Free Russian Tattoos Obsession by Kat Shehata Page A

in my throat; I squeezed my elbows against my ribs.
    He lifted my chin. “He confided in me about your problem .”
    There. A kill shot to the head. Dad had told him what happened to Sophia. In sixth grade, I had gotten slapped with a detention for talking in class. I didn’t want to get into trouble, so I begged Sophia to pick me up so Dad wouldn’t find out.
    Icy rain fell from the November sky and the temperature had dropped below freezing, but Sophia promised she would hurry so we would get back before Dad got home from work. Soaking wet, shivering, and chilled to the bone, I waited and waited and waited…
    I covered my ears when a line of fire engines and police cars and ambulances raced past the school and shielded my nose and mouth from the noxious odor of burnt rubber and scorched metal that hung in the air. It wasn’t until later I realized where the fire was coming from—and what had been burning.
    On her way to pick me up, Sophia skidded off the road and slammed into a tree, which caused her car to burst into flames. She had survived the initial impact. It was the fire that killed her; she had been burned alive. The accident happened so close to the school, I could smell the wreckage.
    My problem, according to my shrink, stemmed from the guilt over my sister’s accident. My doctor labeled the stupid things I do ‘self-destructive,’ and tells my dad I feel unloved, so he’ll keep writing her checks. I do have self-esteem issues, and I do lose my appetite when I’m depressed. But I’m not punishing myself. That was a load of crap.
    “I miss Sophia too. Every single day. How can you possibly feel responsible for her death? It wasn’t your fault, Carter. You’re a perfect, beautiful soul.” He rested my head on his shoulder. “Your papa said you were hospitalized after the accident. You didn’t speak, didn’t eat.” My tears spilled free and dripped on his dark gray suit. He squeezed me tighter. “ Moy slomannyy angel , what can I do to make this right?”
    “Nothing. It’s no big deal. Don’t listen to Dad. He exaggerates everything. I need to finish dinner.” The thought of Dad and Vladimir sitting at work and talking about me behind my back made want to scream. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me go.
    “I want to take you out. Let’s get you cleaned up. We’ll go someplace nice.”
    “Dinner is ready.” I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred the chili.
    Vladimir put his hand on top of mine, scooped up a bite, and gave it a taste. He pursed his lips. “It’s awful, angel.”
    I laughed, surprised by his candor. It did kind of smell like the inside of my tennis bag.
    “There’s your beautiful smile.” He picked up my hands and lifted them to his heart. “For me, let me take you out to a nice dinner?”
    Awesome. Call me a whore, point out you know my darkest secret, and then make everything better by buying me dinner.
    “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I didn’t bring anything to change into today.”
    He held out my arms and examined my hideous green and yellow tracksuit. “Hmm, I might have something for you to wear.” He put his hands on my shoulders and steered me out of the kitchen. He turned me around in front of the guest bedroom. “As I said, I couldn’t think of anything but you all weekend. I told Boris to pick you up so I could see you, but as my sovietnik he refused.”
    I wrinkled my forehead.
    “I had to keep myself busy.” He opened the door, put his hand on the small of my back, and led me around the corner to a walk-in closet. On the floor, there were boxes upon boxes of fancy shoes, expensive purses filled the cubbies, and gorgeous designer dresses lined the walls.
    All that stuff must have cost a duffel bag. I had to think of the best way to respond. I needed to turn this around. I felt much safer around Nice Boss than I did around the devil-eyed pakhan .
    “What do you think, angel? Can you find a dress to wear tonight?”
    Game Plan