M For Moscow

21 | one perfect hug

"Luka." I whispered, breathless.

He stood in the doorway, like he did when we first met. Head against the wood, eyes glued to mine, hands shoved deep in his pocket like he was holding onto a box that he wanted so badly to hide. Only this time, it was the other way around; he was on the inside and I was on the outside.

Still, he looked as charming as ever. With damp hair that was recently wrung through a towel, clear skin I was always jealous of, Luka was a page out of every Moscow male magazine. And the best part?

He didn't even try.

"Hey." he greeted me in a quiet voice, making me absentmindedly gulp down.

Even with my acclaimed fame as Karina's latest play doll, he still had the power to make me weak. To return me back to who I was before. But a part of me became stronger since the move. Stronger and wiser, definitely wise enough to not ask if I could come in without giving an explanation.

"I'm sorry I lied about... my name. It was a really horrible thing to do, especially to you. Frankly, I have no idea why I kept with the act when I had told you everything else...." I trailed off, suddenly finding a curious interest at the odd colours I chose for this month's toes. "It was just, when you sprung the whole Sakhalin trip on me, I freaked and told you the truth in the worst possible way. I should've down-played it. Maybe even serenade it? I—"

His finger flew to my lips, causing my eyes to shoot back up to his. They peered curiously at me, studying every emotion written on my face, every speck of lying piece of dirt on my cheeks, before opening his mouth.

"You think I'm mad because of the way you admitted it? I mean, yeah, a heads-up earlier than an hour before meeting your mum would be great — but that's not the issue."

"Then what is?" I asked, cocking my head to the side.

I regretted asking the question after when Luka's eyes turned an icy blue. He sucked in a deep breath and let it whistle out. All the while staring at me.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I played dumb.

"Why did you lie?"

I could see the anger in his eyes. They were clearer than mine. Between the pinched perfect eyebrows, wrinkled nose and overall pale complex, it didn't take an idiot like me to realise that this couldn't go on for any longer.

I had to come clean.

"I didn't like who I was." I whispered, feeling the colour drain from my face as the newfound vulnerability hit me like a full-force brick.

"What?" he questioned, rhetorically.

And yet, I answered anyway because in the heat of the moment, the tears started running down my make-up ruined face and there was no stopping the vomit of words that came after.

"I didn't like who I was! I-I was a loser, a church girl. A nobody in the background. I wasn't a Moscow girl. I couldn't speak in sexy tongue, couldn't dance my way into any bar. My fashion sense was a-a garbage bag for a shirt and jeans from a deli!" I paused to compose myself. "I didn't like who I was, Luka. I didn't like Anya. She was a small girl with no power, no freedom and absolutely no clue of where she was going in life. So, I created her. An intelligent, beautiful woman that was going to rule the runway by day and clubs by night. Moscow was my chance at a new life, a chance at something — someone different."

Something inside compelled me to pull his hand from his pocket and lace his fingers with mine.

"I'm not going to apologise for changing my name. All I'm going to apologise for is not telling you the truth when I owed it to you."