Fractured Souls (Perfectly Imperfect, #6)

by Neva Altaj

Roman sets the folder aside and leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “Now, onto the second issue. What the fuck is wrong with you all—collecting random unconscious women and taking them home with you?” All heads turn toward Sergei. “Oh, don’t look at me!” He laughs, “I got mine years ago and I’m done.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” She places her hands on my chest and shoves me. “Shouldn’t you try to calm me down?” “No,” I say. “No? You’ll just watch me fall apart?” she shoves at me again. Then one more time. “You’re not falling apart, Asya.” I reach out and trace the line of her chin with my thumb. “You’re pulling yourself together.”

“Have you ever met someone who feels like they are a missing piece of you?” I ask. “A piece you didn’t even know you were missing until they stumbled into your life?”

For more than an hour, I sit on the bench next to Asya, listening to her play. Or better said, I stare at her while she plays. I find it impossible to take my eyes off her face, seeing every emotion as it crosses her features. When she’s playing a fast and uplifting piece, there is a wide smile on her face. When she switches to something slow and sad, her smile fades. She’s not merely playing the notes; she feels and experiences every emotion as the melody gives and flows through her, lighting her up from the inside out.

Giving in to temptation and letting something happen between us is out of the question. I’m already treading a thin line, and every day it’s becoming harder to control myself. Sometimes, I wish she’d just call her brother to come and get her, because having her so close all the time, makes me feel like I’m going to combust. Just as often, though, I’m flooded with an urge to find her brother myself . . . and dispose of him before he has an opportunity to take her away from me.

I like waking up with her curled into my side—her small body pressed to mine as if even in sleep, she subconsciously sought my presence. Or how she climbs onto my lap when we sit down to watch TV in the evenings and rests her head on my shoulder. She usually falls asleep after ten minutes, but I stay on the couch for hours, and only when it’s well into the night do I carry her to bed. It feeds whatever longing that’s awoken inside me, the inner need to keep her engulfed in my arms all the time, to know she’s safe where no one can ever hurt her again. She’s been staying with me for more than four weeks now, but she still keeps following me around the apartment, holding either my hand or the hem of my shirt. It feels good to be needed. So, I stopped trying to convince her to call her family. The selfish son of a bitch I’ve transformed into wants to keep her.

I feel the kiss land on my lips. “There is nothing dirty about you,” he says. “You are the most beautiful, pure thing I’ve ever encountered, Asya”—another kiss—“and I will erase every bad memory you have, if you’ll let me.”

“I wish my first time was with you,” I whisper. “It will be.” “Pasha, you know very well—” His hand covers my lips. “Your first time is going to be with me,” he says next to my ear. “All that from before, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?” I press my lips together, trying not to cry while something warm swells inside my chest, gluing together a couple of the broken pieces of my soul.

“You are the purest thing I’ve ever touched in my life,” I say holding her gaze, “and I will never, ever hurt you.”

I could no longer imagine my life without her. The possibility of her leaving scared the fuck out of me and I was ready to do whatever was needed to make sure she stayed. So, I kept my promise to her and remained silent, a self-preserving son of a bitch. I became her fucking demon. No one deserves to be with such a person, especially not Asya.

“When Pasha found me, I was a wreck, Arturo. Both my soul and my mind . . . fractured. Pasha pieced me back together. And my heart yearns for him because he is the glue that keeps all my broken parts whole. Please, try to understand.”

“You’re staying,” he bites out. “I know I’m selfish. And I know you deserve better. But I don’t really give a fuck, Asya. You are staying. And if anyone tries to take you away from me, I’m going to fucking kill them on the spot.”

“What is love for you, Pasha?” I ask and brush the back of my fingers down his face. “The feeling of never being close enough.” His other hand comes to the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. “I have the need to somehow absorb you into my chest, so you’ll always be with me. Safe from harm. Only mine. Forever.” I open my mouth to say something, but he silences me by slamming his lips to mine. “I love you to the point of madness, Asya,” he whispers against my mouth, “and I really need you to be sure. Please.”

I bounce twice, laughing. Pasha climbs on the bed, but instead of hovering over me, he takes my ankle and raises my leg to his mouth, placing a kiss on my toes. I giggle and try pulling my leg free, but he keeps his hold. “Stop!” I wail. “Not gonna happen,” he mumbles and moves his lips to the arch of my foot. When his lips find the supersensitive spot on the inside of my ankle, I put my other foot on his chest and try pushing him away without success. “I’m ticklish. Pasha! No, not there!” “Everywhere, mishka. I plan on covering your whole body with kisses. Every day.”

“I have only one home.” She lifts her face to look right into my eyes and smiles. “You. You are my home now.”