It’s weird how time can go on while simultaneously remaining stuck in the same place.
That’s exactly how it’s felt ever since I was hauled back to the States.
It’s been a whole month.
A month of convincing myself to get out of bed every day. I push myself, speak to my reflection in the mirror and try so hard not to wallow in the darkest parts of me.
I’d try so hard not to think about what I left on Brighton Island and how desperately I’ve been yearning to go back.
Even if it’s impossible. Even if I’ll get hurt.
Creighton and I are meant to be dots that never overlapped. We wouldn’t have if it weren’t for my loathsome character.
If it weren’t for my persistence, chattering, and attempting to be liked by everyone.
If it weren’t for my toxic curiosity and stupid determination.
It’s all on me, myself, and I.
Which is why I have to be the one who fixes it and moves on.
I wouldn’t say I’ve succeeded, but being here with my parents, Yan, and the others certainly helps. I picked up ballet again and religiously go to practice, then I volunteered at the shelter Mom supervises.
That way I’ll be too beat when I come home and I’ll have no choice but to sleep, right?
Wrong.
Nighttime is the worst. That’s when my demons come out and I turn into a ball of jagged edges and suppressed emotions.
When the longing and impossible feelings I successfully manage to keep under wraps all day long transform into bats and explode in the cave of my chest.
Like right now.
Usually, I’d take a pill and force myself to sleep. Not tonight.
Tonight I want to let the pain seep inside me so that I can feel every lash, every whip, and every strike.
It’s only fair after what I’ve done.
I roll onto my back and stare at the glittery ceiling, and it takes everything in me to keep the tears at bay.
Sleeping alone never gets easier or feels normal, no matter how much time passes. I don’t recall how I used to sleep before Creighton came along, but now?
All I can picture is his muscular arms cocooning me in his tight embrace and shielding me from the world. He’d bury his nose in my hair and inhale deeply, and his strong hands would be on my hip, my waist, my breasts, my ass, my neck.
Everywhere.
Now they’re nowhere. Only a cold chill rips through my body, hooking against what remains of my soul to freeze it to death.
Instead of focusing on that and driving myself crazy, I grab my phone and open Instagram. During the first week home, I actually deleted all my social media apps.
The pain was too raw, so much so that not even my obsession with biographing my life could’ve lessened the blow.
But then I became greedy for any sliver of an update about him.
Remi texted me back and forth, though secretly, as he told me. He’s the only one I offered excuses to. The only one who knows I couldn’t just let my brother die and that pulling that trigger killed me inside.
He still hated me at the beginning for hurting his cousin, but I think he soon forgot about it.
Though we don’t really talk about Creighton anymore. It feels weird to ask about him, knowing full well he and his entire entourage hate me.
I expected him to come after me for shooting him. Hell, reporting me to the police would be his perfect revenge against my family. Sure, Papa wouldn’t allow anyone to arrest me, but that was a valid option he could’ve gone for.
So imagine my surprise when Remi said that Creighton told the police it was an anonymous man who robbed and shot him.
I couldn’t stop crying that night. Half because he actually protected me after I nearly killed him. Half because of the reality that he wants nothing to do with me anymore.
That we’re really over.
Sometimes, I think it’s for the best. Oftentimes, I get stuck in a loop of my own making and can’t find a way out.
The first picture that appears on my feed is of Remi shoulder-hugging a blank-faced Creighton.
Cousin, best friend, spawn, you name it. This cheeky bastard is stuck with me for life.
My fingers tremble as I zoom in on Creighton. He looks good—his face is eternally beautiful, silently dashing. His eyes remain unfazed though a little lifeless, and strands of his now longer hair kiss his forehead.
Sometimes, I can’t believe he’s recuperated and is doing well. I can’t believe that life has found its way back to his face, wiping away the paleness.
Sometimes, I recall that version of him I saw in the hospital or all the red that he drowned in and I choke on my own breaths.
But he’s safe now.
All safe.
That’s the only thing I wished for from the beginning, so why can’t I simply let go?
Why am I thirsting after the tiniest update or the smallest glimpse of him?
I’m supposed to be moving on by now. Time should’ve made me forget as Papa said, so why is the exact opposite happening?
There are no answers to my questions no matter how much I ask them. In fact, they become more complicated the more I do.
I click on Remi’s profile and scroll through the other posts.
Creighton recently went back to school, as in, about a week ago, and Remi has been posting a selfie with him or catching him in the background daily.
I tap on a group picture and then go to Eli’s profile through it.
He unfollowed me and removed me as a follower, but at least he didn’t block me.
A jolt goes through me when I see the last picture he posted. Both Eli and Creighton stand half naked, the planes of their chests glistening with moisture and their hair damp.
A bandage covers a part of Creighton’s chest, where the bullet went in, and it takes everything in me not to choke on my sob.
Sauna day, sponsored by yours truly since I heard it’s good for recuperation. Welcome back, baby bro #BrothersTime #SleepingBeautyChroniclesResumingSoon
I take a screenshot of the picture, crop Eli out, and add it to the collection I’ve been keeping on my phone.
Then I fall asleep staring at them with tears in my eyes.
The next day, I’m ready to volunteer at the shelter.
“You don’t have to go all the time, Anni,” Mom tells me when we’re stepping out of the house.
“I don’t mind.” I check my bag and make sure my phone is in there.
She clutches me by the shoulder and kind of forces me to stare up at her. “Do you need anything?”
“Nope, I’m cool.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. How about we have girls’ night later and then I’ll sleep beside you?”
Mom hugged me to sleep the first few nights after I came home. She didn’t tell me this, but she I figured she was scared shitless that I would do something to hurt myself.
Not going to lie, I did have those thoughts, especially after I kept having nightmares about all the red that surrounded Creighton. But that edge lessened as I received more updates about how well he was doing.
“Please don’t or Papa will hate me for daring to take his place.”
She beams and strokes my hair back. “Let me worry about your father. If you want me to keep you company, let me know.”
“Nah, I’m not a little girl anymore.” I can and will find a solution for my own problems.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out fast, thinking it’s a text from Remi. The name that appears on the screen makes me pause.
Cecily: How have you been, Anni?
My chest aches and a sudden influx of tears blurs my eyes.
After everything went down, I didn’t only lose Creighton, but I also had to let go of the friendships I thought I’d formed with Ava, Cecily, Glyndon, and Brandon.
They stopped talking to me, and rightfully so, considering they’ve known Creighton way longer than me.
So to see Cecily texting me after I thought I’d lost her for good wrenches those buried emotions to the surface.
Annika: I’m doing okay. How about you?
Cecily: Same old. We miss you.
I choke on my own breaths as that familiar sting burns my eyes.
Annika: I miss you guys, too. So much.
Cecily: Can we meet?
Annika: I don’t think that’s possible. Not sure if you heard, but I’m no longer on Brighton Island.
Cecily: Oh, I know. I’m in New York City.
Annika: What? You are?
Cecily: Currently roaming in Central Park in pure touristy fashion, haha.
Annika: Send me a location. I’m coming right over.
It isn’t until I slide my phone into my pocket that I find both Mom and Yan watching me expectantly.
Mom’s expression softens. “Good news?”
“Uh, yeah. Remember my friend, Ces? Cecily? She’s come to visit.”
“Invite her over,” Mom suggests. “I’ll make us lunch and she can stay with you.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring her into our house that’s so full of guards and security. She wouldn’t be able to handle this whole atmosphere and would be super uncomfortable. It’s better that I go meet her.”
“I’m coming with you,” Yan announces.
“No, Yan. I’m just meeting my friend and you’ll intimidate her.”
“Boss will have my balls on a stick if I let you go alone.”
“Please, Yan.” I grab his arm and bat my lashes. “I just want to feel normal for a little while. Besides, Papa has been giving me more freedom.”
“Not when it comes to those fucking English kids,” Yan says, revealing his extreme distaste for the way they all cut me out of their lives.
He knows how ecstatic I was to have friends, so he’s mad that I lost them so easily.
I tried to tell him that Creighton is their family and childhood friend and they wouldn’t forgive me for shooting him, but he said that if they were true friends, they would’ve at least tried to understand me.
“Everything’s going to be okay.” I smile. “Besides, Papa doesn’t need to know, right, Mom?”
“Right.” Mom catches his other arm. “Let her go, Yan. She deserves this.”
“You two will get me killed one day,” he grumbles, but he allows me to go unescorted after reminding me to call him at the first inconvenience.
And to keep my phone close—since they can track me through it.
Truth is, I don’t always have security with me. Papa was a pain in the ass at the beginning, but he soon allowed me the freedom he promised me and I no longer had to fight for it.
For some reason, that has felt like a tasteless victory.
What’s the point of freedom if I can’t use it to be with who I want?
After a long drive, I find Cecily sitting on one of the benches in the park, reading from some psychology book and giving zero fucks about the attention her silver hair gets.
She’s wearing a shirt that says, Wait…you can see me?
The moment my shadow falls on her, she lifts her head from her book and stares up at me.
“Hi,” I try but fail not to choke on the word.
“Hi,” she says slowly, carefully.
An awkward silence permeates the air, then I fall in beside her. “I can’t believe you’ve come to the States on your own.”
“Yeah, me neither.” She closes her book, slips it into her backpack, and faces me. “Is, eh…are you okay?”
I place both my palms on the bench and stare at the sky. People, movement, and noise swirl around us like the buzzing of bees, but they soon disappear. Unlike my wishes, time doesn’t stop, it keeps flowing on and on in an endless circle.
“I guess.”
“You don’t look okay.” Cecily’s voice softens.
“No?”
“Not really. You’re kind of pale and you’ve lost weight.”
“I’m on a diet for the ballet.”
“Does that mean you’re permanently relocating here?”
“I don’t really have a choice. It’s for the best anyway.”
“The Annika I know wouldn’t give up that easily just because the circumstances stole her choice. She’d fight to get it back, and if that didn’t work, she’d find another solution to get what she wants.”
I release a long sigh. “What I want is impossible.”
“Says who?”
“The one I want.” An onslaught of tears sting my eyelids, but I push them back down. “Enough about me. Tell me about you.”
“The usual.” She sounds sad, like someone who was beaten down. I thought she was mirroring my tone earlier, but she genuinely sounds a little bit broken. “Listen, Anni.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For cutting you off after what happened. I shouldn’t have and I’m so sorry.”
“You guys were hurt on your childhood friend’s behalf. It’s okay. I understand.”
“It is not okay.” Tears gather in her eyes as she grabs my hands in hers. “We were your only friends, but when it mattered the most, we let you down. I’m so sorry you had to deal with this whole mess on your own.”
I choke on my tears and squeeze her fingers in mine. “Thank you, Ces. You have no idea how much your words mean to me.”
“Whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”
“Does that mean I can text you sometimes?”
“Of course. Any time.”
I grin and remove my hand to dab at my cheeks. “How’s everyone back at REU?”
“Back to normal, I guess. Glyn is constantly being kidnapped by Kill as usual. Bran has been disappearing on us more often than not. Lan is Lan, always scheming some trouble. Eli is MIA. Remi keeps pestering Creigh to join his satanic endeavors. And Ava is miserable because she has no one who listens to her fashion talks anymore. She got drunk the other night and said she misses you.”
“I miss her, too.”
“Despite the show she put on at the hospital?”
“Yeah. I know she didn’t mean to. She was hurt and upset and she had every right to be. She’s always been close to Creighton’s mum, and Eli means something to her, despite her attempts to deny it. So her strong reaction makes sense and I don’t fault her for it. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you think there’s someone else you should apologize to? Such as the person who actually got shot?”
My heart jolts at the mere mention of him and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. “And what good would that do?”
“You never know until you try.”
“It’s over, Ces.”
“But—”
“I’m simply not dragging my family through the mud for this. My mom has been worried sick since this whole ordeal started and her insomnia kicked in again. I won’t be the reason behind the relapse of her mental health issues. I’d never forgive myself.”
“So you’ll just sacrifice yourself?”
“I’ll just do what I was supposed to all along. Marry into the mafia, make my parents happy, and that’s it.”
“What about you then?”
“Nothing good happened when I chose me.”
“Anni…”
“I’m barely hanging in there. I’m doing my best, okay? I’m trying to convince myself to keep going no matter how much I want to stop and let my head get the better of me. I’m really, really trying, so please don’t push me, Ces.”
“Okay.” She strokes my shoulder.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I won’t pretend to know what it feels like to be in your shoes right now.”
“Thanks.” I release a long breath, but it does nothing for the knots inside me. “Should we get something to eat?”
Cecily agrees and opts to try the street food experience. We have hot dogs and lots of unhealthy soda and then I drive her to the airport.
Despite my attempts to invite her to stay, she’s bent on leaving and says this was an impromptu visit anyway.
She came in a private jet, so I escort her all the way to the plane.
“Don’t they have a car that goes with one of these planes?” I ask as we walk to the stairs. “Not that I mind driving you.”
“Uh, I didn’t think to ask. First time flying solo, remember?” She smiles forcibly and I stop pushing.
She’s probably embarrassed or she could have a fear of flying.
“I guess this is me.” I stop at the foot of the stairs.
“No, come up with me. I still have time until departure.” She grins. “We can have a drink.”
“Papa won’t like that, despite my attempts to prove my Russian ancestry.”
“Oh, come on.” She grabs me by the elbow. “I’m sure he won’t find out about one drink.”
“You say that because you don’t know my father.” I let her lead me up the stairs anyway. “He could find a fly in the Atlantic Ocean if he puts his mind to it. Jer inherited that trait, you know, and sometimes, I feel left out of the cool Volkov club.”
Cecily stiffens and I pause in the middle of the stairs. “What’s up?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“You went all rigid at the mention of my father and brother. Considering you never met Papa, and all the strategic disappearing you do when my brother is around, I guess this is about Jer?”
“Nooo.” She laughs awkwardly.
“That didn’t sound convincing.”
“You know your brother is scary.”
“Didn’t scare you that time you defended me at the fight club.”
“Maybe I should’ve been scared,” she mutters under her breath.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She leads me up the stairs and we sit down opposite each other on the luxurious velvet seats.
A flight attendant brings us two flutes of champagne and we make a toast before we drink.
Or I drink.
Cecily watches me the whole time with a downward expression.
“This looks oddly familiar, as if I’m the one who’s going on a flight.” I grin, then pause. “Is it just me or do I sound drunk after just one glass of champagne?”
Cecily stands up. “I’ll be right back.”
I try to follow her with my gaze but even my body feels drunk.
Papa will kill me.
Unless I convince Mom and Yan to smuggle me inside.
I stand up and the plane sways off its axis.
Shit.
I’m thrown backward and I hit a wall.
No. Not a wall. Muscles.
A very familiar scent fills my nostrils, confiscates my breathing, and leaves me floundering and gasping for air. My body heats and my heartbeat picks up in recognition of this touch.
The same touch I fell asleep with countless of times.
I think I’m dreaming. Again.
Like those tortuous nights where I imagine myself snuggled in these solid arms. Where everything is back to before my world was ruined.
But his deep, rich voice sounds absolutely real when he whispers, “Did you think it was over, little purple?”
Yes, I want to say, but my tongue is too heavy. Too big. Too unnatural.
My words die in my throat as my vision goes black.
