Page 35 of Volatile

I revert back to my fourteen-year-old self, hating who I am and desperate to destroy myself so my mother wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. I stood at the very bridge my life was supposed to have ended on because of those thoughts and I still have the same voice in my head telling me I don’t have to die.

Soft lips press into my cheek, his ridiculously soft skin rubbing against mine as he coos, “It’s okay, Stasi, I’ll give you them if you ask me real nice.”

Dickhead.

But it manages to pull me out of the dark space in my head.

I can imagine Vitali as a dad, he’d be the kids’ world and manage to easily communicate with them due to them having the same mental maturity. I lean back against his chest and rest my hands on his thighs to massage down, he never lets me touch his scarred knee. It’s dumb when we’ve literally had each other’s asses in our faces, but I want to ease his pain and he won’t let me. I owe him my second chance at life; if rubbing his knee allows me to feel like I’ve paid him back then he should let me.

His movements are smooth, and he positions his hands under each of mine, threading our fingers together until I can’t touch him. If he didn’t covertly move me away from him every time that I got close to his knee I could convince myself it’s his usual clingy behavior, but I look at him over my shoulder and softly ask, “Does it hurt?”

He’s an asshole and has to deflect with some lame-ass attempt at flirting. “Being so close to you? Yeah, sweetness, fix it by putting me in.”

We use the same tactics of avoidance and my frustration rises now that I’m on the opposite end of it for once.

I’m still sore between my thighs after his peacocking last night and I’m sure there’s going to be an imprint of his body between my thighs, so I use my mouth in the opposite of him. Pressing my lips to his jaw has his arms loosening enough for me to turn and I move down his body. When I reach his abs, he stops me and tilts my face up.

“If you put your mouth on me, you’re agreeing to stay here every night. I won’t be a whore for you, Anastasia.”

I don’t do relationships, not when they all leave through one of two exits. My mother or Marta. Sleeping in the same bed and waking up together without anything sexual is the lead up to a relationship and I’m not ready for Vitali to leave yet.

He strokes my bottom lip and smirks as he lowers his voice.

“Well, I will but you don’t get to leave me like one. If you want my dick, you’ll take it every night and when this beautiful face is covered in my cum, I’ll hold you until the sun comes up. Open your mouth if you’re going to stop running for me.”

Forcing myself up, I jump over the edge of the bed away from his grabby hands and change out of his T-shirt I stole and into my wet clothes that I forget to take off before I helped him shower. The guards will think I’m doing the walk of shame either way, but I’d prefer not to have my ass out in front of them. He grabs my hand when I go to get my shoes, and the playful-puppy act doesn’t hide his disappointment.

“Don’t you need to make sure I’m not going to kill everyone?”

I don’t try to pull away and my other arm develops a mind of its own as I stroke my fingers through his hair.

What in the fuck am I doing?

I can’t pull it back, I have to commit to the act while searching for an excuse to leave for both of our sakes.

“I need to check the phone,” I whisper as his eyes droop. “She won’t be in the area for long.”

It’s not a full lie, Genevieve’s pattern means she’ll leave in a month, and I keep that part of the timescale to myself.He wraps his arms around my hips, his cheek pressed flat against my stomach, and he just breathes as I continue massaging his scalp. It’s funny that I used to hate it when Inessa would force me to do the same to her after she’d been forced to have braids in her hair. I’d always end up pulling her hair to get out of doing it and she’d force Mischa to take over, but I don’t now.

Even stranger, I have the urge to kiss the top of Vitali’s head and wrap my arms around him. Instead, I settle for asking, “Are you okay?”

“Hmmm,” he nods, rubbing his cheek against my stomach, “I care about you, Stas, and I don’t want you to leave me yet.”

Fuck.

I’ve fucked up and I knew I shouldn’t have continued our arrangement; it’s become too frequent and he’s tricking himself into thinking that it can be anything more than physical. So, I step back, ignoring the way it hurts to watch him slip forward from the abrupt movement and I walk out of his room.

I should have bought a dog.Then Vitali would have something to keep him company other than gluing himself to my side since I left his house and he decided to break into mine. I give him my back in hopes he understands social cues and stops breathing on me, but it doesn’t have the intended impact, and he turns me so I’m against his chest. I don’t look up from the screen as the horror movie plays in the background and my tone is as bored as I feel.

“Have you heard of personal space?”

Also known as fuck off.

He’s an overgrown toddler with a bag of snacks at his feet and rests his chin on my shoulder. “You’ve sat on my face, it doesn’t get more personal than that.”

I can’t form a good argument and my body stiffens, seeing the images of the upcoming auction. No children. That’s the highlight of what I’ve found, proving everything is fucked. My laptop is pulled from me, and he nearly smacks me in the face with the screen as he studies the photo. The girl must be in her early twenties and she’s not someone I recognize, but he does, and his phone is at his ear before I can even blink.

The anger on his face doesn’t match his tone as he says, “Wake up, sleepyhead, what’s that shit tattoo you got with Becca?”

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