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Bang.
Goncharov whipped around, his hand instinctively moving to his hip. Who was it this time? Andrey couldn’t have gotten here so fast, but Sofia’s brother… he seemed like he was hiding something. Even Joe. Goncharov couldn’t count on anyone to be his ally, not now.
None of those thoughts mattered, though, because it was Katya.
“My love,” said Goncharov, spreading his arms wide.
Katya laughed, loud and bitter. “All this, and you thought it was love? My dear Goncharov, do you think love looks like this? Like-” Katya raised her head and spread her arms to perfectly mirror Goncharov- “Like this? ”
The two of them circled each other in some brutal dance, Katya stepping forward just as her husband stepped backward, weaving around the spilt wine and broken cups. It could’ve been blood, Goncharov thought. My blood. He smiled. It was a smile that used to capture her, back when they were still young and innocent, drunk on pearls along with heavy vodka. A mimicry of the passion they used to share.
“My Katya,” he tried again, but she only scoffed.
“I’ve never been yours. ”
“Once,” said Goncharov.
“Once, you promised me the world,” she said. “And you never quite delivered on that, did you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t mean a damn thing, and you know it.” Katya raised the gun again, and pointed it at his forehead. If she shot now, the bullet would hit its mark. Goncharov knew that.
“And what was I meant to do?” His voice came out harsh. “Watch my wife leave me? Spend my life cuckolded by a man who already took everything he could from me? Was I meant to let Andrey take you, Katya? My heart?”
“You were meant to let me make my own choices, Goncharov!” Katya stormed towards Goncharov as he scrambled backwards, pinning him against the wall. With his eyes open in fear, Katya smiled. Slowly, she moved her hand towards his breast pocket. “Your heart,” she said.
“Yes.”
Katya pulled a pocket watch out of his suit. “Your heart,” she said, softer. “What a shame.” Roughly, she released him, and Goncharov swore he saw her smirk when he stumbled.
“I’ll see you around, Goncharov,” she said, with all the elegance of the noblewoman she never wanted to be.
“Wait!”
Katya turned slowly, as if she’d been interrupted from a particularly riveting game of poker. “Yes?”
“Are we still… Are we still in love?”
“Of course we’re in love,” said Katya, softer. “That’s why I tried to shoot you.”
“If we really were in love, you wouldn’t have missed.”
“Oh, Goncharov.” Katya cupped his face. Her hands were ice cold. “Next time, I won’t.”