Page 10 of Delicious Prey

After x-rays and an examine that brings tears to my eyes as the doctor prods my tender arm, it’s finally decided that I have a nasty sprain, and I need to immobilize it for a couple of weeks. He wraps it in an elastic bandage and tells me to buy a sling. I do get a nice prescription from some painkillers, though, so not a wasted trip at all.

I dread checking out. I’m scared to death the bill is going to empty my measly savings, but when I tell the receptionist my name, she smiles and says, “Okay, Ms. Moore, you’re good to go.”

“Huh?”

“I said you’re good to go. Everything’s taken care of.”

“What do you mean? Don’t I have a copay?” I briefly wonder why the hell I’m arguing with her. If it’s a clerical error, then I should just be grateful for the good luck and get my ass out of here before they realize the mistake.

“Your bill has been paid,” she says, speaking slowly in the hopes that I’ll get it this time.

“Who paid it?”

“A nice gentleman paid it while you were in the exam room.”

I shoot my head around, running my eyes over everyone in the waiting room, but aside from a man holding a bleeding hand and a woman with a screaming toddler, the place is empty.

“Is he here? Do you see him?”

She arches a manicured brow at me. “No,” she says even slower, making me feel like a real dumbass. “He left before you came out.”

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, light brown hair with a slight beard, hazel eyes.” A soft smile plays at her lips. “He was very handsome.”

I thank her and then race to the pharmacy. With my pills in hand, I drive home, the pain in my arm fading to the background while I think about what just happened. Kirill paid my hospital bills, and I have a description of the man who’s been following me, of the man who broke into my home. Shutting my car door, I walk to my house and stop by the front door. I turn around, scanning the street I live on. I don’t expect to see anyone, but at least now I know who I’m looking for.

Peanut goes nuts when I walk in, scampering around my feet while whimpering and sniffing all the hospital smells. Too worn out to do much of anything, I let Peanut out to use the bathroom and then send a message to Chris, letting him know I’ve sprained my wrist and asking if someone can cover my shift tomorrow. He immediately responds and tells me it’s not a problem and hopes I feel better soon. With that taken care of, I pop a pain pill and lay down on the couch. Peanut cuddles up beside me, and the next thing I know it’s morning.

Even with my drug-fuzzy brain, my first thought is still of Kirill. I stumble to the door, and when I open it, I can’t help but smile when I see the giant care package that’s waiting for me. I grab the basket with my good hand and lug it inside. Peanut runs over and sits down beside me while I look through everything. There’s a bouquet of red roses, a sling, a heating pad, some ice packs, several bags of Twizzlers, my favorite hot chocolate, some really comfy-looking pajamas, and there’s even a box of Peanut’s favorite milk bones. When I give him one, he wags his little tail like crazy before bolting down the hall. I open the letter last.

My sweet zaika,

I heard you had a little fall yesterday. I’m not a man who cares about much, Lydia, but when I found out you were in the emergency room all alone, it made this damn cell feel even smaller than it already is. I can be patient, at least I thought I could be, but my need to take care of you is overwhelming at times. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you, that I couldn’t drive you to the hospital and wait with you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to take care of you. You would not have had to wait three hours if I’d been there with you.

I hope this stuff helps in some small way. Be sure to wear the sling, zaika. Baby the arm, don’t use it, and be sure to ice it regularly and then later you can move on to the heating pad. Be careful with the painkillers. Don’t take them if you’re going to be driving. You’ll find enough money in this envelope so that you can take the week off. I’m sure Chris will understand. I know what you’re thinking, zaika, but don’t worry. I won’t be taking any of Chris’s fingers. He’s a smart man and decided to take the hint. I’m not cruel, Lydia, but I guess you’ll learn that in time.

I’ve been told you can eat your bodyweight in licorice, so I hope this is enough.

I’m always thinking about you,

Kirill

P.S. I know it’s the left wrist you sprained. Write me a damn letter.

P.P.S. I hope Peanut likes his treats.

I smile at the note, rereading it again, and I don’t care that I should hate him. The basket and note are sweet. Horrible people don’t do this. They don’t buy you comfy pajamas and your favorite snacks and write sweet letters. I open the first bag of licorice and start eating while I count out the money, which is way more than I make in a week. I send Chris a text, telling him I’m super sorry but that I’m going to be on painkillers and really need a week to rest. I also tell him I’ll work extra shifts next week if he needs me to. He responds for me to not worry and to rest up, so that’s exactly what I decide I’m going to do. I’m taking the week off, and I’m going to relax with Peanut and focus on resting my arm.

I also make the decision to quit fighting this whole pen pal thing. If Kirill wants a letter, he’s damn well going to get one. It’s not like I have a crowd of family and friends to spill all my thoughts to. I write him a ten-page letter, telling him all about me. I tell him about my mom and how she taught me to love gardening, about the strained relationship I had with my dad, and about Peanut and how I found him. I even tell him about my nightmares and how his face is always in them. I expose myself to him in a way that I’ve never done before, and it feels oddly therapeutic. Exhausted, I put the letter in an envelope and set it under the rock by my front door.

And that’s really how it begins. For the next year, we send each other letters. Sometimes I wake up and find my house filled with hyacinths, the flower I told him was my favorite. Other times I’ll come home from work and see that a repair’s been done to the house. What was once unsettling has slowly morphed into comforting. As fucked up as it is, it’s nice to know someone is looking out for me.

I’m still not entirely sure what I think about Kirill, but after hundreds of letters, I feel like I know him better than I’ve ever known another living soul. He still sends an ache straight between my legs when he tells me all the things he wants to do to me, but I know he’s never getting out of prison, and a part of me is sad about that. I try not to beat myself up too much about my thoughts towards him. He still hints at his innocence, and I feel myself starting to believe him.

Chapter 5

Kirill

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