S E V E N T E E N

~ ANASTATIA ~

I don't wish anyone close to me to be involved in a teaching profession because the way I've cussed Prof. Saunders today needs to be checked.

I force on another smile, waiting impatiently for the zoom meeting to end so I can go rest my hot head in a refrigerator or move to fucking Antarctica or something.

Okay okay, that's an exaggeration.

Heaven finally hears my voice when she gives her closing speech which I wasn't even really listening to. My ears perk up, watching as her lips move, her glasses resting as the bridge of her nose.

“Meet me in my office tomorrow, Zhukov. I can't cover everything online.”

Liar.

But I nod, forcing on a smile as she cuts the call.

“You abso-fucking-lutely can gosh!” I scream, pushing my Mac away and throwing the pillows everywhere. Looks like my mafia princess privilege got nothing on the old woman. But well, if she focuses on giving me too many online classes without me physically attending her class, it will bring me to the spotlight, one that I don't want.

I let out a frustrated sigh as I throw the covers off me and climb out of the bed. I bend, picking the pillows one after the other when the door slams open.

Damien didn't even knock and I'd to hold myself back from asking if he wasn't taught any manners or he was just the one that refused to receive the one imparted on him.

But wait, he isn't talking to me?

“Hey!” I call, dumping the pillow on the bed.

He only spares me a glance before pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the bathroom.

Fuck me sideways. He ignored me? Omfg.

I stifle my complaints as I arranged the bed I'd scattered. I watch as he steps out of the bathroom and disappears into the closet. Then, he comes out wearing gray sweatpants and a lose shirt before stepping out of the room and slamming the door close.

Okay.

I push Damien to the back of my mind and I arrange the bed. I don't need to be told or reminded of the academic danger I'm in. Sleeping is not an option. An all nighter is a must tonight. I didn't get this far just to give up.

As soon as I finish with the bed, I step out of the room. Pumping my system with coffee will surely do me good by making me stay lucid throughout the night. I sigh, already stressing about the stress.

And yes, I stress about stress before there's even stress to stress about.

Damien was sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on the T.V. I watch him as I walk towards the coffee machine.

Is he going insane? The T.V is not even on but why's he staring at it like that?

After making myself a steaming hot extra cubes of sugar coffee, I walk towards him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He spares me a glance before shifting his gaze back to the T.V, his fingers interlocked between his thighs. “Do I look like I'm not?”

I sit opposite him, silently sipping my coffee, eyes on him.

Brooding Damien is… scary.

“What's wrong with you?” I ask again after some minutes.

“I said nothing.” He says standing up.

I stand up too and approach him. He glares down at me from over his nose.

“Out of my way Anastatia.” He orders and I sidestep.

I stare at his back until he disappears into the corridor followed by the sound of the door shutting close.

No, I'm not hurt. I'm not…

This is just me heart thudding painfully.

I should be relieved, shouldn't I? But I'm not.

This is a first. Damien always acts like the weapon fashioned against me. I guess I've grown too used to that that this just… feels strange and out of place.

A little part of me is relieved but the other part? The other traitorous part? It wants fiend-from-hell Damien back

And tonight, I'm not giving up. He can't just annoy me and suddenly come back one day and decide not to anymore. I empty my cup by gulping my coffee down my throat and I rinse it.

Then, I pack the pillows I always use for sleeping and move back to the room. I slam the door close, eyes searching for the fucker.

He's standing before the floor to ceiling windows, his hands in his pocket, his eyes fixed on the bustling city below us.

“Which side do you always sleep on?” I ask, my voice loud.

But he says nothing.

I huff before moving to the right and setting my pillow.

Happy fucking married life.

~ DAMIEN ~

When I was finally able to escape the sleep paralysis, I was drenched in sweat.

The nightmare feel so… surreal.

It'd been ages since I last had one.

And no, I don't think this is a nightmare. I believe it's part of the memories I'd lost in the accident, the one Vittorio talked about.

And the narrator of the dream?

Father.

I don't like his voice.

I spared Anastasia a glance; She's sleeping with the bedside lamp on and she looks like just a little push would tip her off the edge to the floor.

I remember everything now.

And when I say everything, I mean everything. From the moment when kutzenov’s men took us, when her mother came to the dungeon we were locked in, when Vittorio was mistaken for the real heir due to how similar we looked, when I was released and almost blinded with light, when father stationed most of his guards near me worsening my social anxiety for years, the entire mission to make her reflection’s life miserable, Vittorio suddenly getting a tattoo after coming back, the escape from the guards which led to the accident.

Everything.

I remember everything.

And there it is.

The hatred from the first year of highschool which marked the beginning and the end of the bullying session before I had an accident at fifteen.

Just good. Very good.

She's really boogie's daughter.

And yes, Vittorio and I named her boogie when we were locked in the dark dungeon. We were not scared of the dark because father taught us not to be scared of dark places, but hunger?

I was starved for hours and Vittorio… I can't even start thinking about how much the poor boy had suffered. If I were him, I would hate her too. But…

It's conflicting.

I want to choke her to death and fuck her at the same time.

Like dying with her legs wide open for me, performing her marital duties.

This is strange.

Is someone supposed to feel hatred and lust… yes, it's lust… for the same person?

The line is blurring.

Maybe one day, the hatred will wane leaving just the lust and the pact between the Zhukov and Vicenzo would be brought to fruition.

Maybe one day I would be bored of her smart mouth and I wouldn't get the urge to put my bullet in her skull or throat and watch her choke on her own blood even though it always feels like her smart mouth was always clawing at my walls.

But the thing about maybes? They are useless.