Page 23 of Love to Defy You
“Here, let me do that for you.” I reach out and make a grabby motion with my fingers.
“You can barely hold yourself upright.” He glances up at me with an arched eyebrow. “I’d rather you not poke my eye out, thank you.” Alek pulls out some gauze and wraps it around his busted knuckles.
I slump into a barstool at the counter. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”
He continues to wrap his knuckles in silence before tying off the end.
“Alek? Come on. If you got mugged, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about—“
“I didn’t get mugged.” He sighs and rests his palms flat on the counter, then hangs his head. “I think this was some sort of hazing ritual.”
I scrunch my nose. “What, like a fraternity thing?”
“Yeah.” He falls quiet, staring at his bandaged hand.
“I thought fraternities and sororities were an American thing?”
He shrugs.
I huff. “Well, in any case, we should report this to the university or the police or something.”
“Don’t bother.” He pushes off the counter and walks out of the kitchen. “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”
When he turns the corner, I catch a glimpse of a purple bruise on his rib cage. “Jesus Christ, what did they do to you?”
Without turning around, he holds up his hand and waves me off.
“Alek, wait—“
He ignores me and disappears down the hallway without another word. I pull myself up from the barstool and follow him, keeping my hand on the wall to find my balance.
When I enter the bedroom, he’s sitting on the edge of the mattress. He winces when he lies back against the pillows.
I take a seat on the opposite side of the bed. “Alek, talk to me.”
“I said, I’m tired,” he snaps. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But—“
“Willow, drop it.” He gingerly rolls over onto his unbruised side, facing away from me.
Alek called me Willow, notmalishka. He only does that when he’s upset with me, but I’m not sure what I did to deserve it. If worrying about him is a crime, then sue me.
“Fine.” I stand up and head into the closet, slamming the door behind me. Hopefully, he gets the message that I’m pissed.
After shedding my dress, I change into one of the silk negligees hanging on my side of the closet. I pick the sheerest, sexiest one I can find just to spite him.
But when I emerge from the closet, Alek doesn’t notice. He’s fast asleep, and the dark bruise on his rib cage rises and falls with each rattling breath.
The next day, I sit cross-legged on the ottoman in my closet, staring at my phone in one hand and my Kindle in the other. The time reads 6:59 p.m.
The clear plastic case on my Kindle shows the mishmash of bookish stickers I’ve collected over the past year. My favorite isa black sticker with the outline of red hands wrapped around a girl’s neck, with the wordsChoke Mewritten in white font.
When my phone vibrates with a video call, I pick up on the first ring. Prisha Agrawal’s thick glasses fill the screen from edge to edge, magnifying her dark eyes. Her black hair is tied into a braid, like always, and hangs over her shoulder and down her front.
“Prisha!” I squeal. “How’s Georgetown? I want to hear all about it.”
It’s been over a month since we’ve done our Sunday Night Book Club. We’ve both been busy settling into our new universities, but otherwise, we’ve been religious about video-chatting every week since I left Andarusia.
