Chapter 33 THIRTY THREE

Chapter 33 THIRTY THREE

My pulse literally drummed behind my ears as I teetered unstably on wobbly legs. I’d expected Sergei's tall frame to step into the room, but instead, after the door creaked open—almost like I was in a horror movie—I had to look down to spot the little lady in the wheel chair.

Rosie was looking at me like a disappointed mother.

Her eyes were literally in a squint. "What were you doing?"

There was no way, no way in the fucking hell that she hadn't felt my weight behind that door.

"Nothing," I clipped.

"I felt—"

"Nothing."

"Anya..." Her voice was tense. She didn’t like the idea of it. And while I also didn’t know how to play it cool to appear less weird... I did the only thing that came to my mind, while the entire time, my eyes were glued to Rosie as if hunching over and clutching my stomach will change the fact that I’d been eavesdropping and she knew I had.
I put all my act into it though.

My fingers dug into the camisole I had on, feeling the soggy bandage beneath it as my lips parted into a breathless pant. "Ouch."

It was the fakest yelp of pain I could have ever given, and even though my stomach still hurt, Rosie saw through this shit.

She wheeled completely into the room.

"Give it up."

I panted, "UH?"

She wouldn’t even look at me. "I can see through how fake that is from miles away."

"Oh."

"Yes. Even Sergei wouldn’t buy it… and let’s be honest, be grateful he’s not the one that came in here."

The soggy bandage of the wound left wet smudges on my fingers when I pulled away. I stared at my fingers coated lightly in blood that the act didn’t even feel fake anymore. I needed a doctor… Or a real hospital to take care of the cut, but I knew asking for it was going to lead to just another issue so I decided I might as well live with the pain until it decided to go away, and, that was where I made the biggest mistake of my life.

In the hallway, at the threshold of the door stood two luggage boxes.

I looked at Rosie.

She nudged her head in the direction of the boxes. "Since you’re miraculously healed now, why don’t you get them?"

I didn’t wait to be told twice.

I stepped towards the luggages to grab them. And with that opportunity, I took a quick peek right into the hallway where I could still hear the soft lull of Sergei and his men conversing. It was a long hallway—dark wood floor glistening from a ray of light flickering in from the living room. It was almost dark here, because the lights overhead had been turned off. But I was still able to take a quick peek and see down the hallway to catch Sergei’s frame at the end. His back was to me, shirtless, but cleaner than he’d been when he came into the room earlier with all the blood. While I was in bed, pretending to sleep. I’d been super conscious of the sound of water pattering in the bathroom as he scrubbed himself clean to the extent I could almost visualize the blood pooling around his bare feet. I’d imagined his lips parting as the shower ran, I’d imagined his back muscles straining. The same back that was turned to me now.

Scars of what looked like whips crisscrossed over his shoulder blades and unlike his chest that was covered in ink, his back was bare, but the scars, crisscrossing all the way to his waist looked like they were tats on their own.

He wore his scar so beautifully.

A weird thing to think.

But as he moved, as he gestured, I couldn’t help not imagining my fingers digging into his flesh as he...

I gulped.

Rosie was calling for me again. "Anya…"

Her voice was a dull sound in my ears.

I just continued to watch, until…

"Helloooo?"

I didn’t turn around, not until, Sergei stopped gesticulating, and in a slow mo, his head turned, and… his eyes locked on mine. Smoke clouded his face, the bottom of his cigarette burned red as he huffed and puffed like a chimney. For a few seconds, as Rosie’s voice was still a low hum in my ears, and my heart pounded harder than the sounds, he continued to watch me.

Then, his brow arched into a questioning look.

Like he was asking what I was doing just standing.

Just… gawking.

I didn’t wait for another reaction, I tugged the bags inside, and slammed the door shut behind me shyly.

My back slammed against the wood afterwards, watching Rosie stare at me like I’d suddenly grown two heads. She had on the same look that Sergei had just done. The questioning look that ask, "What was that?"

And truthfully, I didn’t know what the fuck that was. All I knew that my stomach had dipped. My heart was still rioting in my chest and my pulse was pounding behind my ears as, yet again, the visual of Sergei’s scarred back sent tingles down my skin, down my lower belly, down my thighs. And all I could imagine was my fingers leaving more scars and more marks to his bare back. It had felt like… a crush, a stupid teenage crush, I let myself believe. Stockholm. Because Rosie was still looking at me like I was stupid.

"Whatever—"

"It’s nothing," I said quickly.

I could have sworn her lips twitched into an almost smile. "Are you—"

"It’s nothing."

It wasn’t nothing.

My palms were sweating.

The exact time he’d turn around to look at me was still stuck in my head like a bad tv show.

Rosie didn't look like she believed that.

"Anyway if you say..."

"Yes. I was just carried away."

She pointed to the bags that now stood at my feet.

"Look at the bags."

"Uh?"

"Anya?"

"Yes?"

"You’re still—"

"No. No. I’m just…" My eyes drifted to the bags. "What about the—" my voice died in my throat.