Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
We needed space. I needed to regroup. And I knew I didn't have the tools other people had. I often missed social cues, didn’t understand emotion the way others seemed to, and when my world felt like it was crumbling because something changed, people didn’t understand that it felt like the plates of the earth shifted, causing my own personal earthquake.
They never understood. When my world was predictable and ordered, the chatter in my head died down.
Here, by the creek, it was quiet. This was where Anya and Eli were my friends, where I could tell them the truth. Where I could be a kid for once.
But it wasn't anymore. That ended the day my parents died.
I heard soft sniffles behind me.
When I turned, I spotted her right away—a tiny, gangly thing with wild hair and eyes that looked even bigger when she was crying. Anya. Eli’s baby sister and my friend. She was sitting on the ground, and she hadn’t seen me yet, as she hugged her knees to her chest. Eli was supposed to be with her.
“Anya, what are you doing out here?”
My voice was gruffer than I intended. She looked up sharply, sniffled, and muttered something I couldn't hear. I sighed, walking over to crouch in front of her. Emotions were always a challenge for me to figure out, and it was even more complicated when it came to girls.
“Anya, what's wrong?” I asked, trying to soften my tone, though that wasn’t something I was very good at doing.
Finally, she raised her head, her tear-streaked face meeting mine with frustration. “Eli said he’d meet me here. He said he was going to teach me how to skip rocks.”
Even though I couldn't read people very well, I knew she was lying. Somebody had done something or said something—this wasn’t about skipping rocks. “I don't think this is really about skipping rocks, is it?”
She stared at me, and her eyes skated down to my neck, where my first tattoo showed. Something shifted in her expression—recognition, maybe.
“Anyway,” I continued, pushing past the tension. “You don’t need Eli for that.”
She blinked at me, her tears slowing. “I don’t?”
“Of course not.” I stood up, scanning the bank until I found a few flat stones, then held one out to her. “You just need this—and a little practice.”
She hesitated before reaching for the rock, her small hand brushing against mine. “How do I do it?”
“Come here,” I said, gesturing to the water. My voice was rough, but I softened it as much as I could. I didn’t have time for this—Rafail wouldn’t like me wasting time here.
But I wanted to show her.
She scrambled to her feet, her too-big shoes slipping on the wet grass. I crouched low, showing her how to angle her arm and release the stone just right. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent it skipping across the surface—once, twice, three times before it sank into the depths.
“Wow,” she whispered, her mouth hanging open.
“Your turn,” I said, stepping back to give her space.
She tried to imitate my movements, frowning in concentration, but her first throw landed with a heavy splash. No skips.
“Not like that,” I said, smirking. “You have to flick it just right. It should hit the surface lightly enough to skip again, not sink.”
And she did it. Over and over and over again, she tried, stubborn as ever, until finally, one of her rocks skipped once. She leaped into the air, her laugh bright and unrestrained. It was beautiful. Priceless. I wished I could capture that sound and replay it when the noise in my head got too loud.
“Did you see that?” she said, turning to me, her eyes lit up. For one second, she looked older than her years.
And for one second, I forgot the noise in my head. The only voice was… hers. “Not bad,” I said, allowing myself a small smile.
She was tougher than she looked. She picked up another rock and skipped it again. And then another.
“I wasn’t crying because of Eli,” she admitted after a while.
“I know.”
I didn’t meet her eyes as I picked up more flat rocks and held them in the palm of my hand. I had figured out that people didn’t like it when they were being vulnerable and you looked them in the eyes.
“You prepared to tell me what it was?”
She took a sharp breath, then looked at me. “What would you do if I told you the truth?”
What would I do? What a strange question. “Listen,” I said, confused.
“No—” She looked away. “You’re too protective sometimes. People are afraid of you, Semyon.”
Good. People should be. I was fucking Bratva, coming into my own.
But I needed to know.
“Are you?” I asked, my voice low.
She shook her head with wide eyes. “Afraid of you?”
I swallowed, unsure if I really wanted to hear her answer.