The apartment is still dark when I wake up, although if I’m being honest, I didn’t actually sleep as much as I would have liked.
The city outside just beginning to stir with the distant sound of traffic, the early morning trams rumbling past. I pack quickly, throwing clothes into a small bag along with my passport, some cash my father sent me, leaving everything else behind.
I throw on some joggers, a tank top and hoodie then zip up the bag. I walk down the street as the sun starts to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, the morning air cold enough to bite at my face, my breath coming out in small white clouds.
The city is still mostly asleep, only a few people out walking dogs or heading to early shifts. I turn the corner onto the street where my father said the car would be waiting, my eyes scanning until I spot it. A black sedan sits at the curb with its engine running, the exhaust puffing white into the cold air.
I walk toward it, opening the back door, sliding inside with my bag on my lap. "Good morning, ma'am," the driver says without turning around.
"Good morning," I reply. He starts driving, pulling away from the curb, navigating through the empty morning streets. I watch the buildings pass by outside my window, the familiar streets of Solingen giving way to the outskirts where the buildings become more spread out, the trees becoming more frequent. The driver takes a turn onto a smaller road, headingaway from the main highway, the buildings and landscape opening up into fields.
I lean forward slightly, trying to see where we are, then I see a sign pointing away from the airport. We're going away from the airport. "That's not the way to the airport," I tell him. The driver doesn't respond, just keeps driving with his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "I'm talking to you," I say louder, leaning forward in my seat. "We're going the wrong direction."
Still nothing. "Are you deaf or something? Can't you respond to me?"
"Ma'am, please," he says finally. "Just calm down."
"Calm down?" I nearly shout. "How do you expect me to calm down when you're going in a direction away from the airport? Turn this car around or stop the car right now so I can get out."
"Ma'am, I can't do that," he says.
"Why can't you do that?" I demand. He doesn't answer, instead he starts speeding up, the car accelerating until the fields outside become a blur. "Stop the car!" I yell. "Stop the car right now!"
I grab my phone, my hands shaking so badly I can barely unlock it, I pull up my father's number, press call. It rings. Then a robotic voice cuts through.The number you have dialed is not reachable.I try again. Same message. I try Roman, then Kirill, then anyone in my contacts who might answer. Nothing. We pass another intersection and I see through the windshield ahead. Three expensive cars parked in a line on the side of the road, black Mercedes or BMWs with tinted windows.
The driver pulls up behind them, bringing our car to a stop, and cuts the engine. I hear the locks click and my panic spikes."Let me out!" I scream, throwing myself at the door, pulling the handle frantically. "Let me out right now!" The driver turns in his seat. "Ma'am, please—"
I don't let him finish, launching myself at him over the center console, my nails finding his face, his neck, his arms. "Let me out! Let me out!" He tries to restrain me gently, catching my wrists, holding them away from his face. I pull his hair, scratch at his neck, kick at his seat.
Then the door opens behind me. And cold air rushes in, freezing my assault. A head pokes inside the car, smiling at me.
Ilay. I look at him drinking him in. "Well," he says. "Still got that fire in you, I see. I was worried you might've gone soft on me, angel." I scoot backward across the seat, pressing myself against the opposite door. He slides into the car, closes the door behind him. "Get out," he says to the driver without looking at him.
"Yes, sir," the driver responds quickly, scrambling out of the car.
Ilay turns to face me fully. "I've missed you, my love" he says softly. "Did you miss me?"
I can't breathe. "I don't know," I whisper. I do but I’d be darned if I say it.
He raises an eyebrow. "You don't know?"
I swallow hard. "I don't know what to say."
"How about the truth?" he suggests, leaning back against the seat.
"The truth?" I repeat. "The truth is you threatened me, you said you'd drag me back to Russia, you said you'd chain me to your bed, you killed your therapist, what am I supposed to say to that?"
He smiles. "You could say, I missed you so much baby and kiss me passionately."
"You got many screws loose," I breathe. "Maybe," he agrees easily. "But you didn't seem to mind this screw-loose bastard drilling you three months ago, did you? Go ahead, princess tell me how many times those fingers of yours slipped inside that tight little pussy these past few months, chasing what only I can give you. I Bet you still clench around nothing every time you remember how deep I was in you.” I press myself harder against the door. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," he says simply.
"To Russia?"
"Eventually."
"No," I shake my head frantically. "No, I'm not going back there. Actually, I'm not going anywhere with you."
