Chapter 142 Learning to Read the Wounds We Hide
POV Mikhail:
I’m living a nightmare. That’s the only thing I can think as I look at the shocked expression on Maya’s face.
Since I was diagnosed with dyslexia, things in my life haven’t been easy. Among them were the astronomical expenses my parents had with me during the literacy phase. I’ve been a burden to them ever since, and my negative attitude toward dealing with my disorder only made everything worse. My teenage years were the worst of all, which is why I decided to drop out of school. There was no point in studying if I was going to spend my life working on the farm anyway.
My parents didn’t want to accept my choice, but I couldn’t let them keep paying specialists who weren’t getting results. They weren’t able to help me, and I wasn’t committed to learning in any way. Once I put that subject aside, my life improved. There were no more demands from anyone, and no one calling me stupid like they did at school.
Adrian helped me fool our brothers and our parents for a while, which made our parents think the treatment was working. I managed to keep that up until I was fifteen, but then my parents found out that it was Adrian who was doing the treatment. I talked to them and explained how sad that made me feel, and that’s when they accepted my decision to leave school. As for my brothers, I lied and said I’d be studying at home. Dominic, Luca, and Sebastian were dealing with other things and didn’t notice anyway.
Now, seeing it reflected on Maya’s face that she overheard my conversation with Adrian, everything I fought for so I wouldn’t be seen as pathetic is thrown away. Maya’s eyes are wet, and there’s an expression of pity stamped on her face. Of course now she’ll understand why I treated her badly over the lubricant.
“Mikhail, is what I heard true?” she asks, taking uncertain steps toward me. “Please, tell me. I want to know.”
I look at Adrian, who seems just as worried about Maya finding out as I am.
“Adrian, leave us alone.” My brother is about to refuse, but I want to have this conversation alone with Maya. Enough of him stepping in to make things easier that I don’t want to face. “Please.”
I finish speaking and see the displeasure on his face.
Adrian squeezes my shoulder and, as he passes by Maya, kisses the side of her head. As soon as we’re alone, I take her hands and lead her to sit on the couch beside me. The tip of her nose is already red. I know she’ll cry as soon as I start talking. Maya is so transparent—it’s easy to imagine what’s going through her mind.
“What did you hear?” I ask, and her eyes turn sad instantly.
“I heard you say you can’t read or write.” She bites her lower lip. “Is it true?” she asks, and the first tear falls.
“Don’t cry. Not because of this,” I ask, wiping her face.
“How am I not supposed to cry? I’m an idiot.” What? “I gave you the lubricant to read. I laughed because you bought the women’s one, and now I realize…” She starts crying harder. “You bought it by mistake, didn’t you? There was no way you could know that it was…”
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I pick her up and sit her on my lap.
I hold her and wait for her to calm down. There’s no reason for her to feel guilty about this. There was no way she could have known, and even if she had, I don’t want her to lose her natural essence of being provocative and troublesome. Besides, it was fun watching her test the lubricant in every possible way.
“I was diagnosed with dyslexia when I was nine years old,” I begin, still holding her close. “It was a late diagnosis. My parents took a long time to seek help. There really was a reason why I did poorly in school.” I smile, but there’s nothing funny about it. “My dyslexia is genetic, something related to a dysfunction in chromosome six. My parents don’t have dyslexia, neither do my brothers. I was the only lucky one.”
Maya sniffles, and I hold her tighter. I don’t understand why she’s reacting like this to something so small. If I don’t care, there’s no reason for her to care.
She lifts her head from the curve of my neck and looks into my eyes. Something reflected in them tells me that whatever she’s about to say, I’m not going to like it.
“Don’t play the victim, Mikhail. It doesn’t suit the man I know.”
Victim?
“Maya, you heard me say that I have—”
“I heard you. Now I want you to listen to me.” She adjusts herself on my lap, and I stare at her, waiting. “You being born with this disorder doesn’t mean you can’t read or write. It just means it’ll take you longer than other people. But you didn’t respect your own time. You simply gave up without fighting. If today you can’t read or write, that’s your choice.”
“Are you telling me I’m stupid because of my choice?” I laugh. She’s being cruel without even realizing it. “What do you know about this? Do me a favor and keep your opinions to yourself. I hate when people pity me, but I’ve just realized that I hate people who are cruel even more.”
I take her off my lap and leave her sitting on the couch. I don’t want to talk to her right now. If I stay, I’ll say things that might hurt her. And I don’t want to hurt her. I like her, and—
“Poor thing,” she says, and I turn toward her, ready to curse her out. “Did you just feel sorry for yourself?”
Sorry?