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Authors: Kat Shehata
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think. We’re just friends. Really, really good friends. Not friends with benefits, you know, just the regular kind of friends.” I made a flat line motion with my hand to drive the point home.
Vladimir glanced up at Boris.
Boris responded in Russian and tugged on his belt. I imagined the boss needed clarification on the friends with benefits colloquialism, but Boris looked angry enough to kill someone.
Vladimir exhaled and pinched the bridge of his pointy nose. “This is exhausting.” He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Remember the rules of our arrangement?”
“Good grades, keep up the sporty, and stay out of trouble?”
He rested his elbows on the desk and tapped his fingers together.
“Two out of three?” I lifted my shoulders and grinned.
“She has proven to be untrustworthy. I want to see her schoolwork from now on,” he said to Boris, then finished his orders in Russian. Then the pakhan set his sights on me. “I’m out of patience. I’ll deal with you on Monday.” He eyed me like I was yesterday’s garbage and flicked his hand at me. “Get this filthy shlyukha out of my office.”
Chapter 13
Down
I used an app on my phone to translate the word shlyukha : whore.
I sequestered myself in my bedroom instead of going out with my friends Saturday night and stayed home all day Sunday. Weak and humiliated, I wrapped myself in a blanket and camped out on the floor beside my bed. The wind howled and a wintery mix of hail and freezing rain pelted the windows, providing a dismal soundtrack for my self-loathing mood.
Ryan kept calling. I didn’t pick up.
I had a picture of us on my nightstand. I turned it down.
Dad sent Karen the Mediator to check on me. I said I had a ton of homework.
My little sister Megan brought an armload of beanbag kittens into my room, but I was too emotionally wrecked to play with her.
As I lay on the floor, swaddled in my ratty old comforter, I chewed my fingernails down to the quick and tried to convince myself to talk to Dad about my arrangement with Vladimir. I knew it was crazy not to, but I was terrified Vladimir would fire Dad—or worse—if I told him the truth.
Weighing my options, my family was better off if I kept my mouth shut, financially and physically. The thought of what the boss would do if Dad got up in his face made me sick. He carried a gun. Dad and his New York temper were definitely better off not knowing what was going on for that reason alone. I hoped Dad wasn’t unwittingly involved in anything illegal.
Since my Saturday morning Russian smack down, I was so downtrodden I had completely lost my appetite. I couldn’t stomach more all weekend than a handful of stale raisin bran I had stashed in my room.
By Monday I still couldn’t shake Vladimir’s crass assessment of my character. Ryan probably thought I was a shlyukha, too. How could anyone think I was skanky? I was a virgin. So I drank and sat on Ryan’s lap…Then I remembered: Do you have tattoos all over? Did I really say that to my boss? Maybe there was more skank in me than I realized.
I told Karen I had cramps and cut classes on Monday. I couldn’t get tattoos out of my head. All the Russians had them. I spent the day searching the Internet for Russian organized crime. It took hours to filter through the prison tats of violent pornographic images, iconic religious motifs, and propaganda that revealed the Russian’s secret criminal codes.
I had never given much thought to the ink Vladimir and Boris had engraved on their hands, but I did remember the watch tattoo the boss had on his wrist. Its meaning: time served in full. Vladimir had spent time in prison. Up until what I had witnessed on Friday, I would’ve never believed someone as sophisticated as Vladimir had a criminal past.
Both the guys had ring tattoos, so I spent some time figuring out the symbolism of each one. I hoped I would never have the
Vladimir glanced up at Boris.
Boris responded in Russian and tugged on his belt. I imagined the boss needed clarification on the friends with benefits colloquialism, but Boris looked angry enough to kill someone.
Vladimir exhaled and pinched the bridge of his pointy nose. “This is exhausting.” He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “Remember the rules of our arrangement?”
“Good grades, keep up the sporty, and stay out of trouble?”
He rested his elbows on the desk and tapped his fingers together.
“Two out of three?” I lifted my shoulders and grinned.
“She has proven to be untrustworthy. I want to see her schoolwork from now on,” he said to Boris, then finished his orders in Russian. Then the pakhan set his sights on me. “I’m out of patience. I’ll deal with you on Monday.” He eyed me like I was yesterday’s garbage and flicked his hand at me. “Get this filthy shlyukha out of my office.”
Chapter 13
Down
I used an app on my phone to translate the word shlyukha : whore.
I sequestered myself in my bedroom instead of going out with my friends Saturday night and stayed home all day Sunday. Weak and humiliated, I wrapped myself in a blanket and camped out on the floor beside my bed. The wind howled and a wintery mix of hail and freezing rain pelted the windows, providing a dismal soundtrack for my self-loathing mood.
Ryan kept calling. I didn’t pick up.
I had a picture of us on my nightstand. I turned it down.
Dad sent Karen the Mediator to check on me. I said I had a ton of homework.
My little sister Megan brought an armload of beanbag kittens into my room, but I was too emotionally wrecked to play with her.
As I lay on the floor, swaddled in my ratty old comforter, I chewed my fingernails down to the quick and tried to convince myself to talk to Dad about my arrangement with Vladimir. I knew it was crazy not to, but I was terrified Vladimir would fire Dad—or worse—if I told him the truth.
Weighing my options, my family was better off if I kept my mouth shut, financially and physically. The thought of what the boss would do if Dad got up in his face made me sick. He carried a gun. Dad and his New York temper were definitely better off not knowing what was going on for that reason alone. I hoped Dad wasn’t unwittingly involved in anything illegal.
Since my Saturday morning Russian smack down, I was so downtrodden I had completely lost my appetite. I couldn’t stomach more all weekend than a handful of stale raisin bran I had stashed in my room.
By Monday I still couldn’t shake Vladimir’s crass assessment of my character. Ryan probably thought I was a shlyukha, too. How could anyone think I was skanky? I was a virgin. So I drank and sat on Ryan’s lap…Then I remembered: Do you have tattoos all over? Did I really say that to my boss? Maybe there was more skank in me than I realized.
I told Karen I had cramps and cut classes on Monday. I couldn’t get tattoos out of my head. All the Russians had them. I spent the day searching the Internet for Russian organized crime. It took hours to filter through the prison tats of violent pornographic images, iconic religious motifs, and propaganda that revealed the Russian’s secret criminal codes.
I had never given much thought to the ink Vladimir and Boris had engraved on their hands, but I did remember the watch tattoo the boss had on his wrist. Its meaning: time served in full. Vladimir had spent time in prison. Up until what I had witnessed on Friday, I would’ve never believed someone as sophisticated as Vladimir had a criminal past.
Both the guys had ring tattoos, so I spent some time figuring out the symbolism of each one. I hoped I would never have the
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