As I exhaust all the options I can think of, though, it’s seeming less and less likely that escape is possible. I’ve not heard or seen anyone else, and I still have no idea how much time has passed since that man captured me.
Rescued.
Who knows.
The only thing I do know is that my window is my best option for escape, and I can’t give up. I glance around the room, and when my eyes settle on the TV, I get a bright idea. It’s big, and probably too much to carry comfortably, but maybe if I can hoist it up and throw it through the glass...
It’s a long shot. A really long shot. And I don’t know what I’m going to do once the window is out, but I can’t just sit here like a damsel in distress for Mikhail to save me from whatever is happening out there. I have to rescue myself, damn it!
I unplug the TV and try to pick it up, but it digs into my arms, almost too big for me to lift, but finally I manage.
It’s a struggle to heave the TV, but as I heft it up, I hear the doorknob turn, and as I struggle to put the TV back into place, I realize there’s no way I’m doing that before he catches me.
“What are you doing?” he asks, that deep, dark voice of his so blasé about the whole thing as he stands there watching me. “If you didn’t like the placement of the TV, you could have just asked,” he says, the grizzled man seeming almost amused by me, if I could read anything on his stoic face.
I brush some hair from my eyes, feeling guilty as sin, as if I’m doing something wrong by trying to break out of this prison. I’m scared, and I don’t want to piss him off, but at the same time, I’m curious about him. About who he actually is.
I’ve gotta get a grip.
“Yeah, well, I never got your number,” I answer back, filled with snark.
“My apologies,” he says dryly, and he heads into the kitchen area, toting a large brown paper bag that looks to be packed with boxes. He returns a moment later, the towering brute plucking the TV from my grasp and putting it back where it came from. “You know, smashing out the window would not help you. It is barred, and the streets are many floors below. Nobody could hear your cries,” he explains to me with the air of a patient, wiser man, even if he has the look of someone dangerous in that tight-fitting sweater and jeans.
“At least I’d be able to enjoy some fresh air,” I say, my arms folded beneath my chest, but it’s all bravado. I feel like a quivering bird held in his palm, just waiting for him to squeeze a little too hard. I’m only alive because of him, or so he says, but this isn’t my life or the life I ever wanted.
He walks past me over by the wall and taps a thermostat there.
“You can control AC and heat here, and don’t worry about the light bill,” he says with a hint of humor to his voice before he heads back into the kitchen.
“Ahh, funny,” I say, some of my normally sarcastic self seeping out. I like it when he banters with me.
I have to walk around the sofa to see him there, taking out plates and serving up some food from the packages he brought. Some take-out, no doubt.
My stomach growls with desire. Since whatever drugs I had made me reject everything in my system, I’ve been starving and too afraid to eat. I sniff the air, catching the various scents of foreign cuisine, and my palm goes to my tummy to quiet it down. Last thing I need is for this guy to know how desperate I am for a bite.
“I couldn’t dream of putting you out with an exorbitant bill, though,” I say, trying to keep things light. Maybe that’s what is needed.
“So considerate.” I notice he’s serving up egg rolls, and that familiar scent comes back to me: Chinese food. “I did not catch any dietary concerns,” he says with that accent of his, “but I figured everyone likes Chinese.”
He comes out of the kitchen, laying the two paper plates full of food onto the table before retreating back in to pour us both up some water.
I stare after him in disbelief.
“A meal together. How cute,” I grin, but before he’s even returned from the kitchen, I’ve scalded my tongue on the egg roll, and I’m grabbing for the glass of water like a toddler.
So much for playing it cool.
“It is still very fresh,” he says, a caution that comes too late. “They know me there, make it just for me. But this time I had them prepare a little extra,” he gestures to one side of my plate. “You’re a lovely young woman, so I thought perhaps you are a vegetarian or some such, everything on this side is free of meat,” he explains before seating himself down like he was in a mess hall and digging his fork into a piece of meat.
He’s no vegetarian, that’s for sure.