On Thursday nights after Elijah left, for a moment I could pretend the space belonged to me.
There’s no mistaking Max’s love for this penthouse. His pride is subtle, but it’s there. I doubt this is his first venture into real estate but he treats it like his pride and joy.
But for me, it’s a cage. A gilded one, but a cage no less. I can’t leave it without an armed escort and if I’m honest I’dprefer that to staying inside with That Olga Bitch as I like to refer to her.
Something changes, though, when the house is empty. I’m not that much of an introvert, but I breathe deeply, and freely when I’m alone.
I can pretend all I want—we might get on great inside the bedroom, but outside we’re the same old disaster.
I assumed Max’s old soul persona would hate mindless TV so I never turned it on because I knew he’d sigh and side-eye me. That’s all he does. He doesn’t want to talk to me. To tell me about his day or goals. Worse, I think he gets annoyed when I chat and merely puts up with it.
Really, all he does is put up with me. He thinks sugar is wrong but he holds his tongue at my baking. He holds me after sex, as in he wraps one arm around me. That’s it. No gentle touch, or rubbing my back. It’s the same with the text messages I send in the mornings. I’ve never had a boyfriend who doesn’t text me hello in the morning. Max, on the other hand, asked if Ineededto send him a daily picture of my caramel macchiato.
Why yes actually, I wanted to grumble, holding my tongue.Becauseit’s funny that the barista took my name down as Rust and who else am I going to show it to?
I’ve learned what devastates me, though, is realizing Max isn’t a substitute for Daisy’s companionship.
It’s not the first time I’ve complained about it before, but each time I acknowledge it, the hurt digs a little deeper.
I’m lonely without my friend and I’m cautious about making new ones. Lennie is nice each time I interact with her, but Max doesn’t even want me to hang out with his brother.
His fury came off of him in waves. The smoldering eyes, glowed, fire flaring in the coal-colored irises.
I couldn’t sit the next day, thanks to my sore ass. Buthonestly, it was a relief to feel something, instead of the gnawing empty in my brain.
Even though I entered into this marriage blindly, I tried to forge a partnership. He’s never cared about anything other than owning me.
But there are still parts of me he hasn’t worn down.
He demanded I explain what I meant when I said I’d gotten slapped around. At first, I tried to shrug it off, saying the words amounted to angry venting. His burning eyes seared into me, seeing through the lie.
I didn’t tell him about Yelena. I don’t think he’d believe me anyway and I’m not going to embarrass myself any further. There’s no point in stirring up something that would only cause a problem with the whole family anyway.
Especially since I have enough of a problem with Max.
If I thought he was silent before then I was wrong.
He made me stand up that night and applied cream on my sore backside. He took a shower while I waited in bed, curled up on my side. The bathroom door opened and the bed dipped but the divide between us couldn’t be wider.
It’s been like that every night for a week. He leaves in the morning without a word and crawls into bed at night. There are no soft touches or words.
I thought there’d be another punishment because that’s what we do. Our thoughts and feelings always wrapped up in the intimate act of sex.
But even that’s off the table.
Elijah texted me once.
Elijah: I hope my dear brother hasn’t been too much of an asshole. Tell him next time he’s invited.
I didn’t respond. He clearly has a death wish.
Russet Smith used to be much warier about getting played. All I do these days is step into traps.
Pavel’s driving me to lunch, Sergei by his side, when he points at something. “The reviews for that one are good.”
I lean my head against the window. It’s a cute little coffee shop.
Pavel has lived in the city for two years but remains shy about speaking in English. He used to remain quiet, occasionally having Sergei translate for him. Lately, he speaks up, taking his time to think out a sentence.