My head spins when I get up a bit too fast, but the desk across from the bed provides enough support. I don’t have as many screens as there are cameras, so I check every available image, seeking traces of another break-in. There are none. All the doors remain locked. The traps are armed.
Tonight’s ordeal is over.
On one of the screens I’m actually seeing the sunrise. It’s been a long fucking night.
“Because of the assassins,” Victor fills in for himself. “And… once you’re free of them, is this still where you’d like to live?”
I stall, unsure what to say, because for so long now safety has remained my one and only priority, other dreams no longer feel plausible. But I used to have plans, so many of them. “I would like to travel, create art in places that inspired painters I admire. Italy. Greece. So many places.”
I sit on the bed, looking into a particularly dark screen in which I can see my reflection. My hair is tousled, I’m flushed, and I look so alive. Victor was right about my self-portraits. I will need to show the new me to the world.
In that way, I will travel outside this house in spirit.
“And would you take me with you?”
Just thinking about it feels good. “Once I kill all my enemies.”
He’s smiling when I lie down next to him and pull the covers over us both. “I never even let myself dream of going to Italy. How many enemies do you have left?”
“I... haveno idea.”
Saying it out loud feels like an knife to the guts. I’ve not confronted this truth for far too long, sometimes lying to myself that I might find out a number from one of the assassins I captured alive. But I’ve made so many enemies over the years that it’s impossible to know.
The meaning of what I said sinks in for Victor too. I can see it so clearly. First he frowns a little, his eyes widen, then he stares down between us with a troubled expression, probably understanding that any dreams of travelling through Italy with his rich artist boyfriend can never come true.
“I… I’m sorry,” he whispers, as if I’m the one with hands taped together.
Such a precious boy.
I shut off the monitors and slide into bed. It’s almost completely dark now, which makes it easier on me. I don’t have to calm him down by faking a smile. I can just... be.
The wet spot under my hip is cold and sticky, but I don’t care at this point. I’m okay with it as long as I don’t need to move again.
“I’ve made my choice.”
In the complete darkness of this room with no windows, Victor slots into my arms and gently kisses my cheek. “I just… I wish I could protect you.”
Something about it feels painful, and I stop breathing as my arms slide around his lanky form. I don’t think anyone ever protected me since I stopped being a child, and while I’m not sure the proposition is truly welcome, it makes me feel good.
“You will protect my sanity in here.”
Victor just leans in for another kiss. He’s so sweet I can hardly believe he pointed a gun at me in an attempt at kidnapping. I love his warped mind.
Chapter 17
Victor
1monthlater
I now regret wanting to move on from sketching to oils. My underpainting sucks. It’s a muddy mess with not enough contrast, and I feel like just wiping it away at this point. It doesn’t help my frustration that my subject appears perfectly serene as he’s working on his newest self-portrait. I’m allowed to paintSevastyanin his studio, brush in hand, and I’m wasting this opportunity on my pathetic efforts.
He’s beautiful in ways I can’t translate to canvas at all.
Seva has a skin care routine that leaves his faceglowing. He trains every day for two to three hours, claiming it’s to stay fit for any future attacks, but I’m sure there’s a big component of vanity there. I don’t blame him, because who wouldn’t want to look likethat? He’s tall, muscular, well groomed, and smells so good I suggested he should infuse his self-portraits with his cologne.
I, on the other hand, am not good at lifting, I’m not bendy enough for yoga, nor do I have the stamina for an hour on the stationary bike. Though to give myself credit where it’s due, Ihavejoined Seva in some of his routines.I’m confined to the house, so I wouldn’t be moving much otherwise. And maybe, justmaybe, I’ve gained the tiniest bit of muscle? I can’t be sure, but Seva’s commented on it, and he has a keen eye for detail, so I’ll trust his judgment.
I’m not trying to become a body builder, so I don’t care about it that much, but now that I have a boyfriend, and one so amazing at that, I’ve started to take care of myself. Without access to the internet, I have all the time in the world to apply moisturizer, or pamper my wavy hair with a seven-step hydration routine. Seva’s taught me how to cook several things, even though he’s the one in charge of preparing our meals.
