Fractured Souls: Chapter 12

I hate funerals.

I guess everybody does, but they disturb me on a fundamental level. The expressions on people’s faces. The sorrow. The crying.

When they start lowering Yuri’s casket and his sister breaks down, falling to her knees onto the muddy ground, I can’t take it anymore. I turn around and head toward the parking lot while cries and pained screams ring out behind me. Even when I’m in my car, driving back home, I can still hear them in the recesses of my mind. The fact that we still have no clear proof of who’s behind the attack makes it even harder to process.

As I reach for the bell in my eagerness to hear Asya skirring to open the apartment door, I realize I’m still wearing the suit. I have a black coat over it, but it may still disturb Asya. I planned on taking a change of clothes with me but forgot. If someone told me a few months ago that I’d be concerned about not having some jeans and a T-shirt on hand, I would have laughed in their face. My loathing toward denim somehow got pushed away and dissolved since Asya’s arrival. I know it’s because wearing casual clothes instead of suits helps her, so I’m no longer bothered by the idea of tattered Levi’s.

Pulling my hand back, I remove the coat and unbutton my suit jacket. Only when the jacket, vest, and shirt are all off do I reach for the bell again. A split-second later a thought slams into me that I should have just used my key. Too late.

Asya unlocks the door, opening it all the way. Her eyes go wide as her gaze moves down my naked chest and stops on my hand holding the bunched-up clothes. Slowly, she reaches out to take my other hand and ushers me inside.

“You’ll freeze to death.” She mumbles as she walks toward the living room with me following.

When we reach the couch, she lightly pushes me down to sit and disappears from view. I toss the bundle of clothes onto the other end of the couch and stare aimlessly at the blank TV screen. I still can’t get the image of Yuri’s sister sinking to her knees in the mud out of my head.

A light touch on my shoulder pulls me out of my daze as Asya comes to stand in front of me. She’s holding a T-shirt and a gray hoodie in her hand. I don’t leave my clothes lying around. She would have needed to go into the walk-in closet to get those for me. Where my suits are. I take the T-shirt from her and put it on. Once I have the hoodie on, Asya climbs onto my lap and wraps her arms around my neck.

“Was it bad?” she asks next to my ear.

I place my hand at the back of her head, threading my fingers into her hair, and inhale. “Yeah.”

“Did you find out anything more about who the attackers were?”

“No. Just before he died, Yuri said they were Albanians, but we don’t have any other info. The guy who supplied the drugs is dead. Without other leads, we can’t make any connections.”

Her hold on me tightens. I feel her chest rise as she takes a deep breath, then she starts whispering.

“The guy who took me wasn’t Albanian. At least, I don’t think he was.” I say. My voice is trembling.

“Mishka, don’t.” Pasha places his palm on my cheek. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I was at a bar with my sister,” I continue. “We used fake IDs to get in. All we wanted to do was go dancing. A guy approached us. He was handsome. Charismatic. Made us both laugh. He didn’t have an accent; I would have remembered if he did. Sienna decided to go home early, she had Pilates the next morning. I stayed.”

“Didn’t you have bodyguards with you?”

“No. We snuck out of the house and took a taxi to the bar. Arturo always got furious when we did that.”

His finger moves down to trace my chin.

“I thought he was funny. That guy,” I say. “He said his name was Robert. We talked for an hour, and when I said I needed to go home, he offered to walk me outside to catch a cab. I found it very chivalrous.”

It almost makes me laugh, how stupid I’d been.

“He pressed something over my face. A wet rag that smelled harsh. I tried getting away, fighting him. He was bigger than me. Stronger. I lost consciousness soon after.”

My voice is shaking. I close my eyes, willing myself to keep going.

“I came to in the dark. I was sprawled out on the cold ground and he was kneeling over me, tearing up my dress. I screamed and tried to fight him, but my mind was still hazy. Then I felt . . . him . . . between my legs.” I tighten my arms around Pasha’s neck and bury my face into him. His body is so utterly still, except for his chest that’s moving due to fast, shallow breathing. “It hurt. So much. It was my first time.”

I feel his arms coming around my back and press me into his body. It makes me sick, talking about this, but now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. As if it yearns to get out of me. “I froze. I couldn’t move my arms or legs; it was as if I was suddenly paralyzed.”

The feeling of utter helplessness, the horror I felt in that moment . . . I don’t think I will ever be able to forget.

“After . . . I managed to get away from him and ran toward the street. I ran as fast as I could. He caught me anyway. And then he drugged me,” I say. “I woke up alone in a strange room. I was so so scared.”

The arms around my body tighten, and I feel his palm stroking my back, just like that first night.

“There was a woman. Dolly. She was the one who gave me and the other girls the pills. And kept bringing them twice a day. She was also the one who instructed the girls and set up the appointments with . . . clients.” I tilt my head up until my lips come right next to his ear and whisper, “I didn’t fight it. I let them drug me and do whatever they wanted with me. What kind of miserable, disgusting person do you need to be to allow that?”

Pasha’s hand comes up to the back of my head, and he tilts my head until our eyes meet. “A young, innocent woman who was so violently abused that her mind shut down in an attempt to shield her. But you fought. Escaped. Survived. It wasn’t someone else who saved you. You did it yourself.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any less disgusting.”

“Don’t say that, baby.” He leans forward and places a kiss on my forehead. “I will find the people who hurt you. And they will scream for mercy as I break them like they tried to break you. Their deaths will not be quick.”

My insights twist as I absorb his words. Do I want them dead? I imagine Robert as he pleads for his life. Bile rises in my stomach. But did I not plead also? And what about other girls? Now, as I picture Robert’s screams for mercy, a small smile breaks across my lips.

“Can I watch?” I ask hesitantly, simultaneously dreading and craving the idea.

“Every second of it, mishka.”

I lower my head onto Pasha’s chest and wrap my arms around him. Uncertainty and wariness consume me. “I’m scared,” I whisper. “I’m afraid it’ll happen again. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go outside and walk down the street by myself without flinching every time someone passes close to me.”

“You will.” He resumes stroking my hair. “I promise you that.”