Dima
Bozhe moi, this pain in my chest. The moment Natasha drives away, I register it like a goddamn heart attack. She’s leaving.
She left.
Even though our end was inevitable, even though I was pushing for it, I’m suddenly blinded by guilt. By sorrow.
I hurt Natasha. That much is unforgivable. I shut myself off from her until she finally gave up on me.
What the f**k is wrong with me?
Didn’t I want her to give up? Wasn’t that the point of refusing to tell her about Alyona? About repeatedly telling her I wasn’t for her—that I wasn’t available?
Why, then, does it feel like I just made the biggest mistake of my life?
I move through the cabin like an apparition, barely aware of my surroundings, or what needs to be done.
Vaguely, I realize I need to arrange a pick-up because Nikolai and
