Page 102 of Unspoken

"You don’t fucking speak any English, do you?" I take a wild guess when I run out of things to talk about.

He doesn’t react.

I give up for a while, wondering where Shtyk found this bloke. Vlad could definitely use someone with this set of skills. I even laugh a little in the privacy of my mind. But that doesn’t alleviate my anxiety. Is this how cows feel before they are taken to slaughter?

If I get out, I’m going full vegan… I think.

To confirm my suspicion about Kolya, I resort to calling him nasty names in English, but the bloke never says anything. I mean, if you’re ordered not to speak to the prisoner, but the prisoner calls you a "cunt," you’ll want to get him back for this. But Kolya doesn’t seem to recognize any of the words.

Instead, Kolya leaves again.

Probably to take a nap and a shower too. He’s gone for a while and when he’s back, it’s clear my well-being isn’t in Shtyk’s plans—arsehole didn’t bring anything with him again. Not even a fucking handful of peanuts.

Fine. But my need to get out refuses to wane. And if that means engaging with the enemy in his language, so be it.

"Aren’t I supposed to get another sandwich?" I ask in Russian, watching Kolya's face for any sign of recognition. His cold eyes meet mine, and I see that he understands me now.

"I’m hungry," I explain.

He shrugs. "Not my problem."

I shake my head, feeling another wave of dizziness coming up. "So, how much are you getting paid for this?"

"You better shut up," Kolya mutters.

"My brother will double it if you let me go," I try.

Silence.

Okay, fine. Money isn’t that important for this bloke. Maybe we can try to seduce him with something else. I just don’t know what yet. I don’t have much to offer. And then a thought flashes through my mind, dark and disturbing. It triggers a gag reflex, but I hold it in. No time to be choosy. Whatever gets me outof this room. Because those eyes of his—always on me—tell me certain things.

"Hey," I call out after a while. "You think I can get some water maybe?"

More silence.

"Look, I’m not feeling well, mate," I explain. "I’m bloody spoiled. I’m not going to survive this, and if I die before your boss goes through with whatever plan he has for me, it’s your neck."

Kolya’s expression shifts. My guess is he’s thinking.

"Look, at least can I have some water?" I’m literally begging on my knees.

Need to make it real.

Need to make it real.

Need to make it real.

"Boss didn’t instruct me to give you more water," Kolya says from across the room.

"Please." I bat my eyelashes at him, testing him out a little. Is he going to call me a faggot too like Shtyk or is he going into a full-on denial?

Kolya doesn’t comment on my clearly submissive behavior. His silence is like smoke, thick and heavy, filling the space between us with a tense and suffocating weight.

"Come on," I drawl.

"Stop whining, eh?"

"Look, I’m just asking for a bit of water, not a goddamned kidney," I whisper, then wait a few minutes before letting the words out. "I have a proposal for you. You give me water and I’ll give you something in return."

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