Page 117 of Little Blue

Boris’ face flashes with emotion that is quickly hidden under the mask of indifference he wears so easily. He stands back for a long moment.

I’m not sure what he’s waiting for, and am about to ask when he says, “Drink slow this time.”

I do as he instructs when the bottle touches my lips, my eyes holding his even as water dribbles down my chin to drip onto my shirt. He pulls the bottle away.

“Why bother bringing me water?”

He uses the pad of his thumb to wipe the spilled drops from my chin. “It won’t do to have you die of dehydration.”

“I would rather die than be sold for sex.”

His jaw hardens. He doesn’t like Ivan’s plan for me. But he isn’t going to fight it.

Boris twists the cap back onto the bottle. He shoves it into the same pocket in his pants, takes a step back and folds his arms over his broad, powerful chest.

He’s not a teddy bear. He’s a troll.

I do my best to lift my chin, ignoring the pain that balloons inside my throbbing skull. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days.”

Two days? “How am I already so dehydrated?”

“You’ve been given nothing.” His eyes sweep my face. “And you cry a lot. You should stop doing that.”

“Fuck you, Boris.” I sniffle.

“Anger will keep you alive.”

I want to tell him to go fuck himself again when the sound of what can only be a bomb rocks my little concrete room. Boris’ eyes snap wide, alarm and a flash of fear ripping through the mask of indifference. His hand moves to his back and a gun appears.

My belly drops.

“What’s happening?”

“Shh.”

Outside the room, a chaos I’ve yet to hear from this place erupts. It sounds as though I’ve been transported into a war-zone. Guns pop. Men roar. Others scream.

Boris says firmly, “Be quiet.”

“What?” I screech, as he moves for the door. “You can’t leave me here like this! Boris!”

He exits as I scream his name. My vision blurs, black dots dancing.

My brain feels as though it’s gone through a meat grinder, but the pounding is second to the violent drumming of my heart.

Something slams against the door of my room, and then I hear a quick, Pop, pop, pop.

Oh, my goodness. No…

This isn’t happening.

If I could, I’d cover my ears and huddle in a corner.

I can do nothing but sit like a duck bound to my chair in the center of this room.

From under the door, a slow, steady stream of red creeps. Blood.

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