Page 72 of Fight

Twenty-Two

P

A thousand thoughtsshould have been racing through my head, but in this moment there was only one.

Of all the things that had happened, the highs of being with Ioan, the awful, twisting pain of finding my mother, the only thing I could think of was the irony.

I’d found myself in this room weeks ago, and now my life had come full circle.

I was here again, in the place where I had been certain I was going to die. The timeline had been delayed, but I turned out to be right.

So yes, I was here again, back in Markov’s clutches, though this time I couldn’t count on anyone saving me, couldn’t count on me saving myself.

Because I didn’t want to.

What would be the point?

I’d fought so hard for so long, it seemed like fighting was all I had done for my entire life. And yet here I was.

My mother, gone forever.

Ioan, never really mine.

There was just me, alone, against the world. And I wasn’t enough.

I slumped against the wall at my back, my knees tucked up against my chest, and sighed.

Not even tears would fall.

There was nothing left to cry for, nothing to be gained by doing so.

I didn’t even bother to look up when the door opened.

My only wish was that this would be over soon, and that I would be spared the sound of Markov’s voice.

“So sad, koshenya,” he said as he stepped through the door.

Of course that one dying wish wouldn’t get granted.

I started laughing, the sound bubbling out of my throat uncontrollably. There was nothing to do but laugh.

I looked up at Markov, saw the frown on his face. He probably thought I was fucking crazy. And in this moment, he would be fucking right.

“This amuses you?” he asked, trying to sound tough but mostly coming off confused.

I laughed for a few moments longer and then finally, I regained enough control to speak. “No, Markov. Nothing about this amuses me. I was just reflecting on a particular irony,” I said.

“Want to share, koshenya?” he asked, his voice leaving no doubt that he expected a response.

My first, most natural response was to deny him and deal with the consequences, but after a split second, I started to speak, for one of the first times in my life not willing to fight.

“My one wish to God was that I’d never hear your voice again. As you can see, I’m not so lucky,” I said.

I smiled at him, and he sobered, his expression turning venomous.

He took two steps toward me, and I prayed he was so angry, he would get this over with.

Again my prayer went unanswered.

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