I nod and burrow my face against his neck, just below the tattoo of the bloody dagger. I breathe in his scent and wonder why I cannot be just happy and perfectly content that we are together and life is wonderful. I wonder that I cannot let things go.
“Because you have a big heart full of love, Daisy,” Nick says, smoothing my hair, and I realize I have said these things aloud. “You worry over Christine.”
I do. She didn’t go to class last week. I keep detailed notes in case she needs to copy them, but if she doesn’t show up, what can I do? How can I help her if she hides away from me?
My concern for Christine also hides the fact that I’m even more concerned for Nick. He has police sniffing around him, and even though he says he is not in danger, I worry that Nick is wrong. Nick knows many ways to kill a man, but in some aspects, he is as naïve about people as I am. I still remember how poorly we fit in at our party. There are things Nick thinks he knows and has no clue about, and I pray that this police officer is not one of them.
“Shall we bring cookies to your father and his dog?”
“Not today,” I say. My agitation over Christine has spilled over to my father. I can’t see him, not when I’m upset over Christine’s situation. I might say things I regret. I love my father, I do. I love him more now that I am free from his controlling hand and have distance. Christine and Saul just remind me of the situation I was desperate to escape for so very long. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper against his neck, my lips moving against his warm, wonderful skin. “Please, let’s just go do something, just the two of us for a night, Kolya. I don’t want to think about Christine, or school, or my father. I just want to think about you and me and how happy we are.”
“Then let me take you out,” he tells me, his hand clasping mine and linking our fingers together. “We shall go to a fine restaurant and drink good wine and eat overpriced food. I will let all the other men see the beautiful woman I am with and they cannot have. They will all be terribly jealous, and then after I have paraded you in front of others, I will take you home and we will make love for hours.”
I giggle, feeling a little better. “You’re so dramatic, Nick.”
“Ah, but it makes you smile,” he tells me. “And for that, it is worth it.”
***
The next morning, I wake up with a bit of a wine hangover, a soreness between my legs from our vigorous drunken lovemaking, and a better mood. Nick and I had such fun last night, and even though we spent a fortune on overpriced food and drink, it allowed me to forget things for a few hours.
I truly do have the most wonderful man. I tell him this as I shower his face with kisses, and then head to the kitchen to make him breakfast. We kiss and cuddle for a bit, eat, and then head out, hands linked, for classes.
My good mood continues through my Financial Management class, even though the workload is dry and boring. I’m humming to myself as I enter the commons for lunch, not expecting to see Christine. I’m anticipating a quiet study time and nibbling on a few of the endless cookies filling my kitchen at home.
But Christine’s there. Excited, I approach the table, happy to see her. She reaches for something on the table as I walk, and I realize her arm is moving awkwardly. As I get closer, I see the dark blue covering her arm isn’t a sleeve, but a cast.
My fury and helplessness explode in my mind again. If I had Nick’s gun right now . . .
I picture Sergei’s head splattering on the plastic sheeting. I picture the surprised look on his face, and then the way his forehead seems to cave in right down the center, turning into raw meat.
I’ve killed before. It’s not pretty, and it’s not an answer. I force myself to calm down. I like Christine, but I can’t kill for her. I’d only kill again to save my Nick; for him, I’d do anything.
For Christine, though, I can be pushy and interfering.
So I sit down next to her at the table. I don’t even bother unpacking my books. I just clasp my hands in my lap, look at her, and wait.
Her frightened, unhappy gaze meets mine, and I try to ignore the scratch across one of her cheeks, the new bruising around her throat.
Instead, I nod at her arm. “Fall down again?”
Christine’s lip trembles, and she tucks her cast close against her chest. “Daisy . . .”
“Don’t explain,” I tell her. “I’m your friend, Christine. I care about what happens to you, and I don’t like seeing you in this situation.”
“You just don’t understand,” she says, her voice whisper soft. “I love him.”
“I do understand. I was once in a position like you,” I tell her. I make my voice gentle even though I want to scream at her, shake the sense into her head that she so desperately needs. “My father controlled every aspect of my life. What I wore, what I watched on TV, what I read. I wasn’t allowed to be my own person. I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without his permission, and that was only for things like grocery shopping. If I stayed out too late, he’d rage at me. He slapped me once, too. And even though I loved him, I dreamed every day of escaping.”