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When I think that I hear my voice being shouted amidst the otherwise unintelligible yelling, I freeze all over again. It wasn’t clear enough for me to know for sure, but I’m not going to rule it out either.
Could it be the Italians?
My ears strain into the silence, listening hard for anything that might give me a clearer idea of what’s going on. Is someone hurt? Is someone just drunk?
I’ve heard drunken fights like this before, but they usually happened much earlier in the night. By now, most of the drunks would be passed out on the floor or the stairs, not shouting at full volume.
I hadn’t heard any weapons discharge, and the screaming didn’t escalate to screams of pain. If nobody was hurt, then what the hell happened?
Suddenly, the shouting stops.
Then, deathly silence.
There’s no more noise at all, which concerns me more than it comforts me. If there was more sound, I would at least know where the yelling was coming from and would be able to avoid it. Now, the man who owns the voice could be standing right at the base of the stairs.
I used to have nightmares about this happening when I was a child, and I’d run screaming to my mother’s bedside for comfort. She’d tell me that such a thing could never happen here because our house is a fortress, and my father would never allow anyone to hurt us.
That lie worked for a few years, until it didn’t anymore.
I’d learn shortly thereafter that any house can be broken into, and my father was a ruthless, unforgiving killer.
He’d broken into an enemy’s house and shot them dead.
Because of how early it is in the morning, I’m already starving. For the last few days, the hunger-suppressing effect of my strike has started to wear off, and all I can think about is food. I can’t imagine a less convenient time to be preoccupied by hunger, but I’d also rather have the mental space to focus.
I take a piece of candy out from the bag under my bed, unwrapping it as quietly as I can. It’s all I’ve been able to keep up here without Dominik or my father knowing about it, and it helps hold off my hunger for at least an hour at a time.
After I’ve unwrapped and devoured my candy, I hide under the blankets in the fetal position. I try to make myself as small as possible, but I’m sure that anyone who came in here would see me instantly.
The terror washes over me, and I realize that I probably don’t have enough time to sneak out the window like I did before. There’s nothing in my bedroom that can be used as a weapon, which is by design by Dominik since my last attempt at running away. If someone comes in here with the intent of killing me, they’re going to make sure they get what they want.
There couldn’t be a more convenient time for me to have a weapon if my father hadn’t forbidden me from having one. When he told me I wasn’t allowed to keep weapons, I was annoyed and confused. Now that I might need one to keep myself from getting killed, I want to curse him until I die. Whether that’s soon is up to God now.
I pull up the blanket just a slight bit, peeking out towards my door to see if any of the lights have turned on. It’s still pitch black, but my heart skips a beat as I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. I knew someone was going to come after me. I’m going to spend every last minute of my life cursing the Bratva, my father, Izet…
When my bedroom door opens, I’m nearly convulsing with fear until I realize that the figure in my doorway is Dominik.
But what is he doing, and what was he shouting about?
I choose to keep myself hidden instead of engaging with him. He’s obviously angry about something, possibly enraged, and the last thing I want is to get caught in the middle of it.
But why would he come up here?
He hasn’t called out my name to see if I’m awake, so he must want me to stay asleep.
I don’t know if I can pretend for much longer, but I might have no choice.
He begins to step into my room, and now I’m more confused than anything. Why is he sneaking into my room? He wakes me up all the time, he’s never needed a reason to be stealthy about it.
The silhouette of his towering frame approaches my bed until he’s inches from my face, and I can hear him breathing hard, shuddering breaths. His hands are balled up into fists, and his intent is completely lost on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he had his brain replaced by aliens. This isn’t at all how Dominik acts.
He doesn’t say anything, touch me, or interact with me at all. I want him to stroke my face, to wake me gently with a kiss.
His energy feels intense and intimidating.
He stands there for a moment before turning around and leaving, closing the door so quietly that I hardly hear it latch. He wanted me to stay asleep, but what for?
I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to just go back to sleep and pretend that I didn’t experience the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen? Am I supposed to feel safe enough to stay in my house at all?
