Page 75 of Fight

Twenty-Three

P

“Do something!” Markov shouted.

As with each command that had come before, this one was punctuated with a sharp slap.

I heard the blow hit my skin, the sound ringing loud, echoing off the walls in the hollow room. I suppose I felt it too, but it barely made a dent in my consciousness, and certainly didn’t pierce the haze that surrounded me.

I just needed this to be over, and soon it would be.

Soon there would be no more pain, no more loneliness. If I were lucky, I would finally find peace.

He slapped me again and then cursed, dropped me to the ground when I did nothing. Much like the slaps and punches that had come before, I didn’t feel when my body crashed into the ground, and instead I just lay there, waiting.

I heard a sound, and then recognized that it had come from me, realized a moment later that Markov had kicked me, that some part of my body was grasping for air, still fighting to live even though my mind had checked out.

I turned, looked up at him.

“You’re taller when I’m on the ground,” I said.

My voice floated to my own ears, unrecognizable, almost dreamy, and I saw his twisted frown when he realized what I had said.

“I have no more time for this. Ciprian, kill this dog and then get it out of my sight,” he said.

I didn’t move when he spoke, just stared at the spot where he had been and then watched the ceiling where he had stood, focused on the lone light bulb hanging there blinking.

But soon that light was obliterated when Ciprian took the spot Markov had vacated.

How long ago had it been when the sight of him had been enough to make my heart pound?

A lifetime ago as far as I was concerned.

I couldn’t see his face, but the light around his head was almost like a halo, one that made him seem almost angelic.

An angel of death.

How appropriate.

I continued to lie there, the ground cold against my skin, but I still didn’t move.

Then, I wasn’t lying anymore.

Ciprian had grabbed me, pulled me off the ground like I was nothing, and lifted me. We were close enough to be eye to eye.

He had no trouble holding me, and I didn’t struggle against him.

Instead he stared at me curiously, probably as curiously as I had stared at him.

He seemed different today, more present, and I wondered why. Too bad I didn’t have the energy to ask, the desire to really care beyond the fleeting question that floated through my mind.

We stayed that way for what felt like an interminable period, him staring at me as I stared at him.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” he whispered.

His voice wasn’t what I’d expected. It was soft, edging close to warm, and most surprisingly, brimming with curiosity, wonder.

I didn’t answer his question, just continued to stare at him and he shook me a little bit, but still I didn’t speak. I’d left Ioan. My mother was dead, and I was soon to join her. What else was there to say?

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