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“Sure guys. Have fun with her. She’s yours now. Unless I get to her first.”
And the line goes dead.
* * *
13
ABBY
It’s bizarre,waking up in the morning in a wonderland like mine, a canopy bed surrounded by floaty white fabric, to look out the huge windows opposite my bed and see the ocean, blue sky, and green hills. Snuggled up next to me is my little puppy, as-yet unnamed, and on my nightstand is a glass of orange juice and a delicious-looking pastry. A soft cotton robe is laid at the foot of my bed, and fuzzy slippers are on the floor just next to it. Fresh flowers fill the vase on my dresser, and my clothes from the day before are folded neatly on the bench outside my closet.
Anyone else would feel like a princess in such surroundings. And I do, at least for the first few seconds of wakefulness.
Then I remember who I am, and why I’m here. And my wonderland mutates from a dream come true to a weird kind of nightmare. One that I don’t quite know what to make of.
I haven’t gotten out of bed in two days. The guys have stopped by to distract, console, and entertain me. But I have nothing to say to them. All I can do is turn over on my side in the bed, facing away, and wait for them to give up and leave.
They probably resent me now. Can’t wait to be rid of me since I no longer serve them any purpose. Begrudge that I’m taking up space in their house, eating their food, and bringing danger under their roof.
I can’t blame them. I feel like a cancer myself. Someone no one wants, and in fact, someone everyone wants to get rid of.
The puppy stirs and I take her over to her pee pad. It’s time to start training her, but I haven’t had the energy. Which is not fair to her.
Today is the day I will get out of bed, leave my room, and take her for a proper walk to begin her training.
I pull on shorts and a T-shirt, my sneakers, and a cap. These things and more, all provided by the guys, were brought over from the boat.
One day we’re living there, and then we’re not. We move to a villa, just like that. No heads up, no discussion, no vote. I am brought here without explanation.
But what do I expect? I am a prisoner, after all.
And now, apparently, a hunted woman.
My sneakers are quiet on the terra cotta tile floors, and I marvel over the villa’s boho chic décor, obviously created by someone other than the guys. Most likely a very expensive interior designer. I mean, shit, it’s not likely there are a lot of furniture stores on the island. Most everything would have been brought in from elsewhere.
I pad noiselessly through the silent house but don’t see a soul. There must be someone around because the food and laundry in my room didn’t walk in there by itself.
Holding the puppy and her leash, I stick my head into every room. I look out the glass windows lining the back of the house and see the pool’s empty. As I get closer to the kitchen, I finally hear a voice. A male voice. Speaking in a foreign language. It’s not quite like the Russian the guys occasionally break into. It’s different, somehow, and when I stop outside the kitchen, I realize it’s Karol speaking, I guess in his native Polish. But what’s different about his voice is how loud and aggressive it is. He’s actually shouting.
He's usually so soft-spoken, and actually sort of passive, at least when speaking to the guys and me. In fact, his subservient manner has made me uncomfortable on many an occasion. Which is why he sounds so strange now.
I find him on the phone, looking out the window, enjoying the same scenery I just woke up to. He has no idea I’m here until the puppy squeaks.
He stiffens when he sees me, ends his call, and gives me his usual broad smile. “Miss Abby,” he says, with a bow of his head, “it is good to see you up and about. I hope you are feeling better?”
“I’m fine, thanks, Karol. But what about you? You… sound upset. Why were you yelling?”
He swoops my way and offers me a glass of ice tea, the ‘American concoction’ of which he is so proud. “I am so sorry to disturb you, Miss Abby. I was… discussing that I needed more help with the villa. It is so large, and we don’t have enough staff.”
Well, that makes sense. I bet in order to expand his team, he has to make the case to someone, whoever that might be.
“Are the guys not letting you bring on the staff you need, Karol?” I ask, momentarily forgetting my own shitshow of a life.
He pats me on the back, still smiling broadly. His control is remarkable. “Do not worry about me, Miss Abby.”
I set the puppy down and she runs off to sniff every nook and cranny of the kitchen. “You know, Karol, I have nothing to do. Why don’t you put me to work?”
I can’t believe I’m signing up for housework. A person has got to be seriously fucking bored to do that.
