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Along with my rapid breaths comes a better awareness for the scent of his cologne against the musty, mildewed air around us. It’s a sweet, fresh smell that I recognize from a classmate in my Communications class. That fact alone tells me that he has expensive taste.
I can feel my nipples growing harder as his hands pass over my breasts. He pays special attention to the areas where there might be extra padding, but at this point I’m certain he can detect the changes taking place all over me.
I’m disappointed in myself for allowing my guard to fall so easily. How can I let a stranger touch me like this just because I’m untouchable to everyone else?
It’s pathetic. If I were as desirable and interesting as Angelique thinks she is, maybe I could have avoided this whole situation. I could have been at the fair with a date, maybe a boyfriend…
“So, that’s really everything you have on you? What kind of woman doesn’t carry a purse full of shit everywhere?” he asks as his confrontational nature returns.
The warmth in my belly dissipates, and I cross my arms again. “Not everyone can afford a five-thousand-dollar Prada bag. It’s better to have nothing than have a knock-off.”
I can’t see him well, but he scoffs as though he’s amused. “Wow, that’s a fucking weird excuse if I’ve ever heard one. The fact that you have nothing else is highly suspicious, I hope you know that.”
I’m ready to pull my hair out. Why is he so convinced that I’m lying?
“This is fucking absurd! I’m just a random girl that needed help finding my friends, and now you’re accusing me of causing a shooting? What the hell is wrong with you?”
I want to blame confirmation bias, but there has to be a better explanation.
“I don’t know, maybe the fact that your friends think you’re so unlikable that they chose to ditch you. If that’s what your college experience is like, I can’t imagine how awful high school was for you. Jesus, I almost feel sorry for you,” he replies, letting out a dry laugh.
My hands ball up into fists, gripping the hilt of an invisible weapon that I so desperately wish I had right now. Not because I necessarily want to hurt him, but because it would give me just alittlemore leverage.
Right now, I feel smaller than I ever have, and he knows it.
He appears to lose patience with me, moving closer like he intends to squash me like a bug. “For now, you’re guilty until proven innocent. I’m going to call around and see if anyone in my circle has heard of you before. If evenoneof my men is convinced that he knows who you are, you’re fucked,” he says, snapping his fingers for emphasis.
It would be funny to watch his temperament devolve into chaos if I were able to see it happen from the inside of a cage. If the men from my school are anything to go by, they all begin to short circuit the second they don’t get what they want.
It can be sort of satisfying when your life isn’t being threatened.
But now that I’m being held against my will until he gets what he wants, I’m entirely unamused.
If I had my phone, I’d be able to convince him of my innocence in seconds. I could show him the thread of messages where my friends ignore my plea for a ride to the fair, or maybe the photos I took of my latte from this morning.
He steps away from me, taking the scent of his delicious cologne with him. I’ll admit I’m disappointed – I was really beginning to enjoy being so close to him, even under the circumstances.
I try not to stare at him as he begins to make a series of calls. He’s speaking a foreign language, but he’s still under the impression that I know what he’s saying, so he talks just above a whisper.
After a few of these whispering calls, he finally turns to me. “Well, since you’ve failed to convince me of your innocence, it looks like we’re stranded here until I can get more definitive proof,” he says. “If you’d just confess, this could all be over.”
Confess to what? I have nothing left to say, and I guess that means I’m spending the foreseeable future with the man of my nightmares.
8
Ruslan
Now that it’s been a few hours since the shooting at the fair, I figure now is as good a time as ever to call Johan and confront him about blowing me off. I’m hidden pretty well outside the city limits, so even if he wanted to retaliate, he’d have no idea how to find me.
Vera keeps her distance, but there’s something about the way she’s carrying herself that suggests repressed longing. I can’t see her very well, but she’s leaning in my direction with one foot facing me.
Whether she knows it or not, she wants to be close to me.
I find this contradiction puzzling, even somewhat entertaining, but I can’t pay attention to that right now. Even if I were to give into the temptation of pursuing her in the moment, what good could come of it?
I pull up Johan’s temporary number and dial it, unenthusiastic about being forced to speak English in front of Vera.
“Ruslan? Where the fuck were you two hours ago?!” Johan shouts as he answers the phone. He’s not one for bullshit, but even without the cover of neutrality, I can hear anger in his voice.
