Ruthless Saint

XXXVII

MIKA MALIKOV

        I didn't cry until the door shut behind me. I stood there on the front steps of our home, keys clenched in my palm so tight the ridges dug into my skin. I waited for the sound of the engine pulling away, but it never came.

        Mischa stayed in the car, probably texting someone — or maybe just sitting there, brooding like always. Like nothing happened. Like I hadn't just begged for scraps of his affection in that suffocating silence.

        He never came inside.

        That told me everything.

        I walked inside alone, feet echoing on the marble floors. The silence was heavy, oppressive. Every corner of this place reminded me of him — his cologne in the hallway, the suit jacket still hanging by the stairs, the damn ribbon he tied into my braid sitting on the kitchen counter.

        I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to catch my breath.

        Then I stood up and started to pack.

        Not much. Just what mattered. A few clothes. My favorite sweater. The chain he gave me. My ribbons. My journals, my favorite heels and the telenovela DVDs.

        I didn't know where I was going, only that I couldn't be here when he decided I was convenient again to be around. I couldn't wait around for him to kiss me in the dark and shut me out in the light.

        I was tired of being his halfway thing.

        My wedding ring sat on the vanity, and I stared at it mindlessly.

        Then I shoved it back into the box.

        Kolya didn't ask questions when I found him outside the gate. He didn't even look surprised.

        "I need to go," I said quietly.

        He nodded once, slow and understanding. "Where to?"

        "Somewhere quiet."

        "New York?"

        I paused. I was a little shocked he was entertaining the idea of me traveling anywhere without the permission of his boss but then again, I couldn't find it in myself to care.

        I shot him a shaky smile and nodded.

        He opened the car door without a word.

        We drove in silence most of the way to the airport. I turned my phone off as we passed the highway signs. I wasn't ready for the missed calls. The angry texts. Or worse — nothing at all.

        Maybe he wouldn't even notice I was gone.

        That thought burned and stung more than I expected. My heart felt like a balloon that had been popped, deflated and empty.

        At the gate, Kolya looked at me with something I couldn't place. Regret? Sadness?

        "You love him," he said quietly. "The Boss?"

        I blinked, my lips quivering. "Yeah," I said. "That's the problem."

        Then I turned around and walked through the terminal.

        I didn't look back. Besides, what else was left to salvage?

        The cab ride through New York was jarring after Moscow. The chaos, the noise, the freedom.