Page 18 of Your Sharpest Edge
I tried to back away, but the wall was behind me, so I dropped down to my knees, hugging my body, hoping that if I could make myself small enough, I would float away from this. As he approached, I expected him to pull me up and talk to me, but instead, he met me down on the floor, pulling back, making sure there was space between us. My mind raced with a jumble of thoughts. How did I get myself into this situation? How could I explain the truth without delving into the tangled web of my personal life?
“F-fuck,” I stammered, feeling trapped.
My darkest secret—the bruises hidden beneath my clothes, Dimitri’s violent temper—felt like it was slipping from my grasp. I’d clung to it so tightly, knowing my survival depended on keeping it buried.
The familiar sense of powerlessness crept in again. I had to stay in control; if the truth about my marriage surfaced, everything would fall apart. My heart pounded in my chest, and I struggled to find the right words to convey the complexity of my circumstances.
“I-I can’t...” The weight of my secrets pressed down on me, rendering me speechless.
How could I explain the depth of the torment I endured without exposing the raw truth of my marriage?
When I finally looked up at him, his expression softened. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured gently, reaching out a hand in a gesture of comfort.
I didn’t take it. Instead, I stared into his beautiful green eyes as he held my gaze. But even his disposition couldn’t dispel the suffocating sense of helplessness that engulfed me.
“I couldn’t imagine marrying anyone to appease my parents.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion. My parents had a strong marriage, unlike yours. I’ve always admired their relationship and looked to them for guidance.”
As the words left my mouth, guilt panged me. It was a low blow, dredging up something he confided in me. But his relentless probing and criticism had pushed me to retaliate, to lash out in an attempt to protect myself. I preferred to keep my vulnerabilities submerged, hidden beneath the surface, and his insistence on bringing them to light was unsettling.
“Anastasia, please don’t bring what you don’t know about my parents into this situation,” he begged.
“I-I-I can’t fucking do this.” My chest tightened.
I’d lashed out and hurt him, like Dimitri did to me. I was no better, no different, and the thought was suffocating. Not knowing how to fix this, I did the only thing that felt possible—I ran.
I stood up and fled, his concerned voice echoing behind me. “I don’t even know you,” I yelled back from the hallway, frantically jabbing the elevator button.
I needed to get out, to disappear into the night, where I could face the mess I’d become in solitude. My emotions swirled in chaos, threatening to swallow me whole, and all I could do was grapple with the tangled threads of my shattered life, desperate to find a way out.
8
alex
The next day dragged on. With no hockey to distract me, I turned to my working out, but even that didn’t bring comfort. I was lost in a mess of emotions. Usually, the rink was my safe place, but thinking about facing Dimitri filled me with rage. The bruise on her back kept flashing in my mind.
I was beyond pissed at Dimitri, but her words still stung; she lied to me and dragged my family into it to cover herself. I shouldn’t have pushed her when she was already hurting, but I was frustrated. I thought pointing out the bruise and knowing it came from him would help, like maybe she’d finally feel some relief. Looking back, I get it—the cycle of abuse isn’t that simple. Telling someone to just leave could make things worse.
I was unreasonably upset by this whole situation. She was the wife of a teammate, a transient figure in my life like everyone else. I had never become friends with anyone because everyone always left or disappointed me. This was another example of that.
With a heavy sigh, I sank onto the couch, flicking on the television to drown out the cacophony of thoughts swirling in my mind. It was well past nine, marking the absence of her presence at my door. Whatever had transpired between us last night had drawn a definitive line in the sand. There would be nothing more between us—no friendship.
I was all set for an epic Star Wars movie marathon, fully aware I had an early practice in the morning and would probably crash in the next twenty minutes. Just as I was about to dive into the adventures of a galaxy far, far away, my phone buzzed, cutting through the peace of the moment.
It wasn’t the familiar ping of a text message but rather the distinct alert from the doorbell, signaling movement outside my apartment. Intrigued, I swiped open the doorbell camera app, revealing her standing on the other side, clutching a Tupperware container.
She was wearing a pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail and hung low down her back, swaying as she shifted on her feet. The faint shuffle of her shoes against the ground punctuated the silence, and I watched with bated breath as she finally looked up at the door, her eyes betraying a wariness that mirrored my own.
She sighed softly before turning around, clutching the silly plastic container and heading to the elevator. I couldn’t let her leave. Not with how sad she looked and to go back to a house where God knows what happened behind closed doors.
I shot up from the couch and jogged over to the door, pulling it open before the elevator down the hall dinged to alert its arrival.
“Anastasia,” I called out, and she whipped around, tears falling down her face.
I crossed the hallway to get to her.
“I am s-so, s-s-s-so sorry,” she said as tears fell down her cheeks.
