medvegitova
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Summary
"What the fuck."
The words came out automatically, not angry but shocked. Because of all the things she'd expected Alina to bring back to bed, her Olympic gold medal hadn't even crossed her mind.
"Good what the fuck, or bad what the fuck?" Alina asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice.
Zhenya stared at the medal—at the gold disc hanging from its teal and pink ribbon—and felt something twist in her chest. This was what she'd chased. What she'd destroyed herself trying to win. What had driven her away from Moscow, from Alina, from everything.
And now Alina was going to use it to tie her up.