Fallen Stars and Broken Dreams (Rising from Ruin Book 1) Page 2
Sergei’s men trailed behind him, and I shivered as Ivan passed by me last. He had a large, ornate knife he tucked under his belt, and he fondly caressed it before tugging his jacket back in place to hide it. Creepy.
All four men had slight bulges in their coats that could only indicate weapons – these men were dangerous. I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and never see any of them again. While the Italian Mafia might kill a man and send flowers to his wife the next day, the Russians would kill you, your spouse, your children, grandparents, and neighbors. They were brutal and didn’t hesitate to eliminate threats immediately.
I kept my posture stiff as I walked back over to Ryan and his parents. I didn’t look back at my newfound ‘family.’ Human trafficking and forced prostitution were a part of the Bratva’s sources of income. While Sergei might claim to be family, I wouldn’t trust him to have any real loyalty to me. I planned on staying very far from him. It made me worry just how much he knew about me and how little I knew about him. However, the best thing I could do was get far away from him and forget we ever met.
Ryan gave me a kiss on the forehead before he helped me into the back of the car, which helped to remind me that I wasn’t really alone. Ryan and I weren’t related by blood, but we were family. I’d rather have Ryan and his loving parents over a Russian mobster who claimed to be related to me by blood. Sergei probably wouldn’t hesitate to sell me if the price was right.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat, trying to close the door to the maelstrom of emotions that I had unwittingly released. I needed to stuff down all of my crazy so that I could keep going and live my life, just like Babulya would have wanted me to.
I kept my eyes closed for the majority of the ride, and not even the blaring horns, shouts of angry drivers, or the cacophony of roadwork machinery could reach the deep place in my mind that I had gone to. The only thing that broke through my concentration was Ryan’s voice.
“KitKat? We’re home. Dad is going to let us out here so he can return the car.”
I opened my eyes to see Ryan peering at me, trying to pretend that he wasn’t evaluating me for insanity.
I gave him a weak smile to try to ease his mind.
“I’m okay,” I said quietly. “I think I just need some sleep.”
Ryan nodded and helped me up the stairs, and then into his room where I collapsed in the bed. He climbed in right after me, pulled the covers over both of us, and snuggled up to me. Knowing that I was safe in his arms, I sunk down into the darkness that had been waiting to swallow me whole.
Chapter 2
Katya
I slumped down on the seat next to Ryan, and we leaned up against each other to get as comfortable as we could on the subway. My entire body hurt. We were only a couple of months from our performance season, so in addition to all of our classes, we had been doing extra rehearsals to prepare. Every muscle in my body was aching, and my feet were a mess. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could slather myself with icy hot and dunk my feet in a bucket of ice water.
It was getting late on a Friday evening, so the crowd of commuters on the subway had thinned out. New York was always full of interesting people, but the subway on Friday and Saturday nights had some really unique characters. I ignored the group of college girls squealing in excitement over some bar they were headed to and rested my head on Ryan’s shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief when the annoying girls got off, but that’s when I noticed the guy again.
I gave Ryan a nudge to get his attention, but he just grunted and didn’t bother to open his eyes. We always had to be aware of the people around us in the city, but I started watching even more closely after my interaction with Sergei in the cemetery. I cataloged every person we passed, and I was paranoid that someone was after me.
Why was I focused on this particular guy? We saw him far too often. He usually had his head in a book and rarely glanced over at us, but I always had this feeling that he was listening and watching us. I couldn’t say how I knew he was spying on Ryan and me, but I just knew. It was the same way you could feel someone staring at you, even if you had your back to them.
Our stalker flipped the page to his book, and I watched him through narrowed eyes. Ryan and I stayed at school later and later each day, yet somehow this guy always managed to get in our car within a few minutes of us.
Coincidence? Maybe, but I didn’t buy it.
The stranger glanced up and met my eyes. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t drag my eyes off him. If this guy was sent by the Bratva to spy on me, I didn’t want to clue him into the fact that I knew. That might make them act faster on whatever it was that they had planned for me. And yet, I couldn’t force myself to lower my eyes and be a polite little ballerina – I hated not knowing.
I gave the man a tight smile. “What are you reading?”
He cocked his head at me as if he was considering whether he should answer or just ignore me. Finally, he flashed me a smile.
“Tolstoy,” he answered. “Are you familiar with his work?”
I listened carefully for any hint of a Russian accent, but I couldn’t hear anything that would give me a clue as to his origin.
“I think I may have read something of his for class,” I lied. “Are you reading for fun or school?”
The man had his dark blond hair styled in a crew cut and was dressed casually in jeans, so he could have been a student. But he looked to be around twenty-five, so he would probably be a graduate student if he was.
Ryan elbowed me in the ribs without saying a word. We both knew better than to even make eye contact with strangers on the subway. Starting a conversation with one was just asking for trouble.
“I’ve recently become fascinated by the Russian aristocracy in that time period,” the stranger told me with an amused glint in his eye. “Tolstoy seems like one of the more interesting ones.”
My body stiffened. My babushka was born in 1963, long after the Bolshevik revolution and the upheaval that followed. But she was raised with anger and contempt towards the former aristocrats that had oppressed the Russian people for so long.
Americans might have a romantic view of royals from Disney movies, but the Russian people had never forgiven or forgotten all the injustices perpetrated against them over centuries of cruel oppression. Babulya’s attitude had made her relationship with my grandfather even more complicated than I could ever understand. He was a descendant of the very aristocrats she had so much hatred for, but she still loved him with all her heart. My babushka was quite a firecracker, so I imagine he had to work hard to get her to agree to their very first date.
I simply shrugged at the stranger, realizing that my ploy to drag information out of him was pointless. Just as quickly as it had come, the fire burning inside of me dissipated, and I slumped back down in my seat. The man went back to pretending to read his book, and I went back to pretending that I didn’t know he was watching me.
The man didn’t move from his spot a couple of stops later when Ryan and I stood. He didn’t even look up when we exited the car and made out way up the stairs to street level.
“What the fuck?” Ryan asked tiredly, no real anger in his voice. “That guy was good looking, but wayyyy too old for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was the guy, you idiot.”
Ryan just sighed. “Not this again. I know you’re having a rough time, but Katya, I can’t deal with your crazy shit right now.”
I fumed but didn’t say anything. Ryan thought I was ridiculous when I told him that my great-uncle was obviously in the Bratva, and I suspected he had someone watching me. Ryan had reasonable explanations for everything weird that I pointed out, and even suggested my hallucinations might be from me refusing to step back into reality after my babushka’s death. That hurt like a stab through the heart.
Ryan and I walked two blocks to his parent’s building, and I gave the new doorman a nod. The building never had a doorman before, but I was grateful for the
recent addition. Ben always greeted us by name, and it made me feel a little bit better to know that there was at least one person in the world who would notice if we didn’t come home one day. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that a doorman was going to save me from the Bratva, but I still took comfort in his steady presence at our door.
Ryan and I took the elevator instead of the stairs since our legs were already sore and tired. Six flights on aching legs were a lot of stairs.
Ryan unlocked the door, and I flicked on the lights to the empty apartment. The Logans were rarely home except to sleep - they always worked late or had business dinners with clients. They also liked to spend weekends outside of the city, either traveling or staying with friends. Ryan and I essentially lived alone now, which was the exact opposite of what I was used to with Babulya. Ryan spent a lot of time with Babulya and me while growing up, but now it was just the two of us.
We fell into our usual routine as I put some chicken in a pan on the stove, and Ryan took a package of veggies out of the fridge to microwave it.
The Logans raised Ryan with a much more distant parenting style than my babushka had, but it hadn’t always been this bad. Everything changed for the worst when Ryan sat his parents down to tell them he was gay. Mrs. Logan had sobbed as if he had just announced he was dying, and Mr. Logan had effectively ended his relationship with his son that day.
Mr. Logan was coldly cordial and went through the motions of attending our performances, but Ryan and I both knew it was just a show. He tolerated Ryan in ballet classes all those years because he thought he would grow out of it. Ryan played along with the false assumptions for a while, afraid his dad would yank him out of ballet. For a couple of years, he even pretended he was just in ballet to get close to girls. Contrary to popular belief, not every male dancer in ballet was gay.
Mr. Logan loved hockey and used to take Ryan along with him to all of the games. Ryan religiously memorized stats and followed hockey players in an attempt to have a connection with his dad. After the day Ryan told him the truth about his sexuality, Mr. Logan never invited Ryan to another hockey game. That was a knife to the heart for Ryan, because that had been his ‘guy time’ with his dad.
Ryan and I moved around the kitchen in comfortable silence, too tired to devote energy to a pointless conversation that neither of us needed. Ryan filled up our ice buckets as I cooked the chicken. After we made our plates, I sat at my seat and hissed as my feet went into the icy water. The first few times I took the plunge, it had been terrible, but I couldn’t deny the relief that it brought my poor aching feet. Ryan and I ate, then cleaned up the kitchen, still silent but working in unison.
We were probably the worst teenagers in the world – going to bed at nine on a Friday night, but we had a long day tomorrow. Unlike most high schools, we had classes six days a week to fit in all of our dance classes and required academics. We didn’t have any other stuff that kids in clichéd high school movies seemed to love: proms, football, or cheerleaders. I was following my dream of becoming a professional ballerina, so I didn’t feel like I was missing anything. If I went to a regular high school, I wouldn’t be able to dance for six or more hours a day, and I would never have reached the level that I was at now.
I stiffly crawled under my covers after a hot shower and tried to relax as I waited for Ryan to finish in the bathroom and turn out the light. I always pushed myself hard, wanting to be the best, wanting to make my babushka proud. But now something else that drove me. Pushing myself to the point of exhaustion where I could barely stand meant that when my head hit the pillow, my body was forced to sleep, at least until the nightmares woke me up again.
Chapter 3
Two Months Later…
Katya
Ryan and I mimed the movements to the dance we were performing in less than twenty minutes. We needed all of our energy and stamina for the actual performance - this was just to settle our nerves. He and I were dancing a pas de deux tonight as part of our Pre-Professional Showcase - which is the equivalent of the final exam that typical high school students would take. We’d already done our Spring Performance at the theater last weekend, so this was the only nerve-wracking performance standing between us and freedom for a couple of weeks.
Ryan and I were about to finish our sophomore year at the Academy of Ballet in NYC. This summer, we made the transition to juniors, and the pressure would be on us to make a name for ourselves. Getting an offer from a professional company by the end of senior year was essential if we want to keep dancing for years to come.
My nerves were also on edge for another reason. Last week my ‘mother’ had contacted the Logans. I had refused to speak with her, of course. She hadn’t shown any interest in me over the last sixteen years, why start now?
It had been over two months since I lost Babulya, and there was still an empty hole in my heart. I knew Babulya wouldn’t have wanted me to give up - she would have demanded that I go out and live the best life I could. I tried my best to stuff my emotions deep down, but it only worked when I let dance consume me completely. I was dancing better than I ever had before, but I knew what I was doing wasn’t healthy.
My dance game might have been on point, but my personal life was a mess. The Logans had taken me into their home, but Ryan had spent so much of his childhood with me and Babulya because the Logans were rarely around. That hadn’t changed.
Losing my babushka, my home, and what felt like my life, had been overwhelming. Ryan had been the only thing holding me together since I’d found her collapsed on her bedroom floor. I had been lost in a sea of grief for weeks when he sat me down to have a serious talk.
Ryan grabbed both my hands. “Katya, you can’t keep doing this.” He swallowed, and I could see the worry in his eyes.
“You aren’t eating, the bags under your eyes tell me that you aren’t sleeping, and you walk around like a zombie.”
I just stared at him blankly, even though I could see the frustration on his face. I felt numb, paralyzed in the face of everything that happened. I didn’t even have the strength to fake being normal anymore. Not even for Ryan.
“I need you, KitKat,” he pleaded with me. “I don’t know where you went, but I need you to come back.”
He didn’t get through to me at all until I saw resignation, and then surrender, on his face. At the thought of Ryan giving up on me, at the fear of him leaving me, something had broken inside. Another flood of pain and grief had come out.
Now, I poured all of that pain into dance. I went harder and longer than I should, despite the risk of injury. I knew I couldn’t keep doing this, and I knew I was risking my entire future. I was aware I was being stupid. And yet I couldn’t stop. The only time I felt peace was when I was too exhausted and sore to feel anything else. I poured everything into dance, and then at night, I had nothing left in me. I was empty and numb.
Ryan thought I was doing better because of how dedicated and determined I was to perfect our performances. He saw me getting out of bed every morning and going about our usual activities. He didn’t know that it was almost impossible to force myself to eat, and that the food tasted like ashes. He didn’t know that the smiles I gave him were just a part of the old Katya persona that I pulled on like a Halloween mask. I went through the motions, but I couldn’t feel. I was numb to everything unless I was dancing.
Brett stopped next to us on his way off the stage, and Ryan and I paused in our movements. “Hey, just wanted to wish you guys luck,” he said with a grin in Ryan’s direction.
I tried to pretend that I was the old, playful Katya. “Thanks, Brett,” I answered for Ryan as his cheeks turned pink. Ryan nodded along with me and gave Brett an awkward wave as he walked past us.
“Stay with me,” I whispered to Ryan, stretching a grin over my face that I hoped seemed genuine. “I need you focused, not thinking about Brett’s cute butt.” Brett was a tall, handsome dancer who was about to become a senior, and he was one of the best male dancers in our school. Ther
e was no doubt in my mind that he would get an offer to join a company before his senior year ended.
Ryan squeezed his eyes shut as his face turned even more red. “Please tell me he was out of hearing range when you said that. I love you – but I will murder you.”
I gave his shoulder a shove. “There’s no way he heard me. He was halfway down the stairs before I said a word.”
Ryan’s had a crush on Brett for the last year, but he was too afraid to make a move. I’ve been pushing and prodding him in that direction, trying to get him to take the leap of faith. I had absolutely no prospects in my empty love life, but at least one of us had a chance to be happy. Ryan deserved it.
“Shut up and get in the zone,” Ryan told me with a mock glare. “We’ll talk boys after this.”
In comparison to the Spring Performance, not many people came to the showcase unless they were family, teachers, or companies scouting for talent. Our audience would be smaller, but more critical. The average person would watch a ballet and enjoy the music or the drama of some of our more eye-catching lifts. However, professionals would be observing our technique, watching for complex variations, and judging us on the skill we used to execute technical feats. Nothing would get past them – not the smallest twitch of a finger.
The music started, and Ryan and I met each other’s eyes as we counted down to our cue to get on stage. One of the reasons we did so well together was that we were freakishly in tune with each other. We could communicate without speaking and anticipate each other’s every move. If he was off by a quarter of a millisecond, I could correct for it. If I were two degrees off to the left, he would automatically adjust.
Once I followed Ryan onto the stage, all of my nerves disappeared completely. I wasn’t the Katya who was grieving my grandmother’s death and trying to impress the professionals in the audience. I was Princess Florine and dancing with my handsome Prince Charming, who was transformed into a bluebird.