Read Online Her Russian Beast: 50 Loving States, New Mexico by Theodora Taylor - Free Book Online
Authors: Theodora Taylor
Ads: Link
designer clothes and act like somebody I’m not with this fucked up song chewing on my chest. The rain in Berlin falls mainly in the Plain.
I miss my accent.
I miss you.
I wish I could come home.
I’ve learned how to cry so I don’t have to reapply make-up.
He’s in Russia with his brother now, but he’ll be coming back in a couple weeks to take me to live at his family home in Moscow.
His family is awful, W. He’s awful. I wish I’d never met him.
I’ve got an appointment next week. He asked me to get my tubes tied. Ha! I said asked. He informed me about this just like he informs me about everything else. And of course it’s me who has to get the procedure, not him, because what good is a pet if she doesn’t know she’s under your complete control?
But that’s all right. I’ll happily get spayed and neutered, because if there’s one thing him and me can agree on, it’s that we are both too fucked up to bring kids into the world.
I miss you, W . I wish I was wherever you are instead of here with him.
The only place him and me work right is in bed.
Love,
T
S he came out of the blue and went right back into it. Six years after his wife’s disappearance, Bair sat in a red and gold baroque armchair in front of his office’s marble fireplace. Though it was the middle of summer, a fire burned inside its massive confines, crackling almost as loud as his rage.
He’d do it this year, he told himself. He’d finally throw the damn thing into the fire.
The damn thing being her diary, which he held in one hand. He had an empty bottle of Beluga Noble Vodka in the other. Re-reading her diary was the last thing he did on their anniversary every year.
Tonight marked their sixth. They’d never made it to their first. And as he’d done every anniversary, he read about her time with him from front to back.
The first entry had been written just a year into their relationship. A tale to “W” about how he’d arranged for a bodyguard to follow her everywhere after a middle-aged millionaire had offered Bair a considerable amount of money for one night with her at a big donor gala they’d attended together. The donor hadn’t known Bair’s last name before making the request.
And Sirena hadn’t been the least bit grateful for the extra protection he’d given her from unwanted suitors. Or appreciated that he’d actually used a bit of discretion while handling the matter. Instead of beating the man at the party, which very well might have led to the big donor’s death, he’d had her new guard do it the next day as part of his “interview.”
However, according to Sirena, “He’s getting worse. Farther and farther from the boy I met in Greece. I hate the man he’s becoming.” And the list had only grown longer from there.
They’d lived in Germany, but his wife had written a surprisingly Russian tale of pique and disillusionment. Laments about the life she led, about him, about all the things he’d given her after finding her in that Greek basement. Complaint after complaint, broken up only by her fervent wishes to somehow break the hold he had on her, the possession he’d taken of her body.
“I can’t stop with him. I wish I could, but I still ain’t figured out how,” she’d written more than once in her blunt, but somehow lyrical, style.
His hand fisted around a new bottle of Beluga Noble, the old Darkness threatening to consume him as he opened it.
She was a cunt , he reminded himself in a familiar litany. A selfish bitch who’d used him and his money, and then ran off. Most likely to another lover. Maybe this W. Or Trevor, a name he’d heard her murmur in her sleep.
Sirena, he knew from the start, had a way with male animals. She’d told him that the very morning she’d agreed to be his pet. He’d believed her then. And he bitterly believed her now.
She wasn’t worth the money and effort he spent over the years trying to find her. On their fifth anniversary, he’d sworn
I miss my accent.
I miss you.
I wish I could come home.
I’ve learned how to cry so I don’t have to reapply make-up.
He’s in Russia with his brother now, but he’ll be coming back in a couple weeks to take me to live at his family home in Moscow.
His family is awful, W. He’s awful. I wish I’d never met him.
I’ve got an appointment next week. He asked me to get my tubes tied. Ha! I said asked. He informed me about this just like he informs me about everything else. And of course it’s me who has to get the procedure, not him, because what good is a pet if she doesn’t know she’s under your complete control?
But that’s all right. I’ll happily get spayed and neutered, because if there’s one thing him and me can agree on, it’s that we are both too fucked up to bring kids into the world.
I miss you, W . I wish I was wherever you are instead of here with him.
The only place him and me work right is in bed.
Love,
T
S he came out of the blue and went right back into it. Six years after his wife’s disappearance, Bair sat in a red and gold baroque armchair in front of his office’s marble fireplace. Though it was the middle of summer, a fire burned inside its massive confines, crackling almost as loud as his rage.
He’d do it this year, he told himself. He’d finally throw the damn thing into the fire.
The damn thing being her diary, which he held in one hand. He had an empty bottle of Beluga Noble Vodka in the other. Re-reading her diary was the last thing he did on their anniversary every year.
Tonight marked their sixth. They’d never made it to their first. And as he’d done every anniversary, he read about her time with him from front to back.
The first entry had been written just a year into their relationship. A tale to “W” about how he’d arranged for a bodyguard to follow her everywhere after a middle-aged millionaire had offered Bair a considerable amount of money for one night with her at a big donor gala they’d attended together. The donor hadn’t known Bair’s last name before making the request.
And Sirena hadn’t been the least bit grateful for the extra protection he’d given her from unwanted suitors. Or appreciated that he’d actually used a bit of discretion while handling the matter. Instead of beating the man at the party, which very well might have led to the big donor’s death, he’d had her new guard do it the next day as part of his “interview.”
However, according to Sirena, “He’s getting worse. Farther and farther from the boy I met in Greece. I hate the man he’s becoming.” And the list had only grown longer from there.
They’d lived in Germany, but his wife had written a surprisingly Russian tale of pique and disillusionment. Laments about the life she led, about him, about all the things he’d given her after finding her in that Greek basement. Complaint after complaint, broken up only by her fervent wishes to somehow break the hold he had on her, the possession he’d taken of her body.
“I can’t stop with him. I wish I could, but I still ain’t figured out how,” she’d written more than once in her blunt, but somehow lyrical, style.
His hand fisted around a new bottle of Beluga Noble, the old Darkness threatening to consume him as he opened it.
She was a cunt , he reminded himself in a familiar litany. A selfish bitch who’d used him and his money, and then ran off. Most likely to another lover. Maybe this W. Or Trevor, a name he’d heard her murmur in her sleep.
Sirena, he knew from the start, had a way with male animals. She’d told him that the very morning she’d agreed to be his pet. He’d believed her then. And he bitterly believed her now.
She wasn’t worth the money and effort he spent over the years trying to find her. On their fifth anniversary, he’d sworn
Similar Books
