Zoya #2
I look down at myself. Dust. Torn cardigan. Red marks on my wrist. A scrape on my knee I didn’t notice until now.
Me: No. Not really.
Karina: NOT REALLY IS NOT AN ANSWER
My body feels like it has been shaken apart and put back together incorrectly, but at least I’m physically okay. That has to count for something.
Me: I’m not shot. I’m just scared.
The typing bubble appears immediately.
Then disappears.
Then appears again.
Karina: Where are you?
I stare at the question until the words blur a little.
Behind me, Ruslan is near the window, speaking quietly into his phone. I don’t understand the language, but I understand the tone.
I look toward the door, then at the windows facing the sea.
I don’t even know where I am. A house outside the city. By the water. Gated. Guarded. Full of men who vanish when Ruslan looks at them.
That is not something I can text Karina.
Not because I don’t trust her. Because I don’t know who else might see it.
Because Ruslan said my apartment isn’t safe, and despite how much I hate him right now, a very cold part of me believes him.
Because if Karina panics and sends police to wherever this place is, I have no idea what happens next.
And because I’m still sitting in a mafia boss’s house wearing his coat.
I press my fingers over my mouth for a second.
Mafia.
No. I can’t put that in a message.
I can’t even think it without feeling like the floor is dropping away under me.
Karina: Zoya!! Where. Are. You.
My thumbs hover over the screen.
Me: I can’t say yet.
Karina: WHAT DOES THAT MEAN
Me: I’m somewhere safe.
Karina: Safe where?
Me: Away from the library.
Karina: WITH WHO?
My stomach tightens.
I glance at Ruslan. He has turned slightly, not enough to make it obvious he’s watching me, but enough that I know he’s aware of the phone in my hand. He doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t have to say it. It’s in the way his attention keeps returning to me, measuring every movement.
Maybe he thinks I know something. Maybe to him I’m not just unlucky. Maybe I’m part of the problem until proven otherwise.
The thought makes my throat ache.
I text carefully.
Me: Someone got me out.
Karina: Someone?????
Karina: WHO IS SOMEONE
Me: I can’t explain yet.
Karina: Are you with police?
I almost type yes. It would make her feel better.
It would also be a lie, and if this day has taught me anything, it’s that lies can turn dangerous very quickly.
Me: No.
Karina: Zoya what the fuck
Me: I know.
Karina: Are you being held somewhere?
My fingers go still.
Am I?
I look around the room again. The sea beyond the glass. The dark furniture. The men outside the door. Ruslan’s coat heavy around my shoulders. My own phone still in my hand.
He said I wasn’t kidnapped.
He also said I couldn’t leave safely.
There is a difference, apparently.
A very thin one.
Me: No.
I stare at the word.
Then add: I don’t think so.
Karina: YOU DON’T THINK SO?????
I close my eyes and press the heel of my hand against my forehead.
This is impossible. There’s no way to explain enough without explaining too much. No way to calm her without lying. No way to make myself sound safe when I don’t feel safe.
Ruslan ends his call.
The room feels smaller at once.
I lower the phone slightly, but not enough to hide it. I don’t want to look guilty. I don’t know why that matters. Maybe because I’m tired of feeling like prey.
“Your friend?” he asks.
I stiffen. “Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I’m alive.”
His eyes move to the phone. “Anything else?”
I almost snap at him, but the words catch in my throat because I’m frightened enough to be careful.
“No names,” I say. “No location.”
Something in his face shifts. Approval, maybe.
I hate that I notice.
“Good,” he says.
Anger flares hot under my ribs. “Don’t say good like I passed some test.”
“You made the right choice.”
“You mean I made the choice that helps you.”
“I mean you made the choice that keeps her safer.”
I hate him for saying that because I think he may be right.
My phone buzzes again.
Karina: I’m calling the police.
Panic cuts through me.
“No,” I whisper.
Ruslan’s gaze sharpens. “What?”
“She’s calling the police.”
“Tell her not to.”
I look up at him. “Do you hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“My best friend thinks I’ve been taken after a shooting, and you want me to tell her not to call the police.”
“If she calls and gives them your name, your address, your workplace, and tells them someone took you, that becomes public very quickly. Reporters will get it. My enemies will get it. Whoever sent those men may get it before the police even know what they’re looking at.”
The worst part is how calm he sounds.
The worst part is that each sentence makes sense.
I look back at the phone, nausea rolling through me.
Me: Please don’t call yet.
Karina: Are you insane?
Me: Probably. But please listen to me.
Karina: No. You listen to me. There was a SHOOTING at your library. You are “somewhere safe” with “someone” and you “can’t say where.” That is horror movie behavior.
A laugh escapes me. It breaks halfway and turns into something close to a sob.
Ruslan looks at me.
I turn away because I don’t want him to see my face do whatever it’s doing.
Me: I know. I know how it sounds. But if you call right now it could make things worse.
Karina: Worse HOW?
I can’t answer that. Not fully. Not truthfully. So I give her the smallest piece I can.
Me: The people who did it might still be looking.
The typing bubble stops.
For several seconds, nothing.
Then: Looking for you?
I look at Ruslan. He watches me in silence.
I type: Maybe.
Karina: Oh my God.
Me: I’m sorry.
Karina: Why are YOU sorry?
Because I walked over to him.
Because I noticed him for months.
Because some stupid part of me was happy to see him in the aisle.
Because five minutes before the shooting, I was thinking about his mouth and his voice and how embarrassing it was that I knew he usually came on Thursdays.
Because last night I was in bed touching myself to a stranger’s texts, and somehow today has become so much worse and more impossible than anything I know how to survive.
Me: I don’t know.
Karina: Tell me what you need.
That breaks me a little. Not all the way. Just enough that tears finally blur my screen.
Me: Go somewhere public. Please. Don’t go home alone. Don’t go to the library. Don’t tell my mom yet.
Karina: Your mom is going to kill me if I don’t tell her.
Me: I’ll tell her. Just not yet.
Karina: Zoya.
Me: Please.
Another pause.
Then: I’m going to Nina’s café. It’s crowded. I’ll stay there.
Relief hits so hard my shoulders sag.
Me: Thank you.
Karina: I hate this.
Me: Me too.
Karina: Are you sure you’re not hurt?
I look down at the red marks on my wrist again.
Me: I’m shaken. But okay.
Karina: Who got you out?
My breath catches.
There it is again. The question I cannot answer.
I type and delete four different replies.
A man.
A patron.
Someone dangerous.
Someone I thought I knew.
None of them are right. All of them are too much.
Me: I can’t tell you yet.
Karina: Because you don’t know?
I close my eyes.
Me: Because I know enough to be scared.
Karina doesn’t answer right away. When she does, the message is quieter somehow, even in text.
Karina: Okay. Then I’m scared too.
I press the phone to my chest for a second and breathe through the sudden sting in my eyes.
Across the room, Ruslan says, “She agreed?”
I nod without looking at him. “She’s going to a café.”
“Good.”
I glare at him through wet eyes. “Stop saying that.”
He says nothing.
My phone buzzes again.
Karina: Text me every fifteen minutes. If you miss one, I call everyone. Police. Your mother. The governor. God. Whoever picks up first.
Despite everything, I almost smile.
Me: Every fifteen minutes.
Karina: And Zoya?
Me: Yeah?
Karina: Whoever you’re with, don’t trust them just because they helped you.
My smile disappears.
I look at Ruslan. He stands near the window with the sea behind him, tall and still and unreadable. The man I used to blush over. The man people tried to kill. The man who brought me here and says I can’t go home.
He saved my life. He also destroyed it in the same hour.
Me: I know.
Karina: I love you.
Me: I love you too.
I lower the phone and close my eyes.
For a few seconds, I let myself hear the water outside instead of my own heart. The waves. The wind against the glass. Ruslan’s quiet footsteps when he finally moves away from the window.
What have I gotten myself into?