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He’s like the smaller, boyish version of Dmitri. Jury’s still out on how annoying he is. Dmitri has a significant head start, but I get the feeling Aleksandr doesn’t bring a knife to a gunfight in that department, so to speak.
“What’s the access code?” I ask pleasantly. “I keep forgetting the last two?—”
“Can’t fool me, sister.” He smirks. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“This is ridiculous! I should have the access code!”
“You want a bite of my sandwich instead?” he asks, offering it to me. “Roast beef and mustard. I pan-fried the sourdough in a little bit of butter, too. Delicious, if I do say so myself.”
“Pass,” I mutter as I blow past him.
“You’re missing ouuut!” he sing-songs. “This mustard is to die for. It’s harvested by monks on the foothills of the Himalayas. Or maybe it’s by elephants in Brazil. Can’t remember. Anyway, point is, you’ll love it. Tangy, slightly sweet, with a saucy little kick at the end.”
I grimace. Dmitri’s head start might not be nearly enough.
Turning my back on Aleksandr, I start raiding the pantry for my saltines. The nausea has receded a little the last few days, thank fucking God, but my appetite hasn’t picked up in similar fashion. Probably because I’m so annoyed at my forced imprisonment.
“The hell are my crackers?” I mumble under my breath.
My first thought is that Dmitri moved them just to piss me off. Petty irritation is not usually his game—that seems to be Aleksandr’s forte, if I had to guess—but I think my little detour to my apartment the other day really riled him up. He’s been giving me the cold shoulder ever since. Leaving the penthouse before I’m awake and staying away from home until long after I’m asleep again.
Aleksandr is now sitting at the kitchen table, inhaling the rest of his sandwich. He’s a noisy eater and apparently, no one ever taught him that it’s polite to chew with your mouth closed.
When I feel my phone vibrate in the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie, I grab it and open the text message. My battery’s already down to a forty percent charge, which is insane, because I literally took it off the charger an hour ago. It’s like there’s a parasite sucking the battery life away at triple speed.
SYRAH: i want to be supportive but I hate this new job of yours. youre never at the office anymore! i miss my work wife. :(
I quickly text back, miss you too. more than you know. im not exactly having the time of my life over here
SYRAH: hope they’re not riding you too hard. hows the fiancée? she a total bitch or what?
WREN: no, she’s actually really cool. I like her more than him to be honest.
SYRAH: When are you gonna get back to the office?
WREN: i have no idea. their personal lives need a lot of managing. im sorry I couldn’t hang out over the weekend. This job has a lot of overtime too.
I feel super shitty lying to her about what’s really going on, but the explanation feels way too messy to even begin to get into. It’s simpler to just stick to the fabricated story, which ironically, makes me feel complicit in my own kidnapping.
I’m sure all this will play really well in court one day. Dmitri’s lawyers will have a field day making me look like an absolute fool.
SYRAH: surely you can ask for one night off though? We have the City Monkeys concert coming up, remember?
“Shit!” I gasp out loud.
Aleksandr, who’s busy licking his fingers, startles in alarm. “What? What’s wrong? Did you not like the mustard?”
I ignore him and try to figure out how I’m gonna justify not being able to make the concert. I got nothing. Because there’s no justification for missing that concert. Syrah and I bought those tickets months ago, and they weren’t cheap.
WREN: im gonna try to get the night off.
SYRAH: “try”??? Dude! The concert starts at eight. as in PM. as in there’s no fucking reason why you should have to work at that time.
WREN: i know. you’re right. ill handle it.
But despite my confident text, I don’t feel confident in the slightest. I glance towards Aleksandr, wondering if maybe he’ll take pity on me and help me out. Time to play docile and sweet.
I join him at the table and make an effort to smile, but it feels like my face is gonna crack in two, so I scrap that and fold my hands politely in front of me. “So…”
