Chapter 14 Adrian
ADRIAN
Ipace the living room, my back stiff from spending the night propped up against her door.
"She doesn't even care I got her," I say, harsher than I intend, but I don't take it back.
Victor's eyes flick toward the hallway.
"Keep your voice down. You don't want her to hear you."
I rub the back of my neck and keep pacing.
"You should have seen her face. It's like she didn't even recognize me. She pulled back when I touched her, and all she wanted to do was get away from me."
Victor takes a slow sip of his coffee, then sets the mug down on the side table.
"You're upset, brother."
"Of course I'm fucking upset."
"But take your emotions out of it and think logically for a second. She's been through a lot. For eighteen months you thought you were in hell," he says and glances down the hall again, "she was actually there. Just give it a few days."
I stop pacing and turn to face him.
"But I need to know what happened to her."
Victor's expression hardens, just slightly.
"You don't need shit. What you need is here, in that room. That's all you need."
My jaw clenches. I want to argue with him, but the words stick in my throat.
"So what am I supposed to do? Huh?"
Victor leans forward and smiles.
"The same stuff you always did for her. The stuff we always teased you about since we were kids."
"What the hell does that mean?" I ask.
"You know what I'm talking about. You were the one who'd sneak into her apartment with flowers you stole from the neighbor's little garden. You made her laugh when she was sad. You stayed up all night just to talk to her. You made her breakfast a nauseating amount of times. Do that. Be that guy."
The frustration bubbles up. I turn away from him, looking down at her door.
"It's a lot. You got the girl back you thought was dead. Take it slow for both your sakes. We don't need to do this or that right now. Just focus on her."
I let out a bitter laugh and glance back at him.
"So diplomatic of you."
Victor's lips curve into a small smile.
"Well, there’s one thing I've learned. You help others get what they want or need first, and they'll give you whatever you want or need later. So," he says and stands, "forget about your needs. Help her first."
I shake my head, exhaling slowly.
"Jesus, brother, you've got my vote already."
Victor laughs and adjusts his cuffs.
"There's something else I want to tell you. Something I've been thinking about," he says.
"What is it?"
"Since you arrived here, I feel like I've been telling you what to do, what you should do anyhow. And here, telling you how it was going to go, what you should act like," he says and stops.
A reluctant smile pulls at my mouth. "Yeah. Fucking annoying as always."
"Well, the truth is, what you two have, not everyone gets, you know. And I felt I had to do everything in my power to get her back for you. I crossed the line by being forcibly overbearing a bit, like Dad. And that's not how we are."
"I don't think you meant anything by it."
"Well, if you wouldn't have gone against what I told you, and wandered through that place, you may not have ever gotten her back or saved all those women. So I'm glad you didn't listen to me or take my advice. Sometimes I forget you're not an eighteen-year-old hothead. So I'm..."
"Don't fucking say it," I interrupt him.
"You did what you thought was best to get her back, as did I, and here we are," I say, motioning toward her door.
He nods and repeats what I said. "Here we are."
"And enough of this emotional shit," I say, laughing.
He laughs. "Fair enough. With that, I need to get back. I should be able to come back later tonight," he says, making his way toward the door.
I follow him to the entryway. "What about the Russians? Any news?"
Victor pauses, his hand on the door handle, and turns back to me.
"That was the other thing. No, not a single thing. It's all been about the women you freed. No one has even mentioned Maxim or that he's dead."
I furrow my brow, confused.
"Don't you find that strange?"
"Very much so, which is what I'm going to figure out.
More importantly, however, I'm being told we might not be able to fly out for a few days.
Airport's on lockdown because of all this.
Someone moved the bodies though, so I need to find out if the lockdown is really because of the girls or Maxim's death. "
"Good luck," I say.
He opens the door and walks out. "Same to you, brother," he says and shuts the door behind him.
I stand in the silence for a moment and think. I glance at the kitchen and get an idea. If I can't talk to her, I can at least feed her.
I check the fridge, and we've got everything. It's a sign.
I pull everything out and lay it on the kitchen counter.
I'll make her favorite breakfast. The one she used to beg me to make on Sundays when we'd sleep in late and didn't feel like venturing out.
Scrambled eggs with sour cream, crispy thick slices of smoked ham, toast with butter and jam, and fresh tomatoes, thinly sliced.
Simple, but hers, and one of the few things I learned how to make really well.
I crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk them with a fork as the smoked ham sizzles in the pan, filling the cabin with such a scent that now I'm even hungry.
I'm flipping the ham when a floorboard creaks behind me.
I freeze, the spatula hovering over the pan, and glance over my shoulder.
Elena is standing in the hallway.
Her dark hair is tangled, falling over her shoulders in messy waves. She's still wearing her clothes from last night, the fabric wrinkled and loose on her frame. Her face is pale, her eyes shadowed and exhausted.
But she's beautiful. Shit, she's always been beautiful.
It hurts that those same eyes that used to light up when she saw me are now guarded, lost, like she's looking at a stranger.
Victor's words echo in my head.
Help her first.
I clear my throat and turn back to the stove, flipping the ham one last time before sliding it onto a plate.
"Hi," I say.
She doesn't respond.
I add the eggs to the pan and cook them with all the flavor left over from the ham. It's what makes them delicious.
They cook fast, and I plate the eggs, adding a dollop of sour cream the way she likes it, then arrange the ham and toast beside it. I grab the tomatoes from the cutting board and add them to the plate, then turn and set it on the small dining table by the window.
"Come sit."
Her gaze darts to the plate, then back to me.
She doesn't move.
I pull out the chair for her and nod.
"Please. Leni."
She hesitates, her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves.
Then, finally, she walks toward the table, her steps cautious and slow.
She sits, and I sit across from her, setting my own plate down and picking up my fork.
"We don't have to talk. We can just sit and eat."
She stares at the plate in front of her for a long moment, then picks up her fork. It's her, but her movements are all different.
She cuts the eggs into small, even pieces, then spears one with her fork and brings it to her mouth. She chews slowly like she's counting her bites.
Her back is straight, her shoulders pulled back, her posture rigid, like she was trained to sit this way.
I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable, so I look away, focusing on my own plate.
I finish my eggs quickly, shoveling the food into my mouth without tasting it because I don't know what to do, and keeping food in my mouth will keep me from letting every question I have come flowing out.
When I look up, she's still eating, her movements unchanged.
Then she sets her fork down gently and looks at the center of the table, not at me.
"Would it be all right if I drank water?"
Her voice is soft, hesitant, and she's already starting to stand.
I'm on my feet before she can take another step.
"Of course."
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it at the sink, then set it down beside her plate.
She stares at the glass like it's a test.
"And you don't have to ask for permission on things. Just tell me what you need and I'll get it. Just like I always have, my angel.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and for a split second, something flickers in them, but whatever it is goes just as fast as it came.
She picks up the glass and drinks. When she's done, she sets the cup down and her gaze drops back to her plate.
She then turns her head slightly, noticing mine is empty.
"You're finished," she says and stands abruptly, reaching for my plate.
"Let me take your dish."
"No," I say, and she freezes, her hand hovering over the plate.
I clear my throat. "Don't worry about me. Eat."
She hesitates, her fingers trembling slightly, and then she gives me the smallest nod and lowers herself back into the chair.
She returns to her plate, her head bowed, and picks up her fork.
My sweet Leni, I don't know how to bring her back. But it's my sole purpose in life to figure it out now, and I will not stop until she's free.
I watch her eat in silence, the only sound the scrape of her fork against the plate.
When she finally sets her fork down, she doesn't look at me.
"Thank you."
I lean forward slightly. "You don't have to thank me."
She doesn't respond.
I stand and reach for her plate, but she flinches, pulling back slightly.
"I'm just taking the plate, that's all."
She nods, her gaze fixed on the table, and I take the plate to the sink.
When I turn back, she's still sitting at the table, her shoulders hunched.
She looks so small and fragile.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Her jaw tightens, and she looks away.
"I know."
But the way she says it tells me she doesn't believe it.
I know I need to help her first. But how?
How do I help someone who won't even look at me?
"Do you want to go back to the room?"
She shakes her head, but she doesn't elaborate.
"Do you want to sit by the fire?"
Another shake.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
This time, she pauses.
Then, finally, she looks at me.
Her eyes are red-rimmed. "I don't know what I want."
I nod.
"That's okay. You don't have to know."
She looks away again, her gaze dropping to her hands.
The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, and I don't know what to say.
So I just sit there.
Waiting for her to speak, or to look at me.
For something, anything, that tells me the girl I loved is still in there.