apartment and answer my growling belly by downing a glass of cold water. I’m halfway into the glass when I hear a shriek coming from my neighbours. I pause mid-gulp as a man hollers in return and the sounds of banging on the walls and crashing of glass follows. I stand still and quiet for a long time. He verbally abuses her, calls her a useless bitch over and over again, and I know there’s nothing I can do to help her.

I could call the cops and make a noise complaint, but they won’t show. And even if they did, they would take a couple hours to come, and by then whatever has happened will be over and done with. Plus, there is the risk of that man knowing I called them. I’ve bumped into him a few times, and he frightens me with his death glares and tight fisted hands. I can’t afford being a target when I have a little girl under the same roof. Just thinking about Scarlett has me moving to the bedroom, anxiety a coiled ball within.

She’s fast asleep, and watching her like that at her most vulnerable point makes me feel this strong urge to protect her. I don’t know if it’s purely instinct, like the way a mother protects her young, or if it’s just how deeply I love her. It’s probably both.

I crawl into bed next to her and bring her into my chest. I hold her tightly and squeeze my eyes shut as the sounds of screams continues, a bunch of curses and more shattering of something else. I cringe and my skin breaks out in sweat. I tremble everywhere, knowing there is a thin wall between us and danger.

And I…I can’t protect her.

I try but…I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

It’s all so daunting and at times I can’t take a good breath in. The walls are closing in on me. Money, Mother, work – everything just feels like it’s
too
much.

I’m scared. God, I’m scared of life. I’m scared of this void growing bigger inside me.

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE!!!!!”

I jolt in bed as a fist pounds into the wall above my head.

My trembles get worse. I wrap my arms tighter around Scarlett and hum soothingly in her ear in case she wakes up in fright. My melody is shaky, and I think I’m doing this more for myself at the moment.

The sound of footsteps follow and my entire unit shakes as the front door next to mine opens and slams shut violently. The man stomps out and down the hall, muttering more curses.

Then there is sobbing.

Utter devastation from the woman on the other side of the wall.

We’re both crying. I think it’s for the same reason.

Life is hard.

We want to give up, but we can’t.

We’re stuck.

It’s only when the tears dry and my eyes look out the window and into the night sky that I start to calm down. Scarlett hasn’t stirred once through the noise; my baby sister is just so hungry for sleep. She takes her breaths next to me, and I breathe along with her, gripping tight my necklace.

One breath at a time, Alina. I tell myself. One breath at a time.

The shakes come to a stop, and the sobs next door cease. I feel better, and in the peace that follows I hear words echo in my mind.

You give me something, I pay. Think about it carefully.

He told me to figure it out, and well, I have figured it out, but I can’t be sure I’m right, or that I want to be right.

I haven’t seen Nikolai since the strip club, and the week dragged because of it. It doesn’t help Ivan’s been giving me death glares and hasn’t said more than five words to me total since I returned with that envelope. He never growled at me for it, though, or threatened my job. I know it has something to do with Nikolai. I wonder why he’s disappeared like this. I wonder if he’s waiting for me, if he’s drawing me out.

He was so confident I’d go back, but I can’t do it. No way. I’ll figure this out without him.

I have to.

It’s Sunday, my day off. I’m doing something that goes against all my money troubles. I’m buying Scarlett shoes, and she is so fucking happy. As I stand in line to pay for them, she tugs me on my shorts and I look down at her questioningly.

“You don’t have to buy them,” she whispers to me. “I’m okay in my other ones.”

The other ones she speaks of are on her right now, and they look vile. She keeps having to walk on the sides of her feet just to stop feeling pain in her toes.

“I want to get them,” I tell her, smiling because there’s something so gratifying about looking after your loved one. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to wear Little Kitty around the block.”

Scarlett’s cheeks glow as she looks down at the box of shoes she’s carrying. They’re open, the shoes on display, these pink little light-ups that have the Little Kitty face on the sides. They suit her so much.

When it’s time to scan it through, I pick her up and she hands it to the cashier. I give her the money to pay for them, two ten dollar notes that she hands over, this look of pure joy on her face. The cashier looks between us, and I know she’s wondering if I’m her mother. People often think that when they see us for the first time.

“Pretty shoes,” the cashier remarks, smiling at her.

Scarlett beams. I can tell she wants to say something, but she fights the urge and just nods. She’s too shy and closed off, and I wish I could shake that out of her a little.

Right before we leave the shopping centre, I  sit her down at a bench near the entrance doors and pull her old shoes off. I take the new shoes out of the box and slide them on her feet.

“People are looking at us,” she says, suddenly conscious.

I quickly glance around and catch all kinds of expressions of people passing us. One is pity, another happiness, and the one that makes me feel sickest the most is the look of disgust on a young woman heading out the door. She’s carrying bags of just-bought shit in her manicured hands, and when our eyes connect, she blatantly shakes her head at me.

Something inside of me tears wide open. The pain of judgment too thick to ignore. I look away from her and back at the task at hand. There’s no point saying something. No point glaring back either. I can’t show my nasty side in front of Scarlett, but really I want to fucking roar at the woman and scream, “Not everyone can afford a plastic face, you fake ass cunt!”

I don’t.

I
can’t
.

It’s a festering itch I have to swallow for the sake of my sister.

“They’re probably all looking at your shoes,” I tell Scarlett in a cheery voice. It’s a bit shaky because underneath that fake voice is an anger that swirls like a vortex inside of me.

Why do people judge so much?

Scarlett watches me closely, trying to determine if I’m being serious or lying. I’m pretty sure she buys it because she goes back to watching me. When they’re on, I ditch her old shoes in the nearest bin. Then we take the bus back home, and Scarlett’s staring at them the entire way as she swings her feet back and forth.

I look out the window, enjoying this tiny moment of victory. Fuck that woman with her look of disgust, and fuck every bill that wants to bleed me dry. I won’t let that negativity ruin my mood. I
had
to get her shoes. I couldn’t push it back, and even though it hasn’t helped our situation, I feel in my heart it was the right thing to do.

The streets pass by one after the other. People go from wearing trendy business clothes to worn out slacks and tanks. The residents jokingly call this side of the city the Estate, mostly because it sounds posh even though it’s not. The contrast between where I’ve just come from and the Estate is incredible, and I wonder just how the other side lives. What is life like not having to constantly worry about what to eat tomorrow? They must be grateful and happy for it. God knows I would be.

I perk up when the bus slows down in traffic, stopping right across from Nikolai’s pawn shop. I think fate is laughing at me because Nikolai is actually outside, his arms on top of his expensive car, looking down at the ground as we pass.

I can’t see his face, but his body is taut like something is wrong. I wonder what it is. Maybe it’s the reason he’s been away from the store for so long. Something twists in my chest. I think it’s sympathy, but I don’t know why I feel it.

I’m almost tempted to get off the bus right there and then and act oblivious as I walk by him. What would he do if he saw me? Would he stop me? Would my false act of surprise be convincing enough?

My head almost twists off my body as I turn and turn…face pressed against the window as we get further down the block.

“Can we get something to eat?” Scarlett suddenly asks, looking up from her shoes. When I don’t immediately respond, she adds, “It’s okay if we can’t.”

I’ve just spent almost twenty dollars on her shoes and I know it’s not a wise idea to spend any more money for the day. I’d planned on toast and eggs for dinner, but the way she looks at me, her doe eyes large and round and filled with hope, pulls on my heartstrings. I can’t say no to Scarlett. What’s another five or ten dollars at the end of the day? It won’t make a difference, or make my finances that much more fucked than it already is.

We get off on the next stop and walk back in the opposite direction. There’s a nice little diner around the corner from Nikolai’s pawn shop. I’ve seen it countless times, the lines sometimes running out the door in the mornings. I have a friend who works here, and I hope I’ll get to say hello to her if she’s here.

It’s busy but the rush is over when we enter. We take a seat at a small table, next to one with parents and two kids around Scarlett’s age playing with one another. She watches them with fascination and moves closer to me, her hand already seeking mine out. She holds me tightly, the way she does when she’s nervous or shy. She’s attached to my hip, this girl. Won’t even sit across the table from me. I think it’s because we don’t share a lot of these moments together, and she’s always either at Roberta’s or in the apartment.

“Alina!” a familiar voice says.

I turn and catch Mona as she comes up to us. “Hey!”

“How are you?”

“Good, and you?”

She nods, glancing between Scarlett and me with interest. “Yeah, good. What can I get you guys?”

I pass on food (I can’t get
that
carried away with money) and order Scarlett hamburger and fries. Her eyes light up when the plate comes fifteen minutes later.

“You should focus on the burger,” I tell her as she shoves the fries in her mouth two at a time. “You’ll get full off those before you get to it.”

She drops the fries and wraps her tiny hands around the burger. Half of it almost comes sliding out. I help her along, squashing the bun down so it’ll fit in her mouth. She takes a few ravenous bites, some of her strands of hair slipping into her mouth. I start pushing it aside when another plate suddenly appears in front of me.

Startled, I look up at Mona who’s about to walk away and say, “I didn’t order this.”

She looks back at me. “It’s already been paid for, babe.”

Then she leaves, hurrying to tend to another customer. I stare at the hamburger and fries in front of me with confusion. Paid for? She must have it wrong. Someone in the diner didn’t get their food. I look around me, searching for an unhappy customer. When I see Mona move past me again, I touch her arm.

“I didn’t order this,” I tell her again.

Moving along, she blows a tired breath and motions to the front of the diner. “Yeah, well, Nikolai did.”

My insides flutter at the sound of his name. I’m almost in disbelief as I follow her line of sight to the counter at the front. I’m beyond surprised to find him standing there, fingers tapping on the counter, already staring back at me. A quick jolt of excitement rushes to my chest.

He gives me a subtle nod, this slight curl to his lips that brighten his tired eyes just a teensy bit. I can’t look away from him. How long has he been there watching me? He definitely wasn’t here earlier than me. I would have seen him straight away when we came through.

He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. The only thing he’s interested in. The only pair of eyes he wants to look into. It makes my heart stutter. This is the physical aftermath of every encounter I have with him, but it’s more pronounced after our kiss.

The smell of my food hits my nose, causing me to look down at the plate. My stomach grumbles something awful. I’ve been so conditioned to bury the ache of my hunger, but the second food’s in front of me it surfaces like a motherfucker. I feel a lump in my throat and blink back emotions. This is unexpected and… kind. I almost can’t believe it.

When I look back up again, his back is turned to me and he’s talking to an older man standing just outside the kitchen, an envelope in hand. Their conversation appears relaxed, and the older man smiles and hands the envelope to Nikolai before disappearing in the kitchen. Nikolai opens the envelope and gives it a quick look before he stuffs it in the pocket inside his suit jacket. Then he turns, gives me another quick glance that robs me of my breath, and walks out.

“Be right back,” I tell Scarlett. “Don’t move, okay?”

She nods, too invested in her food to care that I’ve gotten off the chair and am hurrying out of the diner. I stop Mona along the way and ask her to keep an eye on Scarlett, and she nods that she will.

Nikolai’s not more than six feet from the diner when I step out.

“I thought you’re not a charity,” I call out, my heart thudding in my chest at my abruptness. It’s not like me to chase a man, but I can’t accept the food in good conscience without thanking him for it.

Nikolai stops when he hears me and turns around. God, he looks tired, and his body isn’t as loose as it usually is, but fuck me, he still looks absolutely riveting.

He does a sweep of me with his eyes, and I don’t feel the same rage when the bitch at the shopping centre did the same thing, because there’s no hint of disgust in him. Or judgment. He doesn’t see my faded cut-off shorts, frayed at the ends and tattered almost beyond repair, nor the stains on my too tight top. He sees something captivating, and damn I want to know what it is, because his eyes always come alive at the sight of me.

“You’re hungry,” he simply replies, looking back at me.

“Do you make a habit feeding the hungry?” I ask. It’s a really stupid question, but I just want to talk to him, to draw this encounter out as long as I can.

“Only women with little girls in tow,” he answers, quietly.

“Are you alright? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’ve had a rough day.” Glancing back down the street, he throws his shades on and briskly adds, “Do svidanya, Alina.”

Something’s not right about him. He’s ending the conversation rapidly. He turns to leave but I can’t stop myself from saying, “You’ve been gone.”

He pauses mid-step and turns his sights back to me. “I’ve been right here.”

“You don’t come by the store.”

“That’s a matter of preference.”

“Did something happen? Are you at odds with Ivan, or is this still about Benji owing you money?”

I can’t see his eyes anymore, but his brows pinch together and he takes a step to me, the distance now five feet between us. “How do you know about Benji?”

“He told me about it.”

“Do you talk to him a lot then? Close friends with the lying durak?”

“We work together.”

“Is that all you do together?”

I give him a confused look. “Yes, Nikolai, it is.”

If that makes him feel better, it doesn’t show on his face as he grits out, “Well, don’t involve yourself in business you’re not part of.”

“I’m involved because I work there and a valued customer hasn’t made an appearance in a week. Who is going to buy our orange juice now?”

I break the serious mood he’s in, because his lips twitch. He takes another step closer, four feet now between us. “Maybe I never really liked your orange juice.”

I bite back a smile. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

He takes another step closer, three feet between us. “Maybe it was an excuse to see the pretty girl behind the counter.”

A delicious lick of pleasure shoots down my spine, my hands trembling to touch him the way I did that night. He notices and moves even closer. “Maybe you tasted too sweet,” he continues, his voice husky and low. “And I want it again.”

He’s standing in front of me now, looking down at me. He’s so close, a few measly inches of space between us. “Maybe you want it too, kotyonok.”

His suit rubs against my bare skin as he presses his body to mine. His hand runs down my hair and slowly inches down my spine. I close my eyes as the scent of him hits me. I feel his head drop down, his forehead pressing against mine, and the warmth of his mouth follows, skimming along my cheek before lightly running over my lips.

I feel like I’ve been doused in flames. My hand snakes up his chest and grabs at his jacket, gripping him tightly to me. I feel something wet run along my lips and I part them, letting his tongue between them. Jesus Christ, we’re in the middle of the street and he’s trailing his tongue inside my mouth, and I’m letting him. I’m actually letting him.