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My eyelids are getting heavy, so I decide to close them, but only for a moment. Because there is no way I will let myself actually sleep with...
* * *
The ringing of a phone wakes me. I actually managed to fall asleep while the Bratva’s soldier was in the same room. People go to therapy when they have trouble sleeping, but it looks like I need help knowing when not to fall asleep. It’s still partially dark outside, with dawn fast approaching. I turn to look at the recliner and find Sergei still sitting there, holding the phone to his ear. He listens to the person on the other end, and his body suddenly goes rigid, the expression on his face changing from slightly tense to volatile. He doesn’t say anything, just lowers the phone and stares at it like he wants to smash it.
“Bad news?” I mumble.
He doesn’t reply, just keeps his eyes on the phone with such malice that I wonder if the thing will combust from the intensity of his stare.
I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s clear something’s happened and it isn’t good. It shouldn’t matter to me. After all, the guy is keeping me a prisoner in his home indefinitely unless I spill my secrets. But he did save my life. I would probably be dead if he didn’t find me, or perhaps worse off if it was someone else.
I should just go back to sleep, but I can’t. So, against my better judgment, I get out of bed and slowly walk toward the recliner until I’m standing just in front of him.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Nothing.
“Sergei?”
Still nothing. He just keeps staring at the phone. I reach out and poke him on his shoulder with the tip of my finger.
His head snaps up, and I start registering the things I missed from a distance. The way he grinds his jaw, the slight shaking of his left hand, and the sound of his breathing—which is a bit faster than normal. But most of all, I am taken aback by his eyes, which are unfocused like he is looking through me.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice sounding... detached somehow.
“Did something happen?”
He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “Go back to bed. I’ll leave.”
There is something wrong. I just can’t pinpoint what. He seems angry and agitated, but trying to keep it subdued. Other than those little tells, he looks perfectly composed.
He’s right. I should go back to bed. What’s going on with him is not my problem. I shouldn’t care. So, why do I? I focus on his eyes again. Yes, the look in them is really strange.
“Are you meditating or something?” I ask.
He blinks, and I might be wrong because it’s still rather dark in the room, but his eyes seem more focused now.
“I am not fucking meditating.” He shakes his head. “I just got an update on my friend who was shot yesterday. The one who was with me when we found you. Mikhail.”
“Oh.” That’s probably why he stormed out of the house yesterday morning. “How is he?”
“Bad.”
“Will he pull through?”
“They just took him to surgery again. He has internal bleeding.”
“Are you two close?” I place my hand on his left one and brush it slightly. His eyes are now honed in on me, and the shaking of the hand beneath mine seems to stop.
“Not really,” he says. “But I’ll kill him if he dies.”
I feel the corners of my lips curl up slightly. He’s coming back from wherever he went earlier. “In that case, he’ll probably be sure to stay alive.”
Without breaking our eye contact, Sergei slides his hand from beneath mine and wraps his fingers around my wrist.
“Who starved you?” he asks leaning toward me.
“I did,” I say. “I was on a hunger strike.”
