Page 89 of Sergei
SIX MONTHS LATER
If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my life, I wouldn’t have believed them. Back then, I lived in a world where I was fighting to just survive. Every day was a new battle to endure, and I wasn’t exactly winning. But now, everything was different.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t always easy.
But it was good, and I was happier than I’d ever been.
I was no longer hiding out in the apartment. I had a car, and I used it often. I did most of the shopping, and I’d been taking a writing class every Tuesday night. It was going well. So much so, I had been working on getting my poems and sketches published. It was Sergei’s idea.
He had such faith in me and my work, and that meant a lot, especially when he was so busy with his own work. It seemed like he was always on a call or in a meeting with Viktor and the boys, going over plans and construction updates. They were working on opening a new casino, and it was taking a toll on all of them. But even when he came in completely exhausted, Sergei made the time to make me feel treasured.
It wasn’t much, but he never made me feel like an afterthought. It could be as simple as a kiss on the back of the neck while I cooked or his hand on the small of my back when we walked into a crowded room, but it meant a great deal to me. Just thinking about it made me smile.
Alek never showed any thoughtfulness or did anything to show he was thinking of me. I didn’t think much about it back then, but now, I see what I was missing. Sergei didn’t just say it. He made a point to show me how much he cared about me, and it meant the world to me.
I was standing at the kitchen counter, stirring my coffee, when I heard his voice coming from the hallway. As usual, it was all business. “No, we’ll run the numbers again, but I’m not losing that property. It’s the perfect location.”
There was a brief pause before he said, “I’ll be there at two. Tell the architect to bring the revised plans.”
I could hear a hint of excitement in his tone, and that did something to my soul. I loved seeing him happy. After a few seconds, he appeared in the doorway with the phone still pressed to his ear. He glanced up at me mid-sentence, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that was meant just for me.
I didn’t say anything.
I just smiled back, and as soon as he ended the call, he came over and kissed me on the cheek. “Are you ready?”
“I think so.”
“That didn’t sound very convincing.”
“I’m just nervous.”
“You have nothing to be nervous about. Your stuff is amazing. That’s why you’re getting published. Hell, they already cut the check. Now, all you have to do is make sure they don’t fuck it up.”
“That’s what makes me nervous. What if it isn’t right?”
“Then, you tell them, and you keep telling them until they get it exactly the way you want it.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is.” He stepped behind me and wound his arms around me, hugging me as he said, “The hard part is over. Now, get your sexy, little ass over to that publishing house and get your book.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m going.” I inched around to face him, and after a quick kiss, I told him, “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be here.”
I grabbed my keys and coat, and then I was on my way.
Half an hour later, I was sitting in my editor’s office, and I was holding the mockup of my book. I ran my fingers over the title,Fractures and Flowers, and while the name was listed as Catalina, it was mine. I couldn’t have been prouder. I flipped through the pages, and my chest tightened as I looked at all the sketches and poetry that had healed me in ways that nothing else could.
These were my words.
My sketches.
They’d come to me when I couldn’t sleep, and the shadows threatened to overtake me and drag me into the dark. They’d helped me stay in the here and now, and I hoped, in some small way, they would help someone else.
I wasn’t naïve. I knew poetry was a hard sell, but the book turned out really well. I was beyond tickled that the publisher was also pleased with the outcome. Marla gave me a warm smile as she announced, “I kept your original order. Poem on the left and a sketch on the right. I think the negative space around the art really strengthens it. Makes it feel intentional… intimate.”
“That’s what I wanted.” I closed the book and sighed. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”
