I also laughed out loud when I opened the mini-fridge and found it stocked full of lemon soda.

And yet I feel lonely.

I’ve felt lonely since the moment Kolya showed me to my room and then shut the door between us. It’s not like I was expecting us to share a room. But I guess I just wasn’t ready to be left on my own, either.

I make sure the door is locked before I start to unpack. My phone is tucked into the side pocket of my suitcase. I didn’t carry it on me just in case Adrian happened to send me another text message while Kolya was watching.

Now that I’m sure I’m alone, though, I pull it out and open up the conversation. He’s sent a dozen messages or more in the last day or two. They’re all variations on the same theme.

ADRIAN: Don’t trust him, June. He’s not who he claims to be and I’m going to find the evidence to prove it. Stay strong and I’ll come back for you. I swear it.

I don’t know how to feel about it, so I’m trying all my emotions on for size. Shock, dread, hope, fear. Every time I convince myself of one thing, there’s Adrian or Kolya coming charging in to convince me of the exact opposite.

I close the thread and put the phone away.

Then I spend hours in bed, thinking about Kolya and his mother. About all the things he’d shared with me that Adrian never had.

I don’t know who I should believe.

But I know who I want to believe.

* * *

I wake up with a gasp that sounds a lot like the wind outside.

It was clear when I fell asleep with the curtains pulled wide open. Now, the frames of the balcony doors shiver in place, sending wobbly echoes around the room that sound like ghosts passing secrets back and forth.

I check the time on the clock on my bedside table. 3:15 AM. Nothing should be awake at this time, but it feels like everything is. As if there’s a whole world raging outside my doors, trying to get in at me.

I wonder if Kolya is sleeping through this, or if I’m the only one with unsettled thoughts and a stock of old nightmares running through my mind.

I lie still in bed with the sheets pulled up to my neck, watching the wind rage against the glass. Rain comes soon after, torrential and angry. Then lightning. Then thunder.

When it becomes clear that the storm isn’t going to let up anytime soon, I push off my covers and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress.

Walking over to the windows, I press my nose against the glass to peer outside. A tall tree stands sentinel just outside my balcony, and it’s dancing around haplessly, looking like the contorted body of a ballerina.

There are moments when I feel the loss of my art like a death that I’m still grieving. The absence of what I used to love sits heavy on my chest.