The Sinner's Saint

IT'S JUST... BAD

Middle of September

It's Sunday, the day of Santiago's birthday party, and I'm already fucking over it before it even starts. Sundays are supposed to be my rest days. Instead, I've been on the go since the ass crack of dawn.

From 5-9 was meetings and errands, then from 9-12, I was at the event centre with the guys making sure everything was perfect for Emine's eyes and for this surprise party that, by the way, is not even a surprise anymore since it got postponed and Santiago found out and now has about a bajillion people coming. No pressure. I genuinely don't see the point of us being there when there are people who literally do this for a living, but okay.

Then, from 12-4, I was stuck trailing behind Nessa through store after store, appointment after appointment until we were finally good to go.

We found a dress too. Except now that I'm staring at it laid out on the bed and I don't even know if I like it anymore.

"You might burn holes through it staring like that," Nessa teases, arranging our makeup in order on the vanity, weirdo.

"Maybe that's what it deserves," I mutter, sinking deeper into my chair.

The truth is, it's not about the dress. My mood's been trash since after the kiss, ever since Aleksei flipped this weird switch and started acting brand new out of nowhere.

It started last Saturday, no warning, no fight, nothing. Just cold. And not his regular "I'm busy" or "I hate you" cold either, this is different. This is dismissive. His replies are clipped and sharp like he's daring me to say something back, or not there at all. Little comments that sting just enough. That flat stare he usually saves for people he doesn't respect, except now it's aimed at me.
I hate it.

I hate how embarrassed it makes me feel.
I hate how insecure it's got me, and
I hate that deep down I probably deserve it.

Because I did the same thing to him. I iced him out like it was nothing, and I remember his face when I did it, that hurt and quiet frustration he never put into words, and now here I am getting a full taste of my own medicine and it is bitter as fuck.

I'm not used to him being so... Spiteful. Lev's a lot of things, intense, complicated, annoyingly unreadable, but he's never cruel, not to me And suddenly, I'm the one on the receiving end of this cold war I started,

The difference is I'm also still mad about what he did. If anything part of me is angrier that he's acting like this after what he pulled. We never even got to the café to talk it out because neither of us had the time and now we're just here.

"Is it that bad?" Nessa glances at the dress as if it said something to her. I shrug, sniffing.

"It's not bad. It's just... bad." Nothing feels right. My hair isn't done, I don't know what I want for makeup, the dress feels like a mistake, and none of it is actually about any of that.

"It's not the dress, is it?" Her voice softens. She doesn't even wait for an answer before she pulls me in and that's all it takes. The tears start and I try to keep it quiet and fail. I hate being angry and sad and hungry all at the same time. It's too many things, just issue over issue.

What if Lev looks at me tonight like I'm pathetic? He's never done that, never even come close, but I can't stop the spiral. What if my makeup creases or smears, what if my hair shifts or comes loose, what if - actually you know what, I want my hair down. I've decided.

And underneath all of it, the thing that keeps hitting harder than everything else is: I miss him. I miss how he is with me when he's freely himself. The way he makes me feel like I'm not just... Replaceable. And now I'm sitting here crying over a dress while he's out there proving I'm just as easy to freeze out as I made him feel. I shouldn't even go. It's not worth it.