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“My books are my friends,” I tell him, laughing easily when I drink the third glass of wine. Now it doesn’t seem so sad and lonely when I’m relaying my life to him. I’m warm and comfortable with a full belly.
He asks about school and college, laughs at all the right places, and goes strangely quiet and brooding when I tell him how I was bullied in school.
“Bullied?” he asks. “Tell me.”
And I do. He commands, and I respond. It feels easy. Almost natural. Feeling freer to speak of the past now that I’ve had my wine, I tell him about foster care and moving schools and about the way some of the kids I went to school with treated me.
“Children can be cruel,” he says with a scowl. “I’d like to see any of them treat you that way when you are with me.”
I blink, surprised. “I’d like to see that, too,” I say with a smile.
But he closes his mouth as if he’s said too much. When he tears the roll in his hand in two, crumbs spray onto the plate. He takes a savage bite and chews the bread in silence, swallows it with a large pull from his drink, then waves a hand and gives me a forced smile. His sudden anger surprises me and I almost sober, but not quite.
“Tell me more about you.”
He asks about my hobbies and interests. But the whole time we talk, he tells me nothing of himself. We talk about literature and movies, and what sorts of music we listen to. He’s an animated conversationalist, and I’m highly entertained with everything he says. I continue to ask him questions about himself to the point where it’s borderline rude, but he deflects most of them.
“Where are you from?” I ask him.
“Moscow,” he says, slicing into his steak.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, sipping my wine.
“Oh, a while,” he says, before he waves the waiter down and asks for the check.
I avert my eyes when he takes the check, and whisper a thank you. This dinner cost more than I can afford, but I don’t want to seem silly or foolish, so I keep my thoughts to myself while he pays. I’m sleepy from the wine, and pleasantly full of food.
My head feels a little fuzzy and heavy. I wonder if I’ve had too much wine. I’m suddenly sleepy. So sleepy. I drop my fork and look up at him.
“I’m very tired,” I say to him, disappointed. I like how I feel when I’m with him now. I don’t want our night to end. “Will you take me home?”
“Are you alright?” he asks, leaning across the table. I nod, blinking my eyes furiously to keep them open. I’m vaguely aware of him standing, taking out his wallet, and removing a stack of bills. He tosses some on the table and reaches for me.
“Come, now, Sadie,” he says in his deep, accented voice. I look at the large hand offered to me, and wonder. What does he see in me? What could possibly interest him in a boring, dowdy, far younger woman like me?
“Thank you,” I tell him, my eyes growing so heavy with sleep.
I’m so tired, I slouch against his arm, and he half-drags me out of the restaurant and to his car. The door clicks open and he slides me into the seat. My head falls to the side and my eyes close.
“It’s warm in here,” I tell him. “Very comfortable.” But I’m asleep before I hear his reply.When I wake, I blink in surprise. I don’t know where I am, and sudden fear hits my chest with a surge of adrenaline.
Am I dreaming? Or am I awake?
What happened?
My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy. It takes an effort to pry them open.
I blink, but it’s so dark I see nothing but inky blackness. Panic wells in my chest when I try to move my limbs. I’m bound with something, my wrists and ankles locked tight. I open my mouth to scream but there’s a gag in place. I scream and scream against the gag, but all that comes out is a muffled garble.
I close my eyes and will myself to still. I need to find out where I am and what’s going on. Panicking won’t help me.
Where am I?
I fell asleep. In Kazimir’s car.
He drove me, and I fell asleep.
Did he drug me? He must have, as I almost passed out after the dinner. I want to groan, but I stifle the need. I’ve been stupid and naïve. So stupid.
A door opens and light floods the room. I blink, momentarily blinded. Harsh voices speak to one another in a foreign language. My breathing stills. I recognize Kazimir’s voice but I don’t understand what he’s saying. I want to scream and cry. It was all pretend. He meant nothing.
