Page 42 of Viparious

I clear my throat then croak, “But I promised that I’d come back and go to sleep here. Valentin and Vitali will have each other, and I’ll stay with you.”

TWELVE

Inessa

I’ve experienced every emotion on the spectrum in less than twelve hours. We went from laughing, to arguing, to fucking, and then whatever it became before the end. Before Vlad tore my heart from my chest and shit on it. He couldn’t even take his dick out of me because whoever she is holds that much importance. I’m nothing to him. It keeps echoing in my mind like a taunt. Mocking me that I could ever believe he cared about me.

He left me. Like everyone else.

I lay motionless on the bed as he rushes into the closet, asking after the woman who gets to have him, and the mumbled name isn’t someone I’ve met. She’s so far removed from his life, protected. That’s what love is to Vlad, responsibility and protection. He’s protected her so well that she doesn’t exist because he loves her that deeply.He loves her enough to show his weakness and become unguarded because he never rushes through anything. He moves quickly, precise, but never erratic. Not now, he stumbles over his feet and he’s nearly running.

What the fuck have I done?

I can’t even hurt him, that would require him to give a fuck about me. So, I turn on my side, hoping to hide my battered heart as clothes rustle. He doesn’t even shower, and he dresses too quickly, and he drops another guard by not wearing a suit.

He’s going to leave me to be with her, to check she’s safe and happy while I break. My body stiffens when his footsteps move closer. I have to force myself to relax as the bed dips and hope blooms inside me. He crushes it with a gentle kiss to my temple and a whispered admission as he pulls the sheets up to my chin.

“You deserve better, meelaya.”

I want to scream, tell him to stay. Remind him of his fucking promise but I don’t do anything.It’s easier like this, the same with my parents, everyone leaves, and I’m too much of a fucking idiot to ever open my mouth and demand they don’t. Or maybe I’m intelligent because I don’t. I know it won’t change the outcome, so there’s no need to waste my breath.

Everything inside of me turns cold as he moves away from me. It’s ice when the door clicks, and my sob breaks free as Vlad runs down the hallway. Just like my fucking parents, I’m only good when it’s convenient. As soon as the first option comes around, I’m left. Discarded and fucking thrown away.Curling in a ball, I push my face into the pillow to mute my cries. There’s a physical pain in my chest and rubbing it doesn’t help.

What the fuck is so wrong with me that I’m always a burden? A thing to be displayed, but never fucking interacted with? A tool to serve everyone’s purpose rather than a human fucking being?

I pull the sheets over my head and anger takes over. It smells of sex and Vlad. I ignore the soreness in my muscles and storm into the bathroom, needing him off me. There’s never been a time he’s fucked me and literally left straight away, not mentally or physically. He always fucking lays me down, covers my body, then leaves. A bitter laugh rips through my throat becausethatis the better option.

My husband’s dick was still inside me, with his cum running down my thigh, when he ran away to be with his love. But she’s not his mistress, I am. The other times he fucks me, though? Oh yeah, he’s amazing and runs away then too. But at least he covers my fucking body.Part of me wars that I’m wrong, that there’s some explanation he could give me. I’d be a fool accepting the bullshit and pulling the wool over my own eyes.

I’m a fucking idiot. All this time, I let myself believe the bullshit despite there being black-and-white evidence of what he wants. He’s given in slowly because I demanded it, and I wouldn’t shut up as he says. He fucks me to get out of this marriage as soon as possible.

My tears mix with the spray of the water as I scrub at my skin. I hate myself more than him. My knees shake and I hold the wall for support as I struggle to breathe. The only way out of this shit is to let him fuck me, to be tied to him for life and watch as he gives more to the person who holds his heart while I remain an audience.

No, fuck him. I’ll find another way out. I’m not going to be the other fucking woman. Anger is good, it stops the tears, and I leave the shower before I can peel any more layers of skin away. Not wanting to be around his things, I towel dry my hair and throw on the first pair of pajamas I find. My comfy orange pants remind me of the prick. He’s even stolen that small thing from me. It’s poetic when he became my abnormal comfort too.

The lights are on as I leave that dickhead’s floor and go downstairs with a pillow. Vitali is watching something, and there are snacks laid out in front of him on the coffee table. Concern colors his features as he turns his head at the sound of my steps. He rounds the sofa, pulling me into his arms and stroking my back as his violence puffs his chest out. “What’s wrong?”

Tears burn the back of my eyes at the genuine care in his voice. They fall when he kisses the top of my head and hugs me tighter.

“You want to sit with me and watch shit TV?”

A watery, grateful laugh leaves me, and he guides me to sit down. He doesn’t try to talk and puts on random shit like he promised as he keeps me tucked to his side and rests his cheek on top of my head.

He’s discreet in checking my arms for any marks, and his eyes keep flicking to the pillow I’m still holding. The silence only lasts two episodes, and he brings up his moronic brother.

“Vlad’s gone to St Petersburg on business, is that why you’re upset?”

Nice to know the bastard checked in with his brothers but not me, it’s not like I’m his fucking wife. Shaking my head, I find my voice to get information I’ll never get from the source.

“Was Vlad close to anyone when you lived there?” I ask carefully.

I know they were young, but they must remember some things.Tali is nothing but honest, making me wonder who raised him, as he doesn’t question my motives.

“No, he was a weird fuck and he’d sit in the graveyard opposite our house every day. He used to take Val and me to this empty plot at the back because no one could see past the tree and there was a little cottage there.” Nodding along, I don’t know how to phrase my question, but he continues, not realizing each syllable is a dagger in my heart. “I think the priest lived there with his wife and daughters. One of them was around Vlad’s age, but everyone called him dyavol at that point.”

He kisses the top of my head and squeezes my shoulder as he queues up the next episode. I choose not to focus on the priest’s daughter who owns Vlad. Instead, I get what I couldn’t from their old neighbor.

“Why did they call him that? Dyavol?”

---