Stone Cold Heart

Anastasia- Playing with fire

Moscow, Russia. April 1946. 2 years before Jules' encounter. 

His breath was rattling next to my neck, tickiling with every rusty exhalation of breath. I could feel his body hot with adrenaline, almost on the verge of flames, pressing onto mine. He had no mercy. And that's what I liked about him. 

His lips were desperatly pressing against my neck like raindrops, never ending. His hands were traveling down my body like waves, and before neither of us could help it, we had stumbled on my bed. It was ironic, was it not, having my bed covers be an innocent shade of baby pink, when I had clearly outgrown that impression.

I was not a little girl anymore. No one was there to tell me who I should and shouldn't be. The man in front of me would prove to my intact innocence that I was independent, that I could control my body and mind in which way I ever pleased. 

"Be mine," he breathed heavily as his hands sneaked under my skirt. 

I stiffled back a laugh, and not because I was nervous, but because he had just proved my point. I could do whatever I wanted, and essentially, could drive someone into doing something I pleased. 

His hands were now brushing through my back, massaging my innocence away. Then, his fingers hastily finished unbottuning my silk shirt. I let my neck fall back, absorbing the heat of the moment like a bath sponge. 

He then threw away his shirt, pulling it over his head, revealing a pair of muscly arms. His abdomen was outlined by a very well maintained six-pack, however, it was starting to drench in sweat from the excitement.

I ruffled his hazel shaded hair with my fingers, almost pulling at it as he kissed my neck. Before I realized what was going on, we were hidden under the covers, skin on skin.

I wasn't a little girl anymore.

And he would find out, one way or another.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The morning rays were now sneaking in through the curtains. They splashed like a golden cascade on his cheeks, which were slightly reddened from the cold. He was gorgeous, and regardless of what people thought, of what he thought, I would have my way and live like I wanted. Next to him, next to the man I loved, next to the man that unvelied the woman that was hiding inside of me. 

I rested my head on my hand, while I pulled the covers across my chest. I breathed in his scent: he smelled like burning wood in a cold, snowing day. Well, he let out that scent now, because the day we had met, it had been gunpowder that had flooded our nostrils.

It had been 5 years ago, a time when our country was immersed in the terrible World War II. I was only tweleve back then, but even then, I understood how serious the war with the Nazi's was. Father had already expected Hitler to attack the Soviet Union, but nobody wouldv'e thought they had the guts to attack on Winter. The soldiers weren't trained for that whatsoever. But by the time it was December, the troops were already 19 miles from Moscow ready to attack.

The image is still clear as water inside my head.

And not only because of the attack on the city, but also because of mother's illness. We never deciphered out what she had in time, the doctors couldn't even buy us enough time to say our goodbyes. But, as an innocent girl, all I wanted to do was help my dying mother. The only real feminine figure I ever had in my life.

I also still remember the brown velvet coat I wore that day, the one I was barely able to reach from the hanger on my dresser. I recall dragging a stool all the way from the kitchen up into my room. If there was one thing I knew my mother didn't want me to be, was cold.