Chapter Twenty-five #2
A motorbike idled nearby, its engine rumbling low.
The rider had stepped out. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in dark jeans and a black jacket.
His helmet dangled from his hand. Rodion stood near him, finishing a cigarette.
The smoke curled around his face like a ghost. He dropped it to the ground, crushed it under his boot, and turned to the biker.
They talked, with the man speaking more while Rodion listened.
I exhaled, feeling the dryness in my mouth and the ache in my stomach. I was starving. My breath smelled like bile. I looked toward the store, but I didn’t have a single penny on me. Hunger clawed through me, and I pressed a hand to my stomach as it growled in protest.
My head throbbed with each heartbeat. The headache was sharp, as if Renat was still pressing his gun on my skull. The cut on my cheek had stopped bleeding, but the skin felt tight. Every part of me ached. I glanced toward the back seat and spotted a water bottle.
Unbuckling, I shifted between the seats and reached back. My fingers brushed the bottle, and I grabbed it as the driver’s door opened.
Sitting up quickly, I held the empty bottle like a shield.
Rodion stared down at me, his eyes flicking from my face to the bottle in my hand. He let out a slow breath and turned to the biker, who was talking.
“Open the trunk,” the biker said. “I’ve got important things in there.”
He spoke to Rodion without fear or hesitation. They must be equal or close enough.
Rodion did and stepped out of the car. I watched him cross over to the store, his shoulders squared. He walked like he owned every inch of ground beneath his boots.
The trunk slammed shut with a bang, making me jump. My heart kicked against my ribs again. I noticed I was flinching at every sound. The biker started the engine and took off without waiting for Rodion.
I sat still, gripping the bottle and staring out the window. I was trapped between hating Rodion and needing him to keep me alive. And I didn’t know if I would ever be normal again. Whatever normal even meant.
My eyes stayed on the convenience store door like it owed me an apology.
Rodion finally moved. He walked up to the cashier, and I leaned forward, trying to see what he carried.
But the old glass and racks blocked my view.
He took less than a minute before he turned and walked out carrying a paper bag.
When he opened the car door, I held my breath, not sure why I was hoping for anything. He didn’t look at me as he shoved the bag onto my lap and slammed the door shut.
The engine came alive, and the car rolled away from the station as I opened the bag. The smell of cheese hit me first. I reached in and grabbed the water bottle. I drank half of it in one go.
He bought two sandwiches. From the look of the store, they might have been there since last week, but I didn’t care.
He also bought painkillers, but I didn’t dwell on that.
I unwrapped the first sandwich and took a bite.
The bread was dense and a little cold, and the cheese barely melted. To me, it tasted like relief.
A memory clawed its way up from the depths as I took another bite. I missed my mother’s pot of stew and the smell of rosemary and onions. My throat tightened, and I swallowed.
The memory felt so forgotten, something I would never have again. I swallowed the lump.
A tear slipped down my cheek, but I wiped it fast. I kept eating like a homeless child who had forgotten what it felt to eat.
I devoured the first sandwich, then the second.
When they were gone, I finished the water, folded the paper back up, and held it in my lap.
My fingers clenched it as if it were the only thing tethering me to something real.
The darkness outside the window stared back at me, and I stared into it with glassy eyes. It had to end. All of this had to end.
The car slowed and turned onto a gravel road. I recognized the house even before we came to a stop. It was an isolated place in the woods. The same home Rodion brought me to the night he killed Salva.
Rodion stepped out, and I followed. My bare feet touched the cold earth. I didn’t remember where I had left my shoes. I hugged the paper bag with the medicine to my chest.
He opened the door and flicked the lights on. The hallway stretched out in pale yellow light. Rodion nodded toward the guest room. “Use that.”
I nodded and walked to the same room I slept in that day. I went to the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. My reflection made me pause. Dried blood covered my cheek where Renat’s gun had hit me.
Slipping out of my dress, I winced as the fabric brushed against the bruise on my cheek.
It was the only thing I had, so I folded it and placed it on the edge of the sink.
Stepping into the shower, I let the spray wash over me.
Steam fogged up the mirror. I just stood there, letting the warmth peel away the hours of cold.
The cut on my cheek stung when the water touched it. But the pain was nothing compared to the fear I had when I woke up in that hospital bed.
I shut off the water and pulled the towel around me, stepping out of the shower as rivulets traced down my skin.
The bedroom door creaked open, and I snatched the dress from the counter. Before I could slip it on, the bathroom door swung wide. My breath hitched.
Rodion stepped inside without knocking, a first-aid kit in his grip. I shrank back against the tiles, clutching the dress across my chest, water dripping down my arms.
He moved past me without a word, set the kit on the edge of the sink, and snapped it open.
He laid out its contents like a soldier preparing his weapon without glancing at me.
I stood there, shivering, skin still wet.
If he had walked in a minute earlier, he would have seen me with nothing at all to hide behind.