Chapter 16

-Kirrill-

Shutting the door behind me, I lean back against it. “Miroslava? Is that you?” I ask tentatively, gripping my phone tightly. It has to be her. It has to.

“Hello, little one,” comes the soft lilting Russian I grew up listening to. I don’t have a mother, and I never met the woman who gave birth to me. But Miroslava…she has always stepped into that role for me. Always. She was so much more than the Boss’s wife, than my friend’s mum.

Miroslava means a lot to me.

And I really fucking missed her.

“Apparently, you need my help. What can I do for you?”

Sliding down the door, I flump onto the ground, resting my head on my knees. “I- I left. I highly doubt the Boss will just leave me alone though, and Kat- she wants you back. I told her the truth, I told her what happened. I think maybe…maybe it’s time,” I say the last part so quietly it’s almost a whisper, but I can’t help but worry that the Boss will somehow hear what I’m telling his ex wife over the phone.

His ex wife who he tried to kill.

“Hmm, how interesting. Perhaps I’ll pay Fyodor a visit. See how much he’s polluted my little angel’s mind.”

Smiling slightly, I lean my head back against the door, knowing that our time talking is almost over. Miroslava never let me call her for longer than two minutes at a time, so that our calls can’t be traced. It’s an old habit of hers, and one which I’m sure has saved us both more than once.

“Is there anything else, little one? Are you safe?” Her tone is warm and gentle, caring and kind. Exactly how I remember her.

Pressing my fingertips to the burn scars on my left collarbone, I smile slightly. “Yeah, I am. I miss you though,” I admit, hugging my arms around myself. Miroslava hums gently and I hear the smile in her voice as she replies, before she hangs up.

“I miss you too, Kirrill.”

She never, ever says my name when we call. It’s too obvious who she’s talking to, something which could be dangerous for her. But she…she must be safe. She must be ok.

Everything will be ok.

—————

Stepping out of my room, I’m glad to see that Wesley is still here. I didn’t think he would’ve left in the two minutes I was gone, plus the extra minute I had at the end to try and not cry. I got really emotional hearing Miroslava’s voice again, so.

“Hey, everything ok?” He asks worriedly, standing up and taking great strides with those long legs of his over to me. “You look…really sad,” he says gently, about to place his hand on my cheek in an extremely comforting and intimate manner, before he probably realises that this is me and not someone else.

Patting his hand where it awkwardly landed on my shoulder, I nod. “I’m ok. I was just- I was talking to Kat’s mum. And she’s the closest thing I’ve ever experienced to a mother, so…she means a lot to me,” I explain gingerly. I haven’t really spoken to Wesley about my parents or how I came to be ‘adopted’ by the Boss.

“Oh,” he says softly, smoothing his thumb across my shoulder. “Do you want to…talk…about…anything?” He tries, meeting my gaze hesitantly. Contemplating his offer for a moment, I nod. “Yeah I- I kind of have a lot of feelings to work through here,” I say after a pause.

“Do you…want a hug?”

Glancing up into Wesley’s eyes, I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible and not show how desperately I would love a hug from him. Instead, I just hug him first, wrapping my arms around his back and giving Wesley a tight squeeze before eventually stepping back.

Boiling the kettle for some tea, I take the time to think about what I’m actually going to say. Offering a mug to Wesley, I sit down beside him with my own.

“So…you know that I was taken in by Kat’s dad, right?” I begin, sipping at the scalding liquid. Wesley nods slightly, “kind of,” he explains, giving me a small smile of encouragement. Leaning back against the sofa, I place my mug on the coffee table.

“It was kinda funny how it happened, actually. At that point I was a thief, stealing shit for this guy who would sell it on or whatever, that part never mattered to me. What did matter was that he fed me, and would occasionally let me stay at his place, so I didn’t have to be out on the streets. I wasn’t in the coldest parts of Russia, but in the winter, like a lot of places, it got pretty bad. But this guy helped me get by, so it was ok. And I was only homeless for like six months anyway,” I explain, trying to figure out the timings of everything in my head.

“Weren’t you just a kid though,” Wesley says quietly, resting his hand on the sofa next to mine. Shrugging, I glance over at him, smiling. “I was old enough to take care of myself, so that’s what matters. Anyway, I was a thief and I stole from anyone who looked rich. And the Boss looked rich. So naturally, I tried to pickpocket him,” I say with a laugh at the memory. The Boss beat me half to hell.

“The Boss probably would’ve had no issues killing a thief, even if I was only an eight year old kid. But Miroslava stopped him. And she gave me food and talked to me, and when she asked if I wanted to be her son, I was smart enough to know that that meant more food and most likely, shelter. So I said yes,” I continue, smiling. Miroslava says she owes me her life, but really…I owe her mine, and so much more.

“Anyway, that’s part of why Miroslava is so important to me, and I haven’t heard from her in ages, so talking to her just made me…emotional.” Picking up my mug again, I take a big gulp of the tea, the liquid now no longer hot enough to burn my tongue.

“She sounds lovely,” Wesley says genuinely and seriously. He lets me express my emotions, all of them; something I haven’t been able to do around anyone in a long time, not properly anyway, without fear of getting shunned.

“She is. I just hope she’s able to come save me again.”

“You need saving? I thought- I thought you were safe now,” Wesley asks worriedly, reaching towards me and moving my shirt out of the way so that he can see my burn scars. I wouldn’t let anyone else do this; let them see my pain and vulnerability for themselves.

But I already know that Wesley is the exception to just about every conclusion I’ve ever come to.

Removing his fingertips from my shirt, I instead take his hand in mine, squeezing gently. “I’m safe currently, I just…don’t know how long it’ll last. And there’s kind of a lot of…drama going on within the group right now, according to Kat. Apparently a lot of shit went down after I left and when she eventually went back.”

Wesley nods, frowning slightly. “That makes sense, but it still sucks. Anyway, what’s- what’s the other reason why Miroslava is so important to you? You mentioned that her taking you in was part of the reason.”

Smiling gently, my heart glows at the realisation that Wesley hasn’t removed his hand from mine. We’re holding hands right now. This feels…gay, instead of friendly. But I’ve always been bad at judging this kind of thing, so I’m probably wrong about this too.

“It’s what I mentioned earlier. She’s like my mum, or what I imagine a mother is like anyway.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t grow up with your mother?” Wesley asks carefully, like he’s not sure what parts of this may be a sensitive topic for me. Shaking my head, I place my empty mug back on the coffee chest.

“She named me, then left me on my dad’s doorstop. He doesn’t remember who she was, my old man would sleep around a lot and he never really took note of any of the girls. He probably has a million more surprise children out there,” I laugh, remembering how my dad always called himself a hoe. That was like, the first word he taught me the meaning of. Not really but might as well be true.

“I see. So…your dad raised you?” Wesley asks, smiling hesitantly. He’s probably trying to gauge whether I have fond memories of the man or not, or perhaps if he is alive or not.

Even I don’t know the answer to that.

“Yeah. He was awesome, I have to give him kudos for accepting a baby no questions asked and just…raising me, for all those years.” He probably didn’t want a kid, but he ended up with me and for 8 years, he made me really fucking happy.

“He sounds great…did he- did he pass away?” Wesley asks softly, smoothing his thumb across the back of my hand. Shrugging, I turn to face him again. “I don’t know. I just know that one day, I woke up and he wasn’t there anymore. He left a note, but it- it didn’t say much.”

I still have that note. It’s the one thing I have to remind me of my dad, of the man I love with my whole heart.

It’s the only piece of him I have left.