His Wicked Heart

Chapter Thirty-Five

sabaism
(n.) the worship of stars

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PRESENT

GENEVIEVE

Opening the car door, I stepped out, willing my feet to maintain their balance. The sadness I had been feeling was gradually getting replaced by a growing inner heartache with each passing second.

I never paid much attention to what people thought of me; it neither concerned nor bothered me. However, Aleksandr, the man I trusted my life with, had somehow ended up misunderstanding me.

And I couldn't summon the verbal courage to clear things up with him. I had never felt more helpless, never felt more cowardly.

My hair was tousled, but I couldn't care less as I crossed the yard of my house, heading towards the door. As I unlocked it and was about to turn the knob, a hand grasped mine, halting my movements.

I looked up to find him standing behind me, his emerald-green eyes reflecting confusion. "What's wrong?" Aleksandr asked, almost to himself, as if it was him who had done something wrong.

I shook my head, drained of the energy to speak at this moment. However, I managed to say, "Nothing. Goodnight," just to avoid further misconceptions.

I tried to withdraw my hand from his grasp, but it was in vain. He continued to look at me with a peculiar expression, neither speaking nor doing anything. "There can't be nothing wrong, dorogaya. You've suddenly stopped talking and left the car."

"Just because I'm not speaking or left the car without saying anything doesn't mean something is wrong, Aleksandr. Get over it, for God's sake."

It was too late for me to realize that I had snapped at him. With wide eyes, I looked at Aleksandr, expecting him to be agitated, fear crawled inside me at the feeling that he might turn his back on me and leave me here forever.

Oh, no.

I couldn't lose him.

A gasp escaped my mouth when I found myself unable to utter words. "I-" Just as panic surged through my gut, rendering me numb, I felt myself being enveloped in a warm embrace.

Oh, how I always managed to have the most gravest misconceptions about this man.

In the arms of Aleksandr. I felt endearment there, I felt melancholy.

And I felt home.

"Don't talk to me like that, dorogaya," His whisper as always felt like a touch of gentleness. "Please."

At that moment, at this very moment, I realized that this man, who could make all of Moscow tremble beneath his feet, could beg me as well. He had a wicked heart, still however, it was a heart, and it was still beating frantically in his chest. This man wasn't heartless, and I could feel him feeling.

"I didn't leave you because I got bored or something, Ale," I began, pulling away from his embrace but remaining close, as I had a sudden undying urge to feel his warmth. "I never left you on purpose."

"Then why?" His question came immediately. "Why did you leave? What stopped you from staying, Genevieve?"

That was the hardest part of this question, but I had to answer anyway. I had to remove this blanket of unease and uncertainty, and reveal myself entirely to him if I wanted us.

But... what should I say?

"Say something, dorogaya. Because if you don't..."