Chapter 27 TWENTY SEVEN
Chapter 27 TWENTY SEVEN
My first instinct was to immediately shield my body from her watchful gaze.
I hadn't expected to find anyone in here, especially not someone who looked like a human version of Coraline.
Even in the dim room, her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Her hair looked like it had been chopped with a saw into a fringe that framed her face in uneven ends. Long lashes fluttered over doe-shaped eyes, and her lips were pressed into a thin, bloodless line that twitched with nerves.
The way she watched me put me completely on edge because sitting there, in that wheelchair, everything about her seemed so out of place. From the way the wheels of her chair whirred back and forth, screeching slightly over the tiles, to the way she aggressively stroke the cat in her thighs.
For a second, I almost thought my vision was playing tricks on me because I’d been starving for so long and I was starting to see things.
But, after blinking more than once, she remained there.
"Who—"
"Rosie," she didn’t let me finish. "My name is Rosie." She had an accent. "But you can call me Rose if you'd like."
I blinked.
What to call her wasn't even my problem.
It was the fact that she was trembling straight to her bones.
The only question I wanted to ask was if she was a prisoner here too. She did look like one. Acted like one, too, but I swallowed the questions down before they escaped my lips. I couldn't risk it. For all I knew, she could be one of Sergei’s people playing a role. I was still in the enemies’ territory, and if Sergei’s men hated me, then she most likely did, too.
Water dripped all over the floor, forming a brownish-red puddle around me as I stepped fully into the room, my arms hugging my chest, hyper-aware under her gaze.
Her eyes trailed right from the crown of my head to my feet.
It was a very brief glance, but I still caught the way they lingered on my wound before she winced and looked away.
"Where’s—" I started to say, but again, she cut me off.
"He’s in a business meeting."
"Business meeting?" I repeated. "A business meeting out here? We're literally---"
"Yes. A business meeting," she said again. "The location doesn't matter. Sergei can attend to his bussiness anywhere he wants to. It being here doesn't change anything.''
She was lying.
At least the look in her eyes told ne she was, and was also desperately trying to get me to believe her... for whatever weird reason.
''He also wants me to make sure you ate before he gets back and also treat your wound.''
''He wants you to make sure I ate.''
The look on my face must have told her I felt insulted by the need to be babysat.
''It's not in the way you think...'' and Rosie was not comfortable about this whole situation. ''I'm just here... look... just eat, okay. I'll be out of here before you realize I even came in here at all....''
My arms wrapped around my breasts, I turned away. The door was cracked a little, giving way for a silver of light to filter into the room from the living room. Rosie's wheel was still making tiny squeaking sounds, and I was so aware of her presence as I walked towards the edge of the bed to where a pile of clothes were folded out and also a first aid box. While she still made that fidgety back and forth movement on her wheel, I watched her through my peripheral vision as I popped the small pink box open. I started with dabbing the wound with a cotton dipped into spirit. It burned. It burned so much I bit hard into my lower lip, my breath harsh.
I taped it next with a bandage smoothly around the open wound.
The entire Rosie watched---as I slipped on the oversized clothes--a sweatpant and an oversized plaid shirt that smelled faintly of Sergei and wash soap---all the while keeping my eyes on the door.
It was a brief moment that the thought crossed my mind, to bolt.
Rosie was in a chair.
She couldn't walk.
There was no sound coming from the house.
No sound of audio as I'd heard before.
No sound of shuffling footsteps.
No sound of people conversing which I believe I must have heard if they were truly anyone in the living room. That told me one thing, Sergei wasn't even in the house at all.
It was just me and Rosie.
A girl that can be easily tackled by me.. unless... there was a gun tucked away beneath the purring cat.
The first aid box clapped shut with one smack of my trembling fingers.
I twirled around, dizzy, but still with enough strenght to fold my arms.
''Sergei isn't in the house, is he?"
The look in her eyes. The way she blinked fast at that question genuinely just told me my assumption was right. Something was going on. I couldn't place what, I couldn't tell what, but no one rocks in a chair and act so fidgety unless there was something exciting, or bad, or good about to happen. And honestly, judging based on the kind of man Morozov was, I doubt it was anything good.
Rosie started to speak again. "You should ea---"
But I cut her off with a stern tone. "Forget the food, Rosie. Where is he?"
"Anya-"
"What trouble is he causing now?"
"Bussiness."
"Crap."
"It's something important." She persisted.
I didn't believe her. "We're literally in the middle of nowhere. Are you saying you're locked in here because he has to attend to some fancy business? You literally look like you're hiding something from me... and to be honest... I don't know you, Rosie, but your eyes gives everything away... you're a terrible liar. And I'll be asking you this just one last time, before I walk out there to check myself.. I don't care if I'd get caught in a cross fire. I don't care whatever the hell I walk in on him doing, but if you don't tell me right now... I'll step out there to see myself..." The way she looked at me was literally the perfect visual of a deer caught in a headlight on a foggy morning as I asked, again, more sternly now. "... where is Sergei?"