Page 29 of Pain and Possession

Or kill me.

Or worse, return me to an angry mafia boss.

Part of me wants to leave a note so he doesn't freak out when he finds me gone but even assuming I could locate paper and a pen in his desk that would require shuffling through it. Nothing would seal my fate with him faster than seeing even more fucked up shit I'm not supposed to. The rational thing would be to grab as much evidence as I can and book it out of a window or something. I know all too well how that would go. Bodies wash up on the East River too often for comfort. I open up the door slipping into the hallway, only just realizing I forgot shoes. As I turn to head back inside a voice startles me, "Can I help you dear?"

I turn my panicked expression softens the face of the old woman, her tan skin and dark ashy hair tied up in a ballet bun high on her head. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to find the living room. I'm Noè's…"

Captive.

She nods, "Relax you look like you've seen a ghost. I may be old but I'm not that old yet." I smile at her thankful she doesn't seem to be interested in waking him to tell him I snuck out. She heads off down the hall before stopping and motioning at me, "Come on then, if I'm late for breakfast the compound will implode with grumpy armed men.” I give the doors one last glance before I take off behind her, "Thanks."

"Noè never told me your name." She states, her thick Italian accent and casual use of his name makes my heart race again.

Who the fuck did I run into?

"Olive."

"Pretty name. My grandson seems quite taken with you Olive."

Grandson, great.

"Be good to him. He's rough around the edges but he's a kind man." I fight the urge to scoff, she eyes me when I stay silent.

"My name is Antonella, but everyone calls me Nona."

"It's nice to meet you, Nona." I say, averting my eyes from her loaded gaze as it dips to the marks on my arms and neck. We walk down the stairs into the living room in comfortable silence, it's already filled with men and a few women. None of them giving me a second glance as they turn to lovingly greet the older woman.

She pinches my side gently, "Breakfast is at 6:30. Someone will help you find the way to the dining hall if you need help. Italian men like women with meat on their bones." I crack a smile thanking her before I make my way to the occupied couch, everyone shuffling onto the other couches to give me the best view. Nobody is using the Xbox and that's all I care about. I ignore the confused stares as I turn it on grabbing a controller. Someone from behind me flicks on the main TV moving it to the right input. The news plays loudly from the other TV in the room. Everyone is still talking about the fucking end of the world, praising our government for working with others to solve the threat from North Korea. As if they didn't keep it from us to begin with, leading us to our slaughter.

We all should've died that night.

I shake off the dark thoughts that have plagued my mind since I was a child, they got worse when I found out it was actually going to happen. Now they are damn near constant. I flip through the thousands of games settling on a first-person shooter for the time being.

The game blares to life eliciting groans from the people in the room before whoever is manning the remote turns it down. The younger looking blonde kid from last night plops over the back of the leather couch beside me, pulling a headset from the large drawer in the black coffee table. He tosses it my way flashing me another warm smile, earning him a swat to the back of the head by a large heavily tattooed man.

"That's the bosses lady stupid ass."

"I can't be fucking hospitable?" He retorts giving me a small wink. I turn my attention back to the game ignoring him as I dawn the headset.

"We all know your version of hospitality." A woman calls out from somewhere in the room. People chuckle as the blonde guy shrugs, addressing me anyway.

"I'm Kurt, nice to meet you boss's lady."

I shake my head taking a deep breath, "My name is Olive and I'm not the bosses anything."

"Sure you're not." The large, tattooed man says taking a seat on my other side, "Buffy."

Buffy?

I glance over at him again. His kind eyes seem to contrast with his place here, and the fact that he's built like a brick house. Either way, I fight against my snicker, "The vampire slayer?"

Kurt laughs from beside me, "Told you it was stupid."

"Everyone loves that show, shut the fuck up." Buffy mutters finally making me crack, my laughter filling the otherwise quiet room.

"No cool nickname for you Kurt?" I ask, knowing I have to be smart with how I speak here. One wrong word, one look that lasts too long and he dies.

"Kurt is my nickname sweetness. Like the late great god himself, Mr. Cobain."

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