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SEVENTEEN: The Wedding
publish date:
2025-04-27 18:49:03
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Her Neglected Scars FORTY-ONE: Sofia
I stand on the toilet seat with my back against the cubicle wall and I listen to every single word and I do not make a sound.The worst part . . .The part that hollows me out completely, that takes the last thing I was holding onto and pulls it clean out of my chest . . .Is that I cannot find the place in myself to argue with it.I am too tired. I have been too tired for so long. And Irina is saying out loud, in this marble bathroom, in this warm and reasonable and devastated voice, exactly what my own head has been telling me since I was fifteen years old standing in front of a different mirror in a different house trying to breathe through a different kind of panic.You are your father’s weapon.Whatever you build is performance.The scars are the truest thing about you and everyone who matters has now seen them and understood.I stay on the toilet seat until the heels click out. Until the door swings shut. Until the bathroom goes so quiet I can hear the faint sound of the estate
Her Neglected Scars FORTY: She Planned It
I say sorry.That’s the first thing I do. The words come out before my brain even catches up. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry,” and I’m already moving, already pulling my dress back into place with fingers that are completely, totally steady, because they have to be. Because the alternative is letting this room see what it’s already seen and I absolutely refuse to give it anything more.I smile at Galina. I thank her. I tell her I’ll send the measurements through Carlos.My voice sounds remarkably normal. I’m almost impressed by myself.I don’t look at the aunts. I don’t look at Irina, whose hands have fallen away from my back and who is making a sound somewhere between a gasp and an apology that I cannot afford to hear right now. I pull my cardigan back up over my shoulders, smooth it down, and I walk toward the door.Past the settees.Past Galina with her pins and her tape measure and her professional face that has gone completely, eerily blank.Past the aunts, frozen with their te
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-NINE: Galina, The Seamstress
The thing about almost-things is that they’re worse than nothing.Nothing, you can handle. Nothing is familiar. Nothing is just Tuesday in the Morozov estate, same as every other Tuesday—cold floors, colder people, and me pretending I don’t notice either. But almost-things? Almost-things leave a residue. A warmth you didn’t ask for that sits under your skin like a low fever, and you wake up the next morning and catch yourself smiling at the ceiling before your brain fully boots up and screams at you to stop that immediately.I stop that immediately.I stare at the ceiling for exactly three more seconds, then I get up, wash my face with water cold enough to qualify as psychological warfare, and give myself a very firm talking-to in the mirror. “Last night was a carnival,” I tell my reflection. Cotton candy and a rusty rollercoaster and a child who needed someone. That’s all it was. You grabbed his shirt on a ride. You stood next to him in the dark. People do that. “People do that a
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-EIGHT: Come With Me
The fireworks are still cracking open the sky.But the warmth from earlier— that stupid, fragile, almost-thing— is already bleeding out.Irene stumbles toward us like a wounded dove who somehow managed to touch up her mascara on the way over. Her phone clutched to her chest. Eyes wide and glassy and aimed directly at Konstantin like he’s the only lighthouse left in a storm she personally orchestrated.“I was feeling so much better,” she breathes, voice catching in all the right places. “And I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it soft. Helpless. The kind of helpless that takes practice.My chest tightens. Not from jealousy— I refuse to call it that— but from the sheer mechanical precision of it. The timing. The wobble in her lip. The way her hand finds Konstantin’s arm like it belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she’s just so relieved.Konstantin says nothing.He doesn’t pull away either.I feel the shift immediately. The temperature of the whole ev
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SEVEN: Ugly Caricatures
The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling so much better . . . and I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it softly, a small smile, big eyes. Straight to Konstantin as her life support. Leonid stiffens at my side. I feel his little hand tighten around mine. Not Konstantin’s.Mine.He glares at her like a pissed-off cat. “I thought you were dying earlier.”I nearly choke on a laugh, but bite it back. Irene laughs it off. A breathy, helpless thing. “I just needed rest . . . but I didn’t want to miss out. We’re family, right?”Sure. Family.The kind that poisons your tea and smiles while you drink it.Konstantin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. Which is worse, somehow.Because Irene takes that as a yes and latches on
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SIX: Carnival Rides
The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr
Her Neglected Scars FOURTEEN: The Car Empty of the Devil
The drive to the party was silent. The doorman sat right beside the driver, who was also silently managing the wheel. There was the beautiful bouquet and the smell of expensive wine that’s supposed to be shared by the two engaged people—who, by the way, doesn’t have the balls to show up to me right
Her Neglected Scars THIRTEEN: Engagement Parties and Severed Hands
Sage green eyes, black wavy hair, pale, unstained skin—at least to naked eyes, and a body to die for wrapped in a red, tube neckline satin gown which flows down perfectly on the floor, its tall, one-legged slit rides its way up its thighs. She’s staring back at me in the mirror with anxiety bubblin
Her Neglected Scars TEN: Playing With Fire
“Because I wanted to see how hot my soon-to-be husband is! There, satisfied?!” I instantly closed my mouth as quickly as I opened them to throw out those stupid words. Konstantin’s gaze flickered with surprise, quickly replaced by an icy, calculated glare.Without another word, the gun halted on my
Her Neglected Scars NINE: To See . . . My Husband?
So this is what I get for thinking that my good intentions would outweigh my terrible decision-making skills—ending up in a perverted stranger’s hands.Fuck.If I knew this blonde motherfucker had only helped me to satisfy his blue balls, I would have stayed seated on top of Konstantin’s lap.He wa
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