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31
PIPER
The men watch me with cold, calculating eyes.
I feel like a bug in a code they’re trying to fix. A glitch in a software that is causing all of their problems.
“You had an altercation with Mr. Xhuvani on the plane, correct?” a man with a bald head and a thick gray beard asks.
“Is that his last name?”
He purses his lips in frustration, but nods.
I’ve already answered this question three times, but this is the first time they’ve referred to him by his last name. Was that to trip me up? To try to trick me? Each time I repeat my answer, I’m worried I’m accidentally changing important details or forgetting something vital.
I take a deep breath and repeat my story as simply and clearly as I can. “I walked past his seat on the plane and he bumped into me.” I decided on the drive here to merge my real life interaction with Kreshnik in Mexico and the story Timofey fed to me. I thought it would make it all sound more real. “He seemed nice enough, but he made me uneasy. Then he revealed he knew who I was.”
“And who was that?” the bearded man probes.
I have to fight not to glance at Timofey. “Mr. Viktorov’s girlfriend.”
It was easier to claim that title when Timofey and I were only playing at having a relationship. Pretending is so much less complicated than this muddied gray space we are in now.
“Okay. What happened next?” A thin man in a suit is making notes on a laptop. The clicking of the keys echoes off the bare white walls. I feel like each tap is a needle being driven into my skin.
“I went to the bathroom and everything was fine for the rest of the flight.”
“Did you see Mr. Xhuvani again once you were in the airport?” the bearded man asks.
This is where the details are fuzziest. Timofey didn’t exactly give me a script. Actually, the drive from the mansion to Viktorov Industries was perfectly silent.
I wasn’t in the mood to chit-chat after he tried to lock me in yet another closet.
Now, I wish I’d put my anger aside and focused more on the task at hand. I would have liked to know what Timofey would claim happened.
But I repeat what I’ve said each time so far.
“While we were disembarking, Mr. Xhuvani assaulted me.”
The thin man in the suit looks up from his laptop. “In what way?”
I fold my hands in my lap. “I’d rather not say.”
“It would help on our end if we had a full picture of what happened to you. Did Mr. Xhuvani hit you? Did he say something to you? Was the assault of a different nature? Maybe he touched you inappropriately?”
Timofey didn’t give me details, so I decided not to elaborate. Now, I’m glad I didn’t. The less details I have to make up, the better.
“What does it matter?” I snap. “Assault is assault. Why does it matterhowhe assaulted me? He treated me and my body in a way I did not like. Clearly, Timofey didn’t like it, either. He reacted, and I don’t blame him for it.”
“Don’t blame who for what?” the bearded man questions.
“Timofey! Of course I mean Timofey. I don’t blame Timofey for what happened in the airport, but I blame that man for everything.”
The list is endless, actually. I blame him for Benjamin being missing.
I blame him for Noelle betraying me.
I blame him for being yet another hurdle in the path forward for me and Timofey.
