She's My Collar - Katya x Reader

16: It's Worth It, It's Divine

You reached out and took her hand. "I know you're not cruel, Katya. You were just doing your job." You squeezed her hand, and she gave you a small smile, but her eyes still looked uncertain, flicking away from you nervously to look back down at the paper.

You wondered how she was feeling about having opened up about her past, her reality. You wondered if she felt relieved to not have to keep it a secret, or if she was still second-guessing, anxious about having you know all the ugly parts of her past. You thought to your own secrets, and thought about how you would feel, and found you didn't really know. You supposed you would only know once that day came.

There is no rose without thorns, your dad used to say. He had loved poems, reading to you from a book of poetry from the time you were small, showing you the way words could be used as a weapon or a paintbrush.

You had found that to be true - no fulfillment in your career without trauma, no happiness with your friends without the secrets you hid from them, no connection with Katya without the fear of your own feelings and the burden of both of your pasts and your secrets, the blood that stained her hands.

Well, Katya, you thought, remembering another poem you had read a long time ago, show me your thorns, and I'll show you fingers that are ready to bleed.

Obviously wanting to change the subject, she suggested you walk to the little cafe down the street for breakfast, and you agreed willingly, following her into the bathroom to shower quickly and snorting with laughter as her hip popped when she climbed out of bed, causing her to throw a dark look over her shoulder at you.

You dressed in a soft cream boatneck sweater and the cigarette pants Katya had gotten you, sliding your feet into the Prada loafers and swiping your hair back from your face with a barrette. Katya wore a gauzy long sleeve black mesh dress adorned with little pearls that ended just below her knees, fishnets and platform Docs instead of her heels for a change.

She clomped through the apartment on the platforms, making you laugh as you grabbed your little leather backpack and followed her downstairs and out onto the street.

It was pleasantly warm out, and you sighed, not missing Moscow at all as you twined your fingers with Katya's and let her lead you down the street.

You took pictures of everything, partially to send to Bob and Monet, partially so you would have the memories preserved of this perfect trip. Last night had felt like a dream, and you wanted to wrap the memory in gauze and preserve it, keep it safe and close to your chest.

You got a table outside in the sun, and you sipped at your espresso, spreading jam and butter on your tartines as Katya smoked her way through four cigarettes and put away three pain au chocolat in quick succession. You marveled again at the state of her teeth with the amount of sugar she consumed and the two-pack-a-day habitual chain smoking.

"How do you keep your teeth so white?" You asked finally, taking a bite of your toast. She grinned at you, displaying those sparkling white teeth and batting her eyelashes.

"They're made of wood," she said seriously, before devolving into a fit of laughter, arms flailing and feet kicking out as she wheezed. You snorted, taking a sip of your espresso and watching her laugh.

Katya collected herself, taking another deep drag from her cigarette. "No, it's Crest white strips," she said, winking at you. "I have no idea how they still look this good."

"Yeah, especially at your age," you said, nodding sagely as you took another bite of your toast. "I'd think you'd be ready for dentures any day now." Katya scowled and flipped you off, and you grinned and blew her a kiss.